Not a Day Over 24

A week or so ago, I turned 35. I had a great time celebrating with my family and then taking the kids to Disneyland for a couple of days . Good times, great memories, all that. The thing is, though, that I just can't process the fact that I'm actually 35. I know I've been married all these years and have given birth to three children who depend on me pretty much for all the things that keep them alive. But I don't think of myself as all that grown up, or really even an adult some days. And although high school and college feel like only the day before yesterday, I definitely see the difference between me and today's teens. It's like we're from different planets. All of a sudden I have things in common with my parents like actually caring about what kind of cabinets go in a kitchen or needing to go to the doctor for all kinds of strange things. Conversations with friends are about recipes, high blood pressure and retirement planning a lot more than they are about cool bands or hot guys. I see all the signs of adulthood for sure: stress about money, worry that the world will be an ok place for my kids to grow up in, even being responsible for the boring stuff like life insurance and dentists' appointments. I guess I just assumed that by 35, definitely a grown up age, I'd have a much better clue about what I was doing and what the world's all about. I've got the mommy stuff down for the time being. But it's the other stuff, the life stuff, that still confounds me. The question is, what is that magic age when you really start feeling like you belong in adulthood, and when do you start acting like it?