A. started getting sick yesterday. He woke up at 3:30 this morning with fever and chills. As I was getting him some aspirin, it occurred to me that 3:30 a.m. meant it was officially December 15. So I wished him happy birthday. He's 29 today. The flu is his birthday present, apparently.
So, instead of a happy birthday, I will now wish a healthy birthday to my incomparable husband: builder of gates, ponds, and barns; fearless chef; and the innovative mind that brought us the woodchuck snow plow.
The world is a more interesting place because he's in it.