Post-party depression

Just kidding. I thought "depression" went well with post-party. I couldn't help myself. Some things are bigger than we are; I am at the mercy of the Universe. The one that enjoys smiting me. Yeah, that one.

Anyway, we survived our boys' birthday party. Middle child turns 14 this week and youngest turns 12. Hold on… Hold on… [Whines] TWELVE!!!!!!!!! FOURTEEN!!!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!!!!!! I remember when they were BORN!!!! [End Whine]

Fun was had by all, as was way, way too much food. We had two cakes, to separate the two, distinct birthdays. I made the vanilla cake. Paul made the chocolate. Being the person I am, I turned even that into a competition.

Me: They'll like mine better than yours.

Paul:  That's what YOU think.

And … this morning …


I hate it when he's right. Life is so unfair.

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