My birthday is Saturday, and birthdays for me have always meant taking stock. Every year around this time, since I was a kid, I have felt a strange compulsion to conduct a sort of inventory of those things I've accomplished, as well as examine the empty shelves waiting to be filled. As I get older, the shelves get fuller, but as a result, the empty spaces seem more prominent in contrast.
Since last June 23, I finished Grace (and set her free) as well as wrote a new book (which I'm still sitting on in my little nest). I also conceived and sketched out the next book, though I haven't gotten a contract for it yet. I managed to help get the girls through one more year without broken bones or cavities. I had an art show of my photography, gave Mikaela a new gypsy-inspired bedroom, taught some classes. I quit drinking (!)...and didn't have a single drink through my entire 42nd year (and didn't really miss it all that much). I read 51 books. I celebrated my twelfth wedding anniversary. I saw a doctor and got a clean bill of health, and I got one haircut.
I didn't exercise. I didn't write that children's book I keep talking about.I didn't pay off a single credit card or student loan. I didn't get the garage cleaned out. I didn't eat any healthier. And I didn't see the dentist. I didn't spend as much time with the girls doing fun things as I wanted to. And my hair is back to being style-less and unruly.
I've got a checklist, lots of stuff I still hope to do. Places to go. The kind of person I want to be. And I, the glass half-full girl I am, suspect 43 will be a very good year.