Happy Birthday, Mr. The Man

Oh dearest husband, I will take this opportunity to profess to the world that I am a complete and utter failure and that I did not write anything for your birthday.  Which is today. 

So here it is, your big day, and I’ve got nothing. 

I wanted to write something big and special and lovely, but I don’t have it in me.  My head hurts.  My teeth hurt.  My hair hurts.  And I can’t think straight.

But, I cleaned the cooktop today, just for you Mr. The Man.  (Don’t all you fellas out there wish you were married to me?)  And I made dessert for you.  And I bought some food for your birthday dinner tomorrow (which will involve more dessert).  And I cleaned the kitchen.  (When you walk into the kitchen tonight, try to remember that I wrote this at 2:15 pm–a full hour before the little punks get home from school.  And also that “clean” is a relative term). 

Oh, and by the way, I noticed that you did not eat the last enchilada.  You should have taken that for your birthday lunch.  Because it was good.  Thanks for leaving it for me. 

(Why is this all about food?)

Moving right along, today while I was rocking Ella before her nap, she said “Happy?”

And I said “Yes, I’m happy.”

All of my happiness is because of you.  You provide a good life for us.  A beautiful, happy life. 

I hope you know how much we all love you.   

Happy Birthday.

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Happy Birthday, Mr. The Man

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