On Turning 30

Last week, I turned thirty. I also found a gray hair. And I realized I wasn't in my twenties anymore. Just in case I didn't get the message, my family took me out to dinner for my birthday, made me wear a black lei, and handed me a black rose and a box of Correctol.

I'm not worried about aging, although I haven't always been so content about life's maturation process. When I turned sixteen, I spent the whole day crying, locked in a closet. Sixteen brought with it too much responsibility - learning how to drive, thinking about college . . . I suppose I wasn't the most logical sixteen-year-old.

Even though I'm thrilled to be thirty, I think my husband (Dan just turned thirty in April) and I may be going through an early mid-life crisis. A few weeks ago, we were discussing moving to Barcelona or maybe Ireland and giving up our careers to write books (that would be my dream) or program video games (that would be Dan's).

Then Dan said, "You don't like to fly over water" and that ended our mid-life crisis conversation.

"You know what your mother and I did during our early mid-life crises?" my dad said during a visit to Boise. "We had you - hint, hint!"

Yes, it seems that age thirty is also the age when people start asking THAT question.

From friends who have experienced the wonder of parenthood to mother-in-laws who say, "It's Mother's Day - I'm allowed to ask" to fathers who are saving your old Fisher-Price toys "just in case," turning thirty means you have to come up with a really good excuse as to why you don't have kids and why you're not even trying.

I just tell everybody I already have 550 kids (my music students), the best method of legalized birth control available.

Aside from a non-existent maternal instinct and a couple of black balloons, I've had a pretty smooth ride into age thirty. And sorry, Dad. For our early mid-life crises, instead of having babies, Dan and I bought new mountain bikes instead. But at least you won't have to worry about us moving to Ireland.