Last year I posted “I never want to repeat a year like this last one.” At 26, I was optimistic. At 27, I am more realistic. My life is meant to change, yet not change. The more things change the more they stay the same. And, hey, maybe that’s just life.
When I wrote my birthday post last year, I had no way of knowing that in less than 2 months time we would be getting another surprise:
And that set in motion another year that felt awfully similar to the year before and the year before. It’s like we got a little do-over but without the traumatic house-buying fiasco. But I suppose it isn’t fair to say things are the same. Things have certainly gotten cuter around here (and louder and smellier and …)
And little by little things are getting better. Genevieve has moved in with Reuben so Ryan and I have reclaimed our tranquil bedroom (minus the incessant baby monitor). The chickens have a full run now so our yard (and drive way and carport and patio) aren’t covered with poop). And look! We might get a tropical storm this weekend!
Twenty- six, twenty-seven, what’s the difference? We’ve done it before, we’ll do it again. And, as long as hope still has it’s bit of green, I’ll dare to say this again: I hope we don’t have another year like this last one. Maybe this year will be calm.