A handmade card I received with my chocolate chip pancakes set the tone for my mid-week, mid-ish decade, mid-century birthday.
“Have a good ball of love,” it read and, lucky me, I did.
My ball of love grew like an April snowball in Wisconsin, shaped by pudgy fingers and delivered with joy. By the end of the day, I’d heard from every member of my far-flung family, and enjoyed nearly every version of the Happy Birthday song ever written, including a Chilean version from my son Vinnie and daughter in-law Danni who are, thankfully, making their way back to Wisconsin from their stint on a vinyard there.
My daughter in-law Tara cross-stitched me an exact replica of our home, which boggles my mind every time I look at it. How did she do that?
My little friends George and Gus made me cards and stuffed them in my mailbox, and I smiled wide when I pulled them out. My friend Katie sent me a card with sweet encouragement to keep writing, and my sister Kathy, brother in-law Keith and nephew Traveain gave me a print that I intend to use as my mantra going forward.
My mom called me at work and the conversation went like this:
“Laura, you have to leave work now and go home immediately!”
Anyone else might be alarmed, but I knew my mom was just telling me that her traditional gift of delicious Graeter’s Ice Cream had arrived. (I assured her that our confounding Wisconsin weather would keep that ice cream just fine until I got home, and it did.)
Of course, the best birthday gift is love and I’m so grateful that we humans get a whole day every year to revel in it.
Thank you to every single friend who wished me a happy birthday yesterday, to my husband who grilled me a perfect cheeseburger and corralled greetings from all our boys, and to all of you who generously read this blog three times a week.
I hope you all have good balls of love that grow exponentially with each year.