Hey, it’s my birthday, I’m gonna party like I’m responsible for keeping 3 small humans alive on my birthday. So maybe a glass of wine after they all go to bed.

That song was actually really popular on my birthday the year it came out (which I believe was in two thousand and OMG I am old) so I think of it as my birthday song. Just like probably 1/3rd of girls who were in college in that year probably do. I am nothing if not part of my generation.

33 is not a big or special birthday. I don’t have anything big or special planned and we will probably not celebrate in any memorable ways. But a bunch of small things have come together recently that lead me to believe 33 might be the age which I am officially an adult. And not only that, an adult who is pretty good at adulting sometimes.

I have a skin care routine. I realized those spots on my face weren’t just big freckles and I bought two different kinds of cream that have the words “anti-aging” in them and I reliably both put them on AND take my make-up off. I’ve never done that more than two days in a row before, but it’s been a couple weeks so maybe it stuck this time. Plus I expanded my makeup routine from “mascara and sometimes foundation” to “expensive mascara, primer, foundation and eyebrow gel”. I am probably the only one who can tell, but I FEEL more put together.

Along those same lines, I also a) have a standing appointment for a hair cut/color maintenance and b) wear hypoallergenic earrings. Both tiny things that I always felt like I was never going to manage and yet now I have and do and it makes me happy every time I look in the mirror. Earrings! A lack of noticeable roots and split ends! Like a real grown up!

In the less superficial department, I also used my phone as an actual phone several times this week. I returned a call to get the kids set up for summer camp. I answered an unfamiliar number that ended up being Evan’s teacher. I moved my hair appointment. I called Nikon to find out what I could do about my broken camera. I called the camera supply place to find out if they could rush-ship a new one. I called and made the dermatologist appointment I hate making. Ok, that last one is a lie, I didn’t call yet. I hate the medical care on base and I have to see them to get a referral to a real derm and I hate the dermatologist in general because having my skin examined closely by ANYONE is horrifying. But I also don’t really want to die of skin cancer, so I’m definitely calling on Monday.

Other adulting skills I’ve mastered this year: Mailing things without standing in line at the post office. Going to the grocery store and not buying mostly ice cream. Taking out the trash. Talking to my kids’ teachers without feeling like I’m about to get in trouble. Recognizing when buying the more expensive version of something might be a better choice than buying the cheap thing. Making school lunches. Not staying up too late (most of the time).

My goal for the next year is to be an adult about my own self. I need to make wiser choices to be healthier. I need to stop eating my feelings. I need to use that wine-drinking time after bedtime to maybe do some push-ups. I also need to buy myself a pair of jeans that fit – just ONE PAIR – so I don’t have to wear yoga pants to yoga pant inappropriate locations, like dinner at restaurants with real silverware or all the birthday parties the kids are invited to this month. I can beat myself up over the size of my pants and losing baby weight afterward (because I am not sure I will ever be adult enough not to do that) but at least I can do it from the comfort of pants with a button that actually buttons.

So it’s not like I’ve discovered the secret of life or become wildly successful or been a perfect human/wife/mother but this year was pretty OK and I hope next year is even OK-er. Maybe on my 34th birthday I’ll be able to say I’ve successfully learned to spell the words “apartment” and “apparently” right on the first try. It’s good to have goals.

I feel like my head might explode with all the things I am trying to remember. Wednesday morning I realized at 7:30 am it was Caroline’s turn to bring snack to school, so we drove to the grocery store for Goldfish crackers and milk, drove home, put Evan on the bus, dropped Caroline off at school, drove down to the beach for a Christmas photo shoot, drove home to meet Evan’s half-day bus (since the LAST half day I totally forgot him – Mother Of The DECADE!!), threw him in the car, drove back to Caroline’s school for pick up, drove to the post office, drove to BJ’s for essentials (Diet Coke, cheese and milk), then finally stopped at Moe’s for lunch. LUNCH. Because all of that was before 12:30 pm.

The rest of this week is also half-days which means more racing around to make it to pick up, plus my parent-teacher conference on Friday. I have two newborn clients I’m just waiting to become outside babies so I can schedule their sessions, a handful of families to do Christmas photos for, a cool press event in NYC on Monday and a husband who is about to go into shift work that will last probably the rest of the year. ALL OF 2013. I’m not sure I’ll survive it with my sanity, let alone with a house that doesn’t look like a tornado hit it, because that’s what it looks like now. Like a storm of boxes and My Little Ponies and couches rained down on my family room. I made the mistake of building Evan a “city” out of empty Amazon boxes and now I can’t throw any of them away or he freaks out. Smooth move, genius. Let’s turn trash into something we have to keep!

Because posts about how I am SO BUSY and don’t have time to blog are boring, I will make it up to you with a video of Caroline from a couple weekends ago. The kids are obsessed with the Cups song and E is pretty proud of himself for knowing how to do it, so this actually happens a lot around here. And don’t try to tell her she’s doing it wrong, she won’t believe you.

