I love Birthdays. I think it must be something to do with my only-child status, but I love the regalia, the anticipation, the excitement that goes along with the celebration of another year on this earth. Now, I love it when it’s MY birthday, but – in honesty – I love it even more when I get to celebrate someone else’s. Thus why this past weekend was so fabulous.

Surprises were planned. Surprises went off without a hitch. Group outings were planned. Group outings occurred – oh, how they occurred. We danced. We drank. We drank. We danced. And despite the aftermath of Jager bombs and never-ending vodka drinks that led us to be a lethargic, hungover bunch of buffoons yesterday, we had a blast.

But alas, it’s back to reality. Back to the work-week where calendars are full and days are long and mornings come much too soon. Instead of lazy lie-abouts with adorable birthday boys, I have a room that needs to be vacuumed, a closet that is still overflowing despite my best efforts of downsizing and a list of “Things to Do” that is near overwhelming. Instead of recapping the night before’s insanity while lounging about on a porch, I have a full inbox and a messy desk. And even though I don’t have a birthday dinner to plan nor gifts to buy nor the excitement & anticipation that goes along with it, I have a satisfied exhaustion that comes with a full weekend of fun and excitement.

And a huge smile on my face.