A birthday dinner

Tonight is my birthday dinner with my parents, sister and aunt. My dear husband has made me beef stew, homemade bread, and apple crisp.

And I have some confessions. I act all nonchalant that great, beautiful presents come into my home for me. "Oh, that's nice. Presents for me? You shouldn't have." But inside I am just as giddy as Ellie was as she made a grand entrance holding one and exclaiming that such presents were here for me. When I pass them, my head turns as my eyes lock on them and my brain searches to guess what fine things are inside. And although I do feel slightly self-conscience when I hear choruses of "Happy Birthday to You," I would miss hearing them if they were forgotten.

But really all the laud should go to my mother, for I had no say about being born, and she did all the work. She had all the pain and joy of that day (well, I guess Dad had joy too.) I don't remember any of it.

So why do I get all the acclamation?

I love you, mom. Thank you.