Happy birthday to a man who works his bootie off for his family and still comes home with energy enough for Jacob. He is obnoxiously good at everything he does. He is smart, kind, and forgiving. He is not good at relaxing. He is neat, orderly, and organized. He cannot carry a tune. He is very competetive. He has a five-year and a ten-year plan. He loves his children. He has a funny laugh. He is immensely practical and pragmatic. Sometimes he buys me flowers for no reason. He loves beets, which is pretty random. He has at least one feeling. Sometimes I want to throw things at him, and other times he makes me laugh until I snort (and then makes fun of that and I laugh even more). He is not good at finding things. He knows how to give a compliment that makes you feel kinda bad at the end. He doesn’t cry very often. He is good at fixing things that are broken. He suddenly fell in love with country music (much to my chagrin). He isn’t going to know what “pragmatic” or “chagrin” mean, and he’s not going to look them up. He loves to wear board shorts and flip flops. He never knows the words to songs but sings them anyway. He can still surprise me with his sweetness from time to time.