Really, I’m not crazy about my birthday.
I loved it as a child (okay, I really, really disliked having a birthday that was so hugely overshadowed by Independence Day), but really, what kid doesn’t love their birthday?
But now that I’m
old older, it’s just not a big deal. It’s just turning one year older.
What I do so enjoy, though?
Is all to lovin’ I get on my big day.
Homemade birthday cards…
with words and pictures meticulously drawn by tiny hands.
Hugs and kisses, given gratuitously.
And “I love you, mama!” galore.
Lunch out at my favorite restaurant.
With a surprise Happy Birthday serenade by the wait staff (good one, babe. I’m gonna get you next year.)
A store bought cake, certainly selected with lots of love.
And decked out with an excessive number of candles.
A chorus of Happy Birthday.
Sung at the tip top of little lungs.
And, although I was certainly missing my two biggest babies, how I loved being surrounded by these seven blessings.
Chaotic and crazy? Yes. But boring? Never.
Short of someone flying Zach and Tori home to celebrate, turning one year older this year?
Couldn’t have been any sweeter.
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Sunday Monday, y’all.