I Didn't Even Rent a Car!

It’s like, the older you get, the lamer and more boring your birthday is supposed to be. And as much as I try and fight that with every fiber of my being, it seems that it can’t be avoided.

Yep, I turned 25 and there was nary a celebration to be had that day. I was finally at car-renting age! Didn’t anyone care?!

Finn even went so far as to deny that I was even having a birthday when I told him. As if to say, ‘Don’t be ridiculous…moms don’t have birthdays. As we all know, they are clearly not actually people.’

Thanks, dude.

Sure we had cake at my mom’s place the weekend before, but it’s just not the same as having a huge blowout kind of party on the actual day of your birth…if you hint a touch of sadness in my voice…well, you are correct. I was sad about it. I’m an avid birthday celebrator, so this was a big effing deal, guys.

But guess what? I don’t even care (all that much) because they say your birthday is what you make it (someone says that, right?)…well, I made my birthday day a birthday week.

That’s right. Hardcore. Haters gonna hate, but I did it anyway.

That means shopping for myself (and a lot of shopping for the kiddos. It happens).  All  week.

And dinner with my ah-mazing friends in SLC…which meant, yeah, I got out of the house for an entire night. Look at me, guys, getting all crazy in my old age! Living it up over here!

(I was back home by 930pm, just to keep the crazy at a manageable level)

Then there’s Rubio’s with Nick (it’s his birthday too, after all). And let’s face it…probably more shopping after that.

Because if you’re going to have a birthday, people...you gotta do it right. 

Twins = birthday enthusiasts since day one.