My grandfather, accomplished raconteur and all-around gentleman that he was, used to refer to birthdays with the quaint term “natal day” when writing birthday letters and the like. Daddy has picked it up, usually wishing me a happy natal day on one of the cards he sends (one’s always funny, one’s always “a serious card” in honor and mockery of a long-ago Hallmark TV commercial).

Well, today is, in fact, my Natal Day. Since I am no longer a child, I don’t expect it to be an orgy of wow. It’ll probably be a regular day, full of work and taxi-driving for Frick and Frack and the usual Wednesday night activities at church. And perhaps a present or two from Mr. Man.

Considering I have a lovely (though messy) home, a wonderful (though forgetful at times) husband, two beautiful (though frustrating) children, and a rewarding (though exhausting) job, I really have nothing more to wish for, do I? Except perhaps a massage and some really good chocolate. Mr. Man, are you listening?