Happy Birthday, Boy#2

Twenty-seven years ago at this very moment I was in the hospital remembering why my birthing plan would always and forever include an epidural. Today Boy#2 is half a nation away, and his loser parents haven't even sent him so much as a card to celebrate his birthday.

But Boy#2, we could not love you more. You are a delight in every way, from your beautiful eyes to your terrible jokes. (I understood the one you sent yesterday, it was just not as hilarious as you thought it was. "Two fish are in a tank when one turns to the other and says, 'Hey! Who's driving this thing?'" Really? That doesn't hold a candle to your previous best, which was "What does one snowman say to another? 'Do you smell carrots?'" Now that is a joke.) We love that your brothers prefer your advice to ours. We love that you are smart and hardworking and level-headed. Oh, and did I mention funny?

I hope you are wearing a straw cornucopia on your head all day long to celebrate.