Last week was my 35^th birthday. It was a Monday like any other—I woke up.  I went to work. I came home. I went grocery shopping. We had dinner.  I spent a little time with my husband.  I went to bed. All the little things that make up a day—pretty unordinary for a birthday, but it was a Monday, after all.

Except, there’s more to it than just that.

I woke up and got my son up. The two of us enjoyed some alone time together before daddy got up, a time of day I always look forward to. I went to work, to a job I love, one that feels challenging and rewarding and satisfying. I came home to a bouquet of yellow roses from my guys. My husband took over the bedtime routine, so that I had time to myself. I went grocery shopping, a chore I honestly enjoy, and I got to go by myself, which was heavenly. When I got home, I took a long, hot shower, which was also heavenly. After my son was asleep, my husband and I cooked a late dinner, and enjoyed it together, just the two of us. We spent time snuggling on the couch before going to bed.

Yes, it was a Monday like any other, but those little things that made up the day are actually the big things that make up a life worth celebrating, on my birthday or any other ordinary day.