A birthday.

Happy, happy, birthday dearest husband! Today is Chris's 28th birthday. It was a low key celebration at home, I cooked up some fajitas and he made his birthday wish on a big jarred candle (not to be confused with his 24th birthday when we made his wish on a burning tortilla chip)...

This was the eleventh year that I've been with Chris for his birthday. We've had big dates and stay-at-home dates. Fancy gifts and homemade cards and even a vacation thrown in for good measure. But perhaps the oddest way that we've spent his birthday had to be back in 2007. Here's what we were up to way-back-when, on Chris's 22nd birthday...

What's in those bags you ask? Poop. Dog poop.

At the time, my parents had eight dogs. Yes, eight...that almost makes their current count of six sound tame. Chris's birthday happened to fall on a day of nice weather and for people with a billion dogs, that means spring-poop-pick-up-time. They live on nine acres so there's plenty of space for all that dung to spread out on and all winter long dog poop-pick-up gets to be put on the back burner. But when that snow melts...buddy watch out... because its time for the mother load (no pun intended) of all pick-up sessions. My parents, god bless them, have managed to entice this competitive little family of ours to actually take joy in the spring clean from hell by offering up a prize to whoever bags the heaviest bag of doodoo. So yeah, here we are weighing bags of poop, some of us in our pajamas (?). Talk about a fancy, schmancy birthday. By the way, in case you were wondering, our bags totaled 46lbs. No big deal.

So here's to the man that I can always have fun with, no matter what we're doing. I look forward to all the fun birthday memories we have yet to make. I love you, I love you, happy birthday!

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