We are celebrating my daughter's birthdays today. They turn 31 years old.

I still remember the day they were born like it was yesterday. I was 25 years old and still stupid about life when these two were born.

They took their time getting here and when they finally arrived they were tiny, scrunchy creatures. Especially Krissy who weighed in at three pounds 13 ounces.

Keely was a whole six pounds two ounces and tiny as she was she seemed to tower over her sister born four and one-half minutes later. Or so it seems in their first early pictures.

They whisked Krissy away very quickly to the other side of the room. But I could still see her and she opened her eyes and looked back into mine. They let me hold Keely. As I held her and looked across the room into Krissy's eyes--well, that was the moment I understood love--complete, all-encompassing, unconditional love.

Krissy was fine just tiny so they kept her wrapped up tightly and in a "warmer." It was three weeks before she came home to join her sister--just a few days before Thanksgiving. The first thing I did when we got her home was to unwrap her quickly and count her fingers and toes. They were all there.

I loved being the mother of twins. We belonged to a twin study at Indiana University and got a lot of information about multiples from it. They did tests to confirm our girls were identical. We joined a group in Indianapolis of parents with twins and made a lot of friends.

The tests didn't mean much to me, I never saw Keely and Krissy as identical. To me, they have always been their own separate individuals. I may have occasionally called one by the wrong name but when I did I knew right away.

People use to ask how we handled it. "We didn't know any better! I had two arms so I could cuddle them both," I would answer.

I miss that cuddling now that they are grown-ups. We still hug frequently but there is something so warm and comforting about having little arms wrapped tightly around you.

Twelve years later, Bo my son was born. It was the same thing all over again. I held him in my arms and looked into his tiny face (he was all of eight pounds, nine ounces) and once again I knew that I would walk through fire, throw myself in front of a bus or face a gun to protect this child.

What I didn't expect was having the same feeling twelve years later, on Oct. 29 when my grandson Matt was born. Tomorrow is his birthday. One day after his mother and aunt.

Once again, I felt that fierce compelling love that leads me to believe all things are possible for the child I held in my arms.

At my age birthdays don't have the meaning they once did--unless, of course, it is your child or grandchild's birthday. On that day all of life's possibilities are spread out in a kaleidoscope of color.

My kids have good lives. Keely is a marketing maverick working for the Orange County (French Lick) Convention Bureau. She and her fiancé Kyle plan to marry in 2011.

Krissy is a mother. Besides Matt are Riley, who turns four in November and Emma who just made it to one in Sept.

Bo wants to be an environmental scientist so he is off in the great wilderness of Alaska learning survival techniques.

Matt just wants to hit a goal each week in soccer and get an A on his spelling test. Riley, our princess wants what she wants when she wants it. Emma is happy running after the two of them.

My dream is that my days of mothering, grand mothering and maybe even great grand mothering will never come to an end.

After all, a birthday, when not your own, offers endless possibilities. Just be sure to appreciate them because all those special minutes fly by quickly.

Happy, happy birthday K, K & Matt!