Birthday love is genetic

Today is my husband's birthday.  Happy Birthday Dan!

Kellen helping Beth blow out her candles!

I love birthdays, especially my own, but birthdays as a whole.  I love balloons, wrapping paper, that look right before the birthday-ee opens his present where you know he's just trying to guess what's inside (or trying to feign surprise if he already knows).

Kellen apparently has inherited this birthday love.  We've been to several birthday parties this year, and he definitely gets the whole idea.  I think if he had it his way, we would be celebrating someone's birthday in our house 365 days a year.  And I know he's starting to get restless about it not having been his birthday yet.  I'd think a year was a long time too if it was a third of my entire life!

What Kellen loves the absolute most about birthdays is blowing out the candles.  He already pulled the star candles (labeled with a "1") out of the cake drawer to put on top of his dad's giant Oreo cake.  And the only way I could get him to take a nap was to promise him that we would wait to blow out the candles until he woke up.  And that, yes, he could help.  I'm actually starting to worry a little about taking him to another child's birthday party because he now thinks he always gets to help with the candles, and I can't see a preschooler taking well to his help.

I can't say I blame him about the birthday obsession.  Other than the aging thing, what's not to love?