And it was a grand day after all. . .

When you're a kid it can be almost fun having a birthday on a school day. At least it was when I grew up. Once you were in a school with lockers, friends had something to decorate. It's something I had forgotten about until this moment. Walking up to my locker to find it wrapped in bright colored paper with streamers and bows adorning it. There would be notes scribbled all over for me to read and a balloon to take with me from class to class - to advertise "Be nice, it's my birthday!"

As an adult, things are different. Rarely do they decorate your little cube. (Although one year they did decorate mine but that's another story.) If you try to walk from meeting to meeting with the big balloon or the pin that flashes "I'm the Birthday Girl!" you get sneers directed your way. I suppose it is awfully hard to take someone seriously with mylar spheres tired to his/her belt loop.

I actually hate working on my birthday. Work is a place where I tend to get annoyed at least once during the 8+ hour stretch. There are occasions upon which I wonder where they recruit my cohorts. There are even times I wonder if the person on the other end of my phone got their degree inside the Cracker Jack box instead of, you know, a real school.

Certainly there are moments throughout a normal day at home with a toddler and a preschooler where I find myself outside the 'happy zone.' I don't pretend being home is nirvana - but annoyance with one's own off-spring is different than irritation caused by one's boss.

Yet here we were. A birthday. On a Tuesday. Working only two days a week, I tend to forget I still can't avoid the work day birthday.

I was about half-way though my day and I was feeling bummed. It was one of *those* days in the corporate jungle. The kind where I swear I will buy a real lottery ticket instead of imagining how I'm going to spend the money on the pretend one I typically buy. No one I still wanted to talk to was able to leave the office to grab lunch. It was looking like another dash to the food court and bring back something to gnash on at the desk.

But damn it, it's my birthday and I wanted cake. The food court offers lousy cake options. Instead I bought a magazine. I headed to my favorite quiet eatery. Got a table for one. I sat. I ate well. I read. It was actually quite nice.

I returned to find a giant (and quite HEAVY!) vase of long stem red roses on my desk. My husband clearly understands how much I dislike the work day birthday. He sent me a perk.

I left early. Kids had to be picked up so Mom could leave for an early meeting. It was a rough start to our time together. They were a little high strung and hard of hearing. Yet it settled down. Time in the yard. Time to play. Time to tinker some more with the camera toy.

We started baths. We ordered dinner to go from the local steak place. I read stories. He picked up the food. The kids went to sleep. I ate Filet Mignon.

When all was said and done, it was a good day. It started with family and it ended that way. Another year older. Another year wiser. Another year loved.

Can you ask for more than that?