One of the things I love about my iPhone is the ability to buy and ready instant eBooks. I read myself to sleep at night, sometimes for 2 minutes, sometimes for an hour.  I like long books or series so I don’t have to keep remembering new characters (which is hard, when I fall asleep in the middle of every chapter). I read all the Anne of Green Gables books (free!) and all the Sherlock Holmes books (also free!) plus all the Game of Thrones books and all the Stephanie Plum novels and a bunch of young adult appocolyptic end of the world type stuff. I don’t really have a TYPE, just a general rule that I don’t read anything that requires more than 10% of my brain at any given time.

This week I finished my end-of-the-world-secret-Nazi-plot-wormhole-through-time-and-space book (it was called The Atlantis Gene, it wasn’t terrible but the rest of the series isn’t written yet so no real ending) and I started skimming the Kindle lists for a new book. I stumbled across a book called Lowcountry Boil, and since a) lowcountry boil is delicious and b) it was 99 cents I bought it. I like books set in the south and the description said it was a mystery which is one of the genres I almost always enjoy.

So I started reading the book. I can’t spoil it for you, because I am only a couple chapters into it, but I NEED TO TELL YOU ABOUT WHY IT IS FREAKING ME OUT.

It started with normal coincidence stuff. The main character is 31 years old and I am 31 years old! (Unimpressive, lots of people are 31 years old.)

The main character’s childhood best friend – who returns as a ghost – is named Colleen and MY childhood best friend is named Colleen! (Still not impressed, since it’s a fairly common name and also real-life Colleen is very much alive and I think even reads here sometimes so maybe she can confirm she really existed.)

The main character starts in Greenville, South Carolina but goes home to an island off Charleston and visits lots of Charleston places. I went to college in Charleston and recognize a lot of her locations! (Eh, lots of people like Charleston. And I bought the book knowing “lowcountry” was in the title, so I shouldn’t be surprised.)

The main character is named Elizabeth (which is not my name) but her middle name is Suzanne (which IS my name). OK, that was the point where I messaged Amy and said “THIS BOOK WAS MEANT FOR ME! IT’S BOOK FATE!”

And then I read one more chapter, in which the Elizabeth Suzanne (who is a private investigator) starts investigating things. She’s looking into the town council and the mayor, who is named Lincoln. Lincoln is my grandfather’s name! Not a super common name, but not unheard of. AND THEN she mentions the mayor’s wife is named Mildred. Which is my grandmother’s name. The one married to Lincoln, in my real actual life. Those are my real actual grandparents, Lincoln and Mildred and also two of her supporting characters in a book about a 31-year old named (Liz) Suzanne in South Carolina with a childhood best friend named Colleen.

TOO MUCH! I mean, no, it isn’t. It’s not like ANY of the story applies to my life in any way. It’s just the framework is full of random coincidences that makes me feel like this book ending up on my kindle IS fate.

I Googled the author and she went to my college (at this point, I’m not surprised) but not at the same time as I did. I think I’m going to social media stalk her a little, just out of curiosity. Maybe she’s somehow related to me on my mother’s side? Or we rode on an airplane together?? I’m going to keep reading, since it’s a really good book so far, but at this point I have to stop looking for MORE similarities. OMG, the main character likes coffee and I like coffee! She finds the ocean relaxing and I find the ocean relaxing!!!! She walks on two feet and I walk on two feet!!!!!!!!

I’ll definitely let you know if she ends up married to a guy named Evan and with two ginger children. Then I might get suspicious.

(This random is brought to you by not enough sleep and way too much Halloween candy.)

1. They have crazy sleep schedules and are often awake at 3 am.

2. They throw totally epic tantrums over minor things.

3. People are always shoving cameras in their faces and bossing them around.

4. They wear tiny clothes.

5. They can exist all day on a couple of crackers and one slice of cheese.

6. It’s pretty funny when they fall down.

7. They can be best friends with someone after knowing them for 5 minutes, but lose interest almost as fast.

8. Their outfits would be totally ridiculous on a regular person but are fabulous on them.

9. They have no real concept of money, like how much a gallon of milk or a flight to New York City costs.

10. They’ve been know to put stuff up their nose.

The other night my husband came home and said “I heard that Cups song on the radio on the way home. We should watch Pitch Perfect. Right now.” Of course I agreed, because I’m a sucker for cheesy singing and dancing in almost any form. And then he just CASUALLY mentions “I can do that, you know.”

Me: “What? You can do what?”

E: “The cups thing. It’s not hard.”

Me: “It looks hard to me. How could you possibly know how to do that?”

E: “Church camp.”

(If you went to church camp, you know that’s a totally reasonable explanation for all sorts of things. Why are you so good at poker? Where did you get all those macrame friendship bracelets? Why are you so good at ping pong? Where did you learn to shoot a .22 rifle? Why is “Books of the Bible” your favorite category on Jeopardy? Why do you know how to rappel off  a mountain? Why can you make macaroni salad for 200? Why does the smell of mulch make you break into weirdly Jesus-focused marching cadence chants? CHURCH. CAMP.)

Me: “To me, it just looks like a bunch of people snapping and throwing around a cup.”

E: “There’s no snapping. Why would there be snapping? It’s like line dancing with your hands.”

Me: “Oh well THAT makes it sound cooler.”

E: “You’re supposed pass the cup in a circle. Here, I’ll show you.”

And then I learned how to do the Cups song, exactly one million years late. Everyone is over the cups song. Maybe I need to apply for a job at church camp.