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.