Squishy entry, but deal with it, it's my birthday.

Dads are so easy.

I'm in the shower this morning. I'm not awake yet, though the hot water hitting the back of my neck is doing its work. Through the frosted glass of the shower, I see the bathroom door open. This is highly unusual. Laura never gets out of bed until she has to.

But she apparently did have to: Someone wanted access to me.

Laura cracks the shower door, and says, "Someone wants to say something."

I see the tousled blonde hair behind her, at waist height. I bend over.

She is beaming. The glee in her face -- her entire body -- is all because of the message that she is practically shaking to give me. And she delivers it with a devastating smile:

"Happy birthday, Daddy!"

"Thank you, sweetie."

And she whirls around and returns to the bedroom to snuggle with Mom for a few minutes. Laura and I exchange sleepy smiles before she leaves.

Shortly, dried and getting dressed, I approach Piper, who sits up in bed. She repeats her salutations.

"Honey," I tell her with a hug, "if no one mentions my birthday for the rest of the day, this will still be a great day, after that greeting."

It's not bad to be reminded -- not just on your birthday but on a daily basis -- how important the moments that have become innocuous to us as adults are still as thrilling as a roller-coaster ride to some younger than us. It's not bad to be reminded that we should strive to recapture that thrill of the mundane of another birthday. I've had 41 of them. It doesn't mean I shouldn't remember the thrill of my fourth.