Today is my birthday. I am 34 years old--holy crap, that sounds old. But I don't feel it.
I bought myself 2 things to celebrate. One was an iPad subscription to the NY Times, and the other is this little diary, which I hope will make it easier for me to record daily memories of this time in my life...this time when babies' firsts define the days and quiet moments at home with my little family are the new perfectly normal.
I read an article in the NY Times yesterday about T.S. Eliot's wife passing away. This description of Valerie Eliot's happy life with her husband stuck with me and made me smile at how my life mirrors:
"she sat with him through long nights of eating cheese and playing Scrabble."
What more is there, really?