"You say it's your birthday. It's my birthday, too."

I loved the Beatles, but I never did really get that song. I've been humming it all day, though. Maybe because it's my birthday. (If you want to say it's your birthday, too, feel free. Lennon and McCartney said it first.)

Today isn't a milestone birthday. Sweet sixteen and the ever-sought-after 21 are both faded memories. The big 5-0 still looms far enough on the distant horizon to be an insignificant speck. Nevertheless, I'm another year older and hopefully another year wiser. I spent a little while tonight looking back on the last twelve months. Guess what? I have very few regrets. Now, that's what I call a good year.

Still there are those few niggling things. I wish I'd hugged my children more and listened to their long drawn out stories with better attention. I wish I'd told my husband more often how much I treasure him as a best friend, besides being madly in love with him. I wish I'd drank more water. Sorry. I just had to throw that in to see if you were paying attention. I am a little dehydrated, though. And pretty determined to not have those same regrets next year at this time. So look out, family, it's the post-birthday lovefest! :)

I'm having a houseful for the Thanksgiving holiday weekend, but I'll try my best to squeeze in a Turkey Day blog entry. If not, remember I Thessalonians 5:18, and in everything give thanks. Even for birthdays!

Peace and grace to you all!