Grady and I watched the sunrise this morning. I can't think of a better way to spend a birthday morning than to watch the sun slowly rise up behind the mountains.

Nope. Wait. Just thought of something that is better. Sleeping in. Take note for next year, Grady.

We went for coffee at my favourite coffee shop and then we went for a walk and pretended to be statues while Shawn pretended not to know us.

We went to my parents' house for a full turkey lunch (Thanksgiving birthdays are the best, you guys.) We had five different kinds of pie. Five.

I went for my very first facial and I did not hate it. I don't know if I liked it yet (my skin is persnickety and there's a pretty good chance I'll wake up tomorrow cherry red even though they used all natural ingredients.) It did get me thinking about skincare though, so y'all have that post to look forward to (not really.)

Grady graced us with his presence for a pizza dinner even though he "already ate dinner LAST NIGHT. MOM." (#threenager)

It was the very best kind of birthday. Full of the people I love. My phone died midway through the day (my iPhone has been living on borrowed time ever since I fully submerged it in water in January 2013. It is becoming less and less functional but it still works! Sometimes!) so when I finally found a power source I had a wave of messages and birthday love notes from my friends. It was the kind of day where my heart felt full numerous times. I can't ask for anything more than that. (Except maybe a new phone. Please and thanks.)

Tomatoes are "main-os" (and cherry tomatoes are "baby main-os" obviously.) Helicopters are "coppers." Hiccups are "hips up." Lemons are "nemon juice." Pigs are "piggybacks." Soup is "dupe."

Your favourite food is "cheesy pasta" (mac & cheese.) You love pancakes ("cakes! Cakes!") You hate vegetables and meat. You exist mainly on cheese and carbs. You're definitely related to me is what I'm saying.

You love to make a mess but you hate to see a mess ("mesth, mama! Mesth!") (You have a bit of a lisp. It kills me dead.) You do this thing where you make a giant mess and then look at me with your face all scrunched up and you say in the sweetest voice, "happened, mama?" Well, you happened, buds.

You love music (especially classic rock) and you start to shake your little tush at the slightest hint of a beat. You turn everything into a drum set and I know I'm biased but I truly believe you've already got a perfect sense of rhythm and time.

You love water. Love it. Your favourite pastime is to splish and splash in your water table or, better yet, with the garden hose. You would play in water all day if we let you.

You have been a trooper throughout all this cancer business. You are so gentle and careful around my scar. "Mama's owie," you say and then lean in to give it a soft kiss.

You give the best hugs. You wrap your arms so tightly around my neck and say, "squeeeeeeze" before you finish with a few firm pats on my back.

You are so challenging and so stubborn and so absolutely wonderful. I love you, Gus Gus. Happy birthday.