Happy Birthday to Me

This year, my birthday was a party.

Like a legit, crazy, people-all-over-the-place-in-a-cake-coma party.

It started with Mark jumping up with the kids.  By the time I rolled out of bed, I had gifts on the kitchen table, a "Happy Birthday" sign taped to the wall, and banana french toast.  Heaven.

It continued on to include pampering from my lovely cousins ... particularly Brielle.  That little 7 year old (I think?) brushed my hair all morning long, taking me back to the days when I was her age and her mother, my fabulous Aunt Jen, would do the same.

Once Mark returned from his half-day at work (I love Tuesdays!), we were off to the beach.  It was sunny, breezy, a little cold ... but nevertheless fantastic.  Mark chased the kids up and down the beach while I talked the afternoon away with Auntie Jenny.  I remember going to work up at their fishing resort when I was fourteen.  She had just had her fourth baby, and although I loved the bajeezes out of that baby Brielle, it bummed me out that Aunt Jen just couldn't seem to hold an entire conversation with me any more.  And now, here I was, losing my train of thought every couple minutes as I saw what Belle and/or Mac were about to do, and I struggled to hold up a cohesive conversation.  Her kids are old enough now that it wasn't quite as much of a problem (or she's just more used to it than I am), and it was nice to see that the stages of motherhood are indeed fleeting ... nice and scary.

After we soaked up enough sunshine and sand, we made the trek back home.  We picked up a Costco chocolate cake (oooooo my woooooord) and Mark took orders and ran to our favorite burger place.

We ate ourselves silly.

The "Happy Birthday Song" never sounded so good.

Thank you family, it was a great day.