I have a confession or two. When we first moved to Denver we
didn’t like it. We didn’t like the traffic, we didn’t like how big it was, we
didn’t like how it was never sunny, and that it never got over 80 degrees. We
didn’t like other things, those things being ages 6, 8, and 10 (but that’s a
whole other story). We instantly missed Boise. But, Denver has treated us so
well. Despite our efforts to be angry at it, we ended up liking it, and now I
think we might even miss it when we leave this week.
Another confession, I am not exactly sure why I have a blog.
I am pretty sure that I am the only person that cares about my fun weekend, my
husbands rockin’ birthday, and my almost garden. But, I have also never been
this good at blogging, so I deserve a big pat on the back (I’m all about
extrinsic motivation here). So to those who do peruse the pages of my mindless
wanderings and hopefully glean some sort of something, here you go, the end of
our Denver adventure written just for you (cough Tenille cough).
Firstly, for those of you who do know me well you know that
I love a good birthday. I am 100% convinced that birthday’s are to be
celebrated and are to be recognized. Birthdays are that one day a year that is
your day. Seriously your day. So it should go your way, and just be out of this
world. As I have grown older I have realized that very few people over the age
of 10 feel this way. Which deeply saddens me. But don’t think I let that get
in the way when I come across a good birthday. Especially when it’s my cute
husbands. Even though it was just me, I celebrated the heck out of his day. And
he deserved it. And he loved it. And all in all, I am so excited that this boy
was born because if not my life would be bleak and just not as great as it is.
So, even though this monumental event occurred on the 26th it needs
to be recognized, like all good birthdays do.
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