41 years ago today a miraculous event happened.

I was born.

Turning 40 last year was a huge milestone. 4oth birthdays are surrounded by excitement, 41 not so much. Forty has all the fun and flair with the whole 40 & fabulous thing. Forty-one is not nearly as fun and it’s no longer a novelty now it is a reality. Life is moving on and I am actually in my 40’s now.

I thought long and hard about what I wanted to do to mark my 41st birthday…

A massage?

A spa treatment?

A nice dinner?

After thoughtful debate I realized although those things are relaxing and fun ways to spend one’s birthday, but I decided the only thing I really wanted was a free day to clean up the attic playroom.

The playroom looks like its been ransacked. It’s really disheartening to go up there. Fortunately, the playroom is in the attic so it’s pretty easy to ignore the mess and pretend like it’s not there. But try as I might the mess isn’t going away in fact it’s just getting worse. The thought of a clean playroom makes me giddy. I am so excited to tackle this enormous and annoying task.

So the question really is when did I become this practical? Is this something that comes along with being in your forty’s, like weight gain, dry skin, and crow’s-feet?