One Year Older...

and yet,

still just a sweet little boy in a 27 year old's body.

Ewe... that kind of made me sound like a pet-a-file.
(*P.S. I know that word is spelled completely wrong, but sadly in this world of crazies, I do not wish to be found on google seach by some freak searching for that word. And unless you want me to go private, deal with it.)


A few years ago, I might have thrown an elaborate party for hoards of guests, with decorations, hand-made cake, party favors and the works. But apparently, this "one year older" thing has gotten to me too.
Lately, I feel like I'm 90.
And I'm not lovin' it.

I tried to get some cool gifts.
But I had no money. So he ended up with a flashlight that the girls picked out.
Enjoy that, babe.

Then I tried to make the day special by just letting him know that I cared.
And his cell phone battery died.
Sweet.

Then I tried to bake a cake.
But Luke's the only one in the family who likes cake, and I didn't want to waste it.

Then I tried to take Luke out for a special birthday dessert.
But it's blizzarding outside (again, not a word. I'm aware.),
and spending the rest of the night in a blazing car crash wasn't sounding all that fun.

Then I told the girls to be really nice to Luke and make sure they gave him lots of hugs and kisses to make his day really special.
But instead, they pummeled him.


And so,
Luke's 27th year was celebrated quietly, personally, violently, and cake-lessly
(seriously! - I should start my own dictionary)


And in the end, it wasn't all that bad.

Because, really...

Love is all you need.

P.S. Please leave a comment wishing Luke a happy birthday! If we get 27, my feeling of "World's Worst Wife Ever In the History of the World" will be slightly diminished. Slightly.