I had a birthday. It was a good one.
Last year on my birthday, I helped my best friend bury her husband--who was also a dear friend of mine. It was a tragic, heartbreaking day.
This year my husband made sure the day was special. During breakfast, he announced he was taking the day off so we could do anything I wanted to. It was my day.
We went to all my favorite places and did all my favorite things. We had a blast. All through the day, he had small gifts planted in unusual places.
My guy is not Lance Romance, mind you. He's not the guy that plans extravagant galas to celebrate my birth (or our anniversary or anything else for that matter). But it's the little things that make my heart go pitter-pat; our desire to spend unplanned time together, to spontaneously see where the day takes us, to simply enjoy each other's company.
It's the joy I see in his face when he knows he's making me happy. And he knows how to make me happy.
Wine + chocolate + nuts + candles + a Stephen King book = a great birthday. Thanks, baby.