Countdown to thirty-nine

That's right: a week from today I hit the big 3-9. Which feels like more than just the runner up for a major milestone, because I'll have less than a year to think about what it means to be forty before it smacks me across the head.

When I hit my last decade marker, I was depressed because I hadn't reached some important goals I hoped to accomplish by that point: getting my bachelor's degree and starting our family topped the list. Fortunately, Jim's birthday present to me was a pair of diamond solitaire earrings, which immediately yanked me back from the brink of despair because, hey, who needs some lousy piece of paper to hang on your wall when you have diamonds, right?

My thirties have had a great run. I did get my degree. I swam, biked and ran a triathlon. I learned (and forgot a lot of) Spanish. I traveled to Mexico. Twice. I read several hundred books. I gave birth to two wonderful children. And I'm still married to the same sensitive, intelligent, generous guy with great taste in jewelry. Oh, and handsome. Did I mention handsome?

I've been pretty introspective about it over the last couple weeks, because I want to be at peace with being forty, which means this is the year to get just a few more things done before the decade ends. I've got some big things in the works, too. Things I've been needing to do, putting off, struggling with. But I can feel it: this is the year.