Belated is the New Black.

For 33 years, since the day I was born, my birthday has been celebrated in the warm summer month of August.

This past August, we got so busy living life to the fullest that my birthday celebrating took a back burner to our North woods exploring, #CottageWeek relaxing, and Denver discovering.

And while I did receive a singing pirate 'stache card (every girl's dream), a super sweet new camera strap (thanks, T), a pizza night with 14 of my favorite people (big and little), the distinction of celebrating my birthday week and cottage week simultaneously, and a Feel-the-Zeel sort of girls' night...

I kind of missed out on birthday cake and sweet cards with tiny signatures scrawled inside and -- the one thing I ask for on my birthday without fail -- a picture with my precious little kiddos.

Now my friends and family know that I take my birthday very seriously. I have been quoted as saying, "If you don't celebrate you, ain't nobody going to celebrate you." 

And I mean it. I love my birthday.

But really, at 33, I am adult -- like really, really an adult -- so I put on my big girl panties and moved on.

Imagine then my surprise to return home from taking the kids for hair cuts on Saturday morning and told to wait in the chilly fall air ...just for a second.

I waited... and when I was allowed in, I was handed my first clue. {Matt's kind of a legend around here with his scavenger hunt designs.}

It led me up to Mady's room. Which happened to be dark. And quiet. With nary a toddler in sight.

Until suddenly the closet door flings open, and the cutest 2 1/2 year old you've ever seen, yells "SURPRISE!" and hands me my first gift: a card featuring a dog sporting pigtails and braces. A card only a toddler would pick and exactly what this mama would have wished for.

Next we went to Dylan's room... and out of his closet pops my first baby - my deep thinking, hard working, almost eight year old boy with a beautiful bouquet of fall flowers.

Our last stop was Ella's room. By now I know to go straight to the closet, and when I open it, I find my sweet, pretty, full-of-life girl holding a plate of fluffy, shaken-by-her-giggles cupcakes from one of the best bakeries in town.

We laughed and laughed from one room to the next. We jumped up and down.
I was surprised, really, truly surprised. The kids were delighted. I was delighted. We reveled in the silliness of it all.

I felt loved. I am loved.

So that's the story of how I found myself eating birthday cupcakes on a cold October Saturday (before lunch, no less), seven weeks after my birthday.

That's the tale of the time I was blindsided by belated birthday love.

And that's how I got my picture this year... un-showered and in my best errand running clothes... but I stayed in the picture.

After we finished wiping the frosting from our lips, we went and picked out pumpkins. (Because that's what you do in October.)

In the end, a birthday is just a day. And whether it's August or October, it doesn't really matter... the joy is in the celebration.