It was a good one. 
Almost ten years ago, also on Abby’s birthday we went to Acadia and we found wild blueberries by the trail, they were delicious. But as delicious as they were, there’s something truly special about the blueberry, tart as it may have been, that Roby pulled from the vine and ate for the very first time. 

She doesn’t know that the berries ought to be blue, that that’s how you tell if they’re delicious. 

She didn’t seem to mind. But a long day in the sun and the consumption of a load of sugar by way of blueberries took it’s tole on her tiny little self. 

The good news is that we discovered that her eyes look almost exactly like a blueberry when looked at from the top or the bottom, so now we call her Ol’ Blueberry Eyes. Which I think is very cute. 

It was a good day, we’ve gotten pretty good at good days. Good days used to be tougher. Not getting too in over your head, not over planning, not under planning, bringing enough food to not get hangry, tempering expectations, but still aiming high. It’s not an easy thing, and it’s a thing that indicates a degree of adulthood I might not have guessed. 

Neither of us like birthdays much because they build expectations and we’re secretly still bitter that, as adults, we’re obliged to plan them ourselves, nobody’s going to set up a cool pool party in our honor. 

Anyways, we watched our daughter eat blueberries, didn’t listen to any music, told jokes, had a ribeye, failed to watch a TV show, didn’t hold hands enough, almost helped jump start a car, and sang songs.
It was good.