it's my birthday too...

I was born on this day in 1974, and so of course my children got up early to tip-toe through the hallway and make the coffee before tidying up the living room and then waiting on the couch for me to saunter down the stairs in my satin robe. "Happy Birthday to you, dear mother," they sang - harmonized, even - on key. It's been one big festive blur of flowers, balloons, and sentiments so sweet they've made my head spin, my heart race, my mouth ache from smiling.

Oh, please don't be jealous...I'm sure your own kids would do the same.

So, my fellow parents, have you finished laughing yet? Did you correctly surmise that my "snapshot of the day" depicts with an impressive degree of accuracy (I must admit) how birthdays are actually celebrated throughout these childrearing years? For some reason, it reminds me a bit of when I was in hard labor with Mary, and Priscilla wandered into the bedroom where all was hushed and tense and excruciating (I had home births remember) because she was hungry, and wondering if I could please uncurl myself from that fetal position and get her a bowl of cereal. I've become less of a "person" over the past decade and more of an "environment" - one, I pray, that is nurturing, faith inspiring, and creative. I'm a maternal amalgamation of night lights, band-aids, hot meals, and warm skin; I'm the soil that feeds the buds now stretching upwards toward the light, toward the sun.

Mary did give me a phonics flashcard with a picture of a bow topped box on it ("P," "P," "Present!") . And Ben did help me blow out that candle on my coffee cake. Troy will bring home a movie of my own choosing, and probably rub my feet if I ask him too. I am, without a doubt, a lucky girl.