I’ve been asking Charlie what he would like to do for his birthday. Party? Movie? Curiosity Museum? Nope.
Cabela’s and cake.
You guys, I am the luckiest mom because my children do not care about fancy birthday parties. Do. Not. Care. Which is good, because I do not care. I was not born with the party planning gene.
Honestly don’t care.
We have happy birthdays. They just happen to be rowdy, organic, and spontaneously free-form. Also easy.
My third son is seven now and I can’t figure out what happened to the 30-year-old me who gave birth to that cherub-faced baby.
We aren’t babies anymore, Charlie and I.