Things are different this year. This is not entirely good. Nor bad. Ours lives are different.
(And for the expanded version of this spiel, cry and name something, anything, you wish were different. I am the master of the change spiel this year. I console myself with it all the time.)
And now I sound all somber and blue; I'm not. After having company here in Eugene, and traveling to see both sides of the family, and Greg's end of quarter and seeing some of my dearest friends over break, I'm just rightfully tired and in love with the low key right now: putting around the house, planning Zumba sets, napping and reading.
Yet today is Greg's birthday, and though we aren't hosting a party this year, as God as my witness, I will get out of this robe (not yet) and celebrate like a proper wife ought to.
(I see football and wine in my near future.)
So happy birthday to my dear husband. I adore you. I really, really do.