I have no idea why I'm feeling a little melancholy about my birthday on Monday.

As a kid, my birthday was never a really big deal. Being born in December, when school had already broken up, usually put a kibosh on over-the-top celebrations.

Maybe my mother would make a cake. Perhaps a few kids from the neighbourhood would come over, without even realising it was my birthday, and we'd eat cake and play some street cricket till the sun went down.

Still, they were happy days.

They were happy days, too, once the kids were old enough to start making their own cards. I didn't need a gift. Just something made by their pudgy little hands.

I still have most of these beautiful creations. Folded pieces of card with scrawls and little drawings and messages of their undying love. Stuck with glitter and pieces of felt and the occasional pipe cleaner.

My favourite one reads "Mummy, you are the beast". An extra "a", making all the difference.

Even now the pair of them still manage to write a nice message. It's the best part of the year.

I know they feel that way all year round, but it's still nice........

© Canberra Times