Wednesday was my husband’s 30th birthday.

I came home from work to get ready for dinner that evening and found this on the floor:

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A single Cheerio, spilled during his breakfast. Something about eating Cheerios on the dawn of your 30th birthday tickles me. Almost as much as the fact that you would accidentally drop one on the floor, like a toddler.

The evening progressed into a veritable sushi feast, however, so I feel both sides of the maturity scale were well represented. And maybe that’s what life is all about. Or something.

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Happy birthday to my handsome love.

 

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