We don't much stand for ceremony 'round here

Today Keith turned twenty fifteen. We worked all day, inhaled our dinner at BJs with a squirmy 13-month-old, then hit Bev Mo for the traditional Birthday beer run (what? you don't have that?). Owen crashed on the way home so Keith and I were free to celebrate old skoool style: we went home to laundry and dishes - oh, hot hot birthday fun, you are ours to be had. After these events, I made my dear husband a birthday cake from a Betty Crocker microwaveable dessert I found for sale last week at the grocery store, sang Happy Birthday to You (the smelly monkey version) with the gigantic colorful "1" candle we forgot to use for Owen's pie smashed into Betty Crocker's creation, then ate the "cake" myself because Keith was not hungry. Don't let anyone tell you celebration and romance are dead, my friends. They're alive and kicking here at Casa de Luhrs'. Excuse me while I go watch some TV in my jammies with the Birthday Boy.