Apparently, I’m old. And I grunt like Grandpa.

My thirty-fifth birthday is coming up. In the blink of an eye, my mid-thirties have arrived (along with a couple dozen silver hairs and some fine lines around my eyes that turn into not-so-fine lines whenever I smile) and I’m just a hop, skip and a jump away from the big 4-0. Does any of this…

It just happened. Honestly.

Something strange is going on around here. Things are happening, but no one is to blame. Ever. For example, a long, green streak of marker appeared across the wall, but no one did it. It must have been a leprechaun. Then a cup of milk somehow spilt on the table at breakfast, but it wasn’t them. Maybe Grandma…