When I'm not busy being chirpily supportive about all this, I'm secretly a little terrified . . . remember back when we talked about the Grown-Up Decisions that make you realize you're an capital "A" adult? At the risk of sounding too Smug Parent-y, changing jobs back when we were carefree singletons or DINKs was one thing; doing it now when there's one income and a wee CEO's college tuition at HarvarYaleOxforDartmouth to fund is entirely another. Gulp.
Risk-taking is part of this whole life thing, apparently, and so I'm thrilled to have hitched my Target-clad wagon to someone whom I can trust to know when the right time is to leap. If I've learned anything in my thirty
So please bear with me if I embrace some fluffiness in the coming days - there's a hard-hitting feature on Mom Hair en route, for example - while I endeavor to take this all in. My conservative self needs a bit to absorb even shiny, fantastical changes, except when said shiny arrives in the form of, say, a Tiffany blue box. Work hard at that fancy new job, Anonymous Husband.