Happy Birthday, M.

Happy Birthday.

Today is the eighth of your birthdays we’ve had together, and I feel like I love you even more as the years pass.

I couldn’t have asked for a better husband, father to our boys, or best friend. If someone had plunked a catalog in front of me and told me to pick, I couldn’t have done it. There is no one like you, and I’m grateful for every single day we spend together. [Yes, even when you miss the hamper by, oh, six feet or so. Is it really that difficult to put your dirty laundry where it belongs?]

Today, you are officially 13 years old than me . . . for another two months. In your opinion, that makes you right about¬†everything. This year, you can be right. Until January, then you’re not so much right any more.

Happy Birthday, baby. Here’s to many more.

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