I was so preoccupied with news of Damon’s traumatic music program last night, I almost forgot to alert the world that yesterday was also my dear husband’s birthday.
His 31st birthday. tee hee. I love the 2.5 months of the year when Nick and I are the same age… because for the other 9.5 months, he loves to remind me that we’re NOT and calls me his “old lady” (no, it doesn’t get ANY more romantic than that).
I spent most of yesterday feeling really sorry for poor, 31-year-old Nick. Not because he’s as old as I am, but because he spent his birthday in a truck… on the road… by himself. Yee haw. Happy freakin’ birthday.
I called him first thing in the morning… because, really, what else can you do to show your truck-driving husband who is a thousand miles away from home how you’re thinking of him on his special day? And, as luck would have it, I woke him up with my call. Totally NOT my intention. Nick is usually up and driving, putting those miles behind him, many hours before I’m awake and functioning… but, of course he chose this particular day, his birthday, to sleep in. And I ruined it (Sorry, Honey!).
We didn’t really do much to celebrate Nick’s birthday when he was home earlier this month (like we probably should have), so when he comes home for Christmas, I hope to have his favorite birthday dinner (mac and cheese and sausage links… he’s such a simple man. God, I love that about him!) and his favorite birthday cake (yellow with chocolate/peanut butter icing) here waiting for him.
We’ll see you in 12 days… Old Man.