I celebrated my 44^th birthday a few weeks ago. I’m not a huge fan of being the center of attention any of the other 364 days of the year. But on my birthday, I do enjoy friends and family acknowledging that it’s a significant day in my life. I mean, had I not been born that fateful day, it would be pretty difficult to write this post.

About a month before the big day, I realized that I had forgotten how old I was. Apparently the year 2020 ceased to exist in some sort of alternate space/time continuum in my mind, because I was convinced I was actually turning 43.

Nothing like discovering you missed a year of your life and you didn’t even realize you lost it. I guess living through a pandemic has messed with all of our minds just a bit.

I don’t actually feel that old. Sometimes it seems like high school was just yesterday. Then I realize that every piece of clothing I owned in 1993 has been resurrected and is on display in the junior’s section at Target and it’s a big fat reality check.

I always tend to get super reflective and nostalgic around birthdays. I’ve been reflecting on how much has happened in 43 44 years. This thought process led me down a rabbit trail of childhood memories.

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I grew up in a time when McDonald’s packaged everything in giant Styrofoam containers. I spent my fair share of time on their outdoor playground. This was back when we burned our legs on their metal hamburger-shaped jungle gym, and no one came behind us with a WetOne to remove the germs from our sticky hands.

Remember how they gave out plastic food service gloves disguised as hand puppets printed with Grimace or Mayor McCheese? If you happened to secure one with Ronald McDonald on the front, you’d hit the jackpot. As soon as you put it on, your hand would instantly bead with sweat, rendering the “puppet” useless. And also really gross.

My grandparents used to take me to McDonald’s every time they were in town for a visit. We sat side by side in a booth with big orange benches. They asked me about school and I explained why social studies was my least favorite subject, but I loved writing because I got to make up stories.

I ate my chicken nuggets soooo slowly (eating all the fried breading off first, as you do) because I simply didn’t want to leave. In that moment, having their undivided attention and being the recipient of their genuine oohs and ahhs over my regular elementary-kid life, I felt so completely loved. I still feel a little warm and fuzzy when I drive by a McDonald’s.

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I can’t remember my childhood without thinking of Cabbage Patch Kids. There was a season where the 5:00 news frequently featured reporters shouting to be heard above the roar of moms on a mission. Toy stores were constantly packed with parents, all fighting to get one of those unfortunate looking dolls into their shopping cart. On my birthday in 1985, my parents surprised me with my very own, desperately coveted, bald-headed doll complete with her very own official birth certificate. I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and didn’t have the slightest inkling that it appeared someone switched her face with her bottom.

I recently read that original Cabbage Patch Kids, in perfect condition, are going for upwards of three grand online. I could kick myself for getting into my mom’s sewing kit and piercing Tiffany Marie’s ears with ball-topped straight pins. But then again, there’s no way I would have left her in the box and missed out on the joy of proudly taking her everywhere I went.

That doll was ridiculously loved. Because of her, I learned what it’s like to be truly grateful for what I have. There was no assurance I would ever be able to care for my very own Cabbage Patch Kid, because they were nearly impossible to get. I cherished her, knowing I held a treasure. One that was, apparently, hatched from a cabbage.

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The Jelly Sandals craze is something that I still don’t quite understand. Those plastic-rubbery shoes came in all kinds of colors, and “everybody has them!” The bottoms of the heels had various openings, perfect for getting playground rocks stuck inside. Another birthday came around and I received my own pair of purple jelly sandals.

The first day I wore them, I got blisters the size of quarters on the backs of my heels. I pretended it was no big deal, but walked around like my feet were made of egg shells. My mom caught on, and suggested I take a break from wearing them.

I obviously wouldn’t hear of it. So in a stroke of desperate ingenuity, I decided to wear them to school with thick white socks. It looked as good as you would imagine. I suppose that taught me perseverance? Or at least not to care when the other girls pointed out that jellies were definitely not supposed to be worn with socks. I acknowledged the accuracy of their criticism, but did you notice that I’m wearing my very own pair of jelly sandals?!

Every time I wore those shoes, I felt so incredibly fancy.

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It’s amazing how the regular, ordinary experiences end up being the ones that truly shape you and teach you the most valuable life lessons. I could write for days about the small things in life that have brought me the most joy.

And the best part is, they aren’t limited to the carefree moments of childhood. Those small moments continue throughout our lives. Years from now, I’ll look back at this post with fondness, remembering the joyful highlights of birthday #44:

I went to one of my favorite restaurants with my husband and daughters. Looking across the table, I realized how grateful I was to be sitting on the inside of a restaurant. That wasn’t the case this time last year.

I met some sweet friends for dinner and drinks on a Monday afternoon. I’m grateful that even when weeks turn into months, we always pick up right where we left off. I don’t think we can take for granted the people that just fit comfortably into our lives. There’s no tugging or forcing it to fit. It just does. What a gift.

My dearest friend and I FINALLY started planning our belated-by-a-year birthday trip. I don’t know what else to say, except that C0VID is a total jerk.

I love how God often uses the regular moments of our lives to bring the most joy. I believe He designed it that way to encourage us to pay close attention to the everyday, mundane moments instead of constantly waiting for the big milestones or events. Of course we’ll remember those, too. But the little things can bring just as much happiness.

God’s in the business of making the small things holy. After all, He’s the only who can use a processed chicken nugget to create a lifelong memory filled with love.