Let's take a trip back to the end of July,

back to when OP turned 30.

Whoa.  He's so old.

Yes, I know that I'm only a year behind him, but for this one year I'm going to enjoy calling him "Old Man".  Which I have done at least three times a day since he turned the big 3-0.

Around nine o'clock the night before his birthday, Orrin called me from work and requested cinnamon rolls for his birthday breakfast.  I just kinda sat there.

"Do you know how long it takes to make homemade cinnamon rolls?"

"Umm... you can make them for my lunch instead."  

*sigh* 

And, for his breakfast, he had these waiting for him.

*these babies were fresh from the oven, pre-frosting*

Spoiled brat.

The kiddos did some decorating, including the traditional birthday chair.

The only fought a little while they were doing it too.

And by a little, I mean a lot.

After picking up 30 balloons from Fry's- do you know how hard it is to get 30 helium-filled balloons into an Expedition with four kids already inside on a windy day?- we came home and got to decorating even more.

I had 30 pictures printed of Orrin throughout his lifetime- I was aiming for a picture per year, but I let go of that expectation pretty quick- and taped them onto the floating balloons.

The girls got to taping up crepe paper as a barrier to keep the balloons in the entryway,

And since Porter kept crawling under the streamers (and pulling down the girls' hard work while doing so), he was sentenced to coloring the paper that instructed Orrin to enter through the front door instead of the garage.

Where is Wyatt during all of this mayhem?  The excitement of riding home in a balloon-filled car was just too much for him and he collapsed into bed and slept pretty darn soundly for three hours.  Bonus!

Anywho, the Old Man came home.

And enjoyed his gifts with great enthusiasm.

He ate his requested tacos for lunch.

laid down for a quick snooze with his little girl,

and then was off to work again.

And I refused to cook another meal for the rest of the day.  Thank goodness for Little Caesar's. 

*You may be wondering a bit about the weird timeline.  Orrin worked until after midnight that night, came home, slept for a few hours, went to a meeting, then came back home, and- once again- left for work.*

He really should get more rest.  He's no spring chicken anymore.