Numbers and Letters

So I survived. I'm thirty. And in fact, I had an absolutely wonderful birthday! My cousin and her hubby threw me a surprise party with a 70's theme. They thought of everything, 70's music, 70's games (Simon!), and even 70's food (Jello cake!). They were able to find my friends through Myspace and Facebook (probably the only thing about the party that was decidedly not 70's). It was so much fun and I was completely surprised. Even when we pulled into their driveway and recognized a friend's car (a friend who lives more than four hours away), I still didn't suspect a thing.

Yeah, I'm that slow.

Papabat didn't know anything about it either. We thought we were going for a "Christmas in February" party. Poor Littlebat, I dressed him up in these silly green pants and a red and white striped shirt. He looked ridiculous (only because it wasn't a Christmas party though- it would have been cute otherwise).

It was really nice. I'm feeling all happy and loved, even if I'm still not so sure how I feel about turning thirty... I mean, I keep hearing that age is just a number. And I get it, I do. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.

One good thing though- turning thirty has motivated me to organize the house, finish unpacking, and clear the clutter from my life. I can't really explain it. I woke up on Saturday and had an immediate need to clean out closets and move furniture. Kind of like nesting, but much more intense.

Third-life crisis, much? Erg... yeah.

So anyway, today I decided to tackle the coat closet. Among the buried treasure, I found two huge bags filled with unopened junk mail, old magazines, and random paperwork.

Here's a little known fact- I hate opening junk mail. I usually put it off for months at a time, then I'll sit down with a big pile and sort it all at once. Only this time, I had about a year's worth. (Hence the two huge bags.) When we put our house on the market last April I guess I stuffed a load of junk mail into some bags and it either went into our storage unit or got dumped in the bottom of a closet, then when we moved in September the bags found their way into the bottom of our coat closet.

At least two of the unopened envelopes in that bag were from an insurance company, and addressed only to "DOG OWNER". They went into the junk mail pile because I thought they were solicitations, like for doggie health insurance or something. We get a lot of that kind of thing- advertisements for dog products, magazines and such, and they are usually addressed similarly.

These weren't though.

They were letters from the insurance company of the person who hit and killed our dog Kira, last January. I guess their car was damaged in the accident. And apparently they submitted a claim to their insurance company. They must have gotten our address off the mailbox.

The insurance company intended to collect damages from us, claiming that according to their "investigation" we were legally liable, and threatening to bring suit if we didn't pay.

Really.

I could say a lot of things about those letters right now (nevermind the fact that they probably would have had a case- if the driver hadn't left the scene of the accident)... I'm furious. I'm disgusted. I'm heartbroken. (And I shredded them, in case you were curious.) But mainly, I'm thankful that they spent a year in a bag at the bottom of a closet.

Because at this time last year, I was in no shape to read them. I was four months postpartum, and utterly devestated over the death of my beloved Kira. I just don't think I could have handled it. In fact, I know I couldn't have handled it. And thinking back on that time in my life certainly puts the numbers in perspective.

I mean how bad could thirty be after all... considering that twenty-nine so thoroughly kicked my ass?