It Beats the Alternative

I'm thirty-nine years old today. Isn't that freaky? It's dangerously close to doddering old age, but I still love my birthday, the only day when I don't feel guilty eating a jar's worth of Nutella.

Here are some favorite pics from my thirty-eighth year, one of the best so far on this merry-go-round:


This was the year that the chickens came on the scene.


Ditto the Chicken Palace.


Last spring we went to Gettysburg, and I got extreme goosebumps watching Luke and Owen play in the woods where Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and his 20th Maine fighters held the Rebels back, determining the course of history.


Old Sturbridge Village, a place where the boys visited for the first time just this past June, has become a constant source of interest and excitement.


My brother's wedding was a highlight, too; here is his bride with all four of her new nephews.

I've looked in on the adventures of my parents:


and learned to knit.


Best of all, I've gotten to enjoy my kids:














And just be in love with, and in awe of, my husband, the sane guy in our crazy madhouse.


Yeah, it's a damn good life.