"Thirty-as-well?"

So, when I told a friend yesterday how old I was turning he said, "Oh, so you're turning thirty-as well (32)." We both laughed at his clever little comment, but then I started to wonder, "Am I getting old? I mean, is he trying to help me think of a clever way to disguise my age because there is something inherently wrong with 32? I've never thought I was old, and in my mind, I think I'm perpetually about 25. So really, people, how do you know when you're getting old?

I LOVED the rock collection from the backyard that was scotch-taped to pink paper!

I giggled like a kid when I opened the skirt that I've owned for seven years that Elyse had daddy help her wrap.

Aiden's polished, heart-shaped stone truly was a precious gem.

And I actually wanted to blow out my own candles. I didn't want that little blonde girl next to me to do it for me! (OK, I admit I was concerned about the germs.)

But wait, now I know why I might be classified as old. When I opened Spencer's gift, I'll admit I had a little feeling of dread about having to figure out a new contraption. I mean, I'm sure a GPS is a great tool and all, and I'll probably love it, but I have to take time to learn it! I AM thirty-as-well and all, and don't you know you can't teach an old dog new tricks?