Special

Yesterday was the 17th of June. That meant that the biggest hand on the clock moved inexorably forward another tick.

I am 37.

Given the fact that I’d been out drinking with some old work colleagues on Friday night and then played a game of soccer Saturday afternoon, I have to say that I felt every minute of 37 years old and probably had some minutes on loan from later in life as well!

We had nothing special planned for my birthday, Caroline had a hockey game in the afternoon and we were to catch up with family to celebrate in the evening (special in itself, but not special as in unusual).

And with an impending move to the other side of the world, the whole gift thing was made difficult for people, because its not like there’s too much one actually wants when already living out of a suitcase which will soon accompany you around the globe.

But the day was definitely special and the thing that really made it that way was the four smalls and what their Daddy’s birthday meant to them. I came home from soccer Saturday and stepped into a hive of messy chaos which I was quickly warned away from.

I was presented with the fruits of the labour on Sunday morning; a collection of home-made cards, greetings and love-filled wishes from my children. It was priceless. There really is nothing that you could ask for that could ever come close to the love that was delicately folded and moulded and imbued within each of the items that I was presented with.

It was in all ways, special.