I'm getting tired in my old age

 And it's here, my birthday.

I'm am now, according my annoyingly observant husband, comfortably in my mid-thirties.  Do you remember how, when we were much, much younger, we would talk about birthdays in terms of all the new things we could do having completed another year, like driving, voting, or drinking. Alyce has already begun to see the world this way, telling me on a daily hourly basis that when she's five she'll be able to dye her hair pink and purple, and how when she's seven she'll be able to grow new teeth, or how she'll have to be a grown-up before she can be a princess. She believed me when I told her that last one.

But what can you when you finally turn thirty-four? At first I was at a bit of a loss, but I've come up with a few things that I'd like to do this year:

Find a job that will support our family.
Adjust to the new normal that is the chaotic life of a mother who works outside of the house.
Take a small vacation with Matt.
Have more picnics.
Knit some sweaters.
Kick my sugar addiction.
Publish some writing.

So that's my list.  Thirty-three was filled with so many extremes, between moves, big decisions, new decisions, and a lot, a lot, a lot of uncertainty. Thirty-three sort of kicked my ass.

Do you have any suggestions for this new year of mine? I'm wide open here. How did you spend thirty-four?