36

36 came faster than any other age.  Perhaps time was flying while having fun.  And as I told my girlfriends that it seemed to come fast, they all agreed that the years "after the milestones" are the most thought-provoking and often-times filled with the nagging existential life questions that aren't easily put to rest 

But I rested then long enough to celebrate my 36th- the eldest of the group- with champagne, amazing tapas, lively conversation, great advice (for me) and a renewed confidence in the importance of friendship (the decadent cupcakes were an added bonus).

And 36 started right on cue, Thursday, at 4 a.m. with Lloyd bringing me a pie in bed topped with a singular, lit candle.  He sang to me, perhaps remembing that I really, really, feel a deep need to be sang "Happy Birthday" every year.  It is a throwback, perhaps, to all the annoyingly early mornings my father would rise and shine me with singing "Happy Birthday" in his best tenor.

Some ideals and expectations never leave us.

Saturday with the girls:

Flowers from Lloyd:

And on Sunday as I reflected on my first days of 36, I idly cleaned our bedroom, all of my clothing feeling unrecognizable as I hung it, as though each piece belonged to someone else... Perhaps someone of 35.  

Lost in thought, my thoughtful daughter snapped me from the post champagne stupor I was engaged in.  

"Mommy, I'll help you clean!"

And I smiled, because it's just what I needed.  

A little help recognizing what was mine.  

A moment to pay attention. Moments to allow my little marvel to help me get through what was otherwise a mindless chore. And although she haphazardly compiled all my things into a laundry basket, it was perfect, and perhaps somehow symbolic of how haphazardly compiled my thoughts have been since turning 36.

To feel all at once lucky, privileged, petrified, reminiscent, hopeful, lost, found, serious, excited and reflective; and through it all with help by my side.