Chris and I just returned from an adults-only (AKA no Lauren) trip to Las Vegas to celebrate my second 29th birthday. Or my second 28th birthday (a co-worker once suggested after you turn 29, you start counting backwards).


We left sunny, 70 degree weather yesterday and returned to this:


Yes, I'm actually 30. A thirty-something, which sounds nowhere near as fun as a twenty-something. Twenty-somethings do fun things like go out to trendy night clubs and drink martinis. Thirty-somethings sit at home watching TV after their kids go to bed, worrying about their retirement and whether they'll ever pay off their debt.

I'm usually not very hung up on birthdays, but I've never had a real milestone birthday. Sure, being a legal adult and being able to drink alcohol are great things to celebrate, but 30 just seems bigger for some reason.

So I started reflecting on my life and whether my life at 30 years old is what I thought it would be. Let's see:

--Graduated from college? Check.


--Moved out of parent's house? Check.
--Married? Check.
--Own my own house? Check.


--Kids? Check (sorta, if you don't count the plural).


--Win the lottery? Nope.

Well, 5 out of 6 ain't so bad. But there's still hope, as long as Chris keeps playing the numbers. I guess I can't complain. Here's to spending at least 30 more with all of you.