Are You Really 30?

There it is. I've already committed the hugest faux pas of birthdays by mentioning your age. And I did it right in the title. Well, since you don't answer your phone on your birthday, which is also a faux pas, it's your own fault. (Aren't you proud of me, spelling "faux pas" correctly? In the true fashion of our older seester, "I GOOGLED it!" Which I don't think diminishes my awesomeness in using French in my writing. But back to your awesomeness.)

It's truly amazing that you've made it this far. AND with your original brain, despite your family's best efforts to make you absolutely insane. (Which is what I am after spending an entire month having the same conversation 5,000 times with Grandma. But back to your insanity.)

You are not just a wonderful seester based on your deliciously yummy and incredibly intelligent offspring - though it certainly didn't hurt your odds. But you are a fabulous mama to both of your girls! And not just because you took them to Starbucks. (Ok, mostly because you took them to Starbucks. Yes, them. I didn't stutter. Selene had a steamed vanilla and her little sister had a PSL - awww . . . her little seester!! But enough about my addictions to cute butts and Starbutts - I mean Starbucks. Back to your addictions.)

It still continues to blow my mind how opposite and at odds we were growing up, though I don't think we were so much opposite as at odds. I still remember you hitting me with a brush. . . . But I also remember you writing me letters from college about loving to get mail from me - in your little "spider home" did you call it? And I remember the feeling of being so happy to be a bridesmaid in your wedding, and how useful I felt that day (though I think my usefulness was spent in running down hallways yelling at groomsmen who were supposed to be ushering guests to their seats but were instead offering to peel the breading off the chicken nuggets they were eating so that I could have a gluten free one. Oh, and pinning boutonnieres on lopsided. Did you think that was how you spelled that word? Because spell check says "yes" and I think it looks "no." Enough about my fiascoes. Back to your fiascoes.)

Basically, the older we've gotten (I'm getting dangerously close to that faux pas again!), the more I've enjoyed being your seester. I love the music, and books, and movies, and loves, and laughs, and - more than anything else (ok that's a big order to fill, so I THINK more than anything else, but I could be wrong) - I love that you get me. Me. Weirdo leetle seester. Is actually understood by someone else on the planet. Wow. That's not much of a complement to conclude with, but there it is. I see things every day and know that no one but you would completely understand the thought, or the sarcasm, or the stupid movie quotation running through my head at that moment but YOU. "You are my sun, my moon, my starlit sky. I dwell in darkness without you." I know. I'm a stupid dykeenee. I'm not looking up that one cause even the correct spelling would be made up, so what's wrong with mine?

If you have survived all of this long-winded blog post, know this. You are my favorite today. Because this is the day that I celebrate getting to have an older sister that I call because I can, not because I have to have a good reason. Or a coherent conversation, because Dr. Who might get in there and then you'll have lost me. (See, I got the Doctor into your birthday letter. And now your birthday is perfect. You're welcome.)

I love you.

Happy Birthday, Han.

Love,
Rach