My birthday was Monday. The day played out pretty well.

The noise of my husband showering before work woke me from a sound sleep this morning.  After he toweled dry he came over to the bed, leaned over and whispered “Good morning my love, you are 4 dozen years old today.”

I found that confusing.

First of all, I was in a pre-coffee stupor. Secondly, I never liked multiplying by 12. But I gave him a kiss and a few moments later managed to pull together the mental capacity to understand he had just wished me happy 48th birthday.

Before he left for work he brought the suitcase upstairs to our bedroom for me, and placed a wrapped box on my laptop in my office. I marvel at what he can accomplish before coffee.

The suitcase was for me to pack as we had only two days until we flew out to Ottawa for Christmas. I would have gotten the suitcase myself and started my packing earlier, but spiders. In the basement. In the basement storage closet with the suitcases. I don’t like spiders.

The wrapped box was my birthday gift. It held speakers for my laptop. I can now fill my office/art room with the sounds of music. This such a relief. The stereo is on the other side of the house and the sound just doesn’t carry from the east to the west wings at all, and the speakers built into my laptop are too feeble to do my music justice.

Now I can paint to a waltz, sculpt to jazz, sew to the sounds of the grand ole opry, and type to a soothing folksy ballad.

Another first world problem solved. My husband is my hero.