The Green Family

James peeked inside the bag and said, “I know what your present is. Are you going to open it?”

Me: “Of course not. It’s a birthday present.”

James: “To me, my birthday is just another day of the year. Yours has to be some grand celebration.”

Pardon the interruption while the current me clarifies something. When I was younger, like a kid or teenager, yes, my birthday was a big deal. Now that I’m older and wiser, it’s not that exciting. I’m not exactly at the point where I dread birthdays. I don’t think I’m old at all, especially in comparison with my husband (who always forgets exactly how old I am). Still, birthdays have kind of lost their luster.

This brings us back to the question at hand: whether or not to open the present. Of course I didn’t. I like to have at least some self-control. Does that make me overly-excited about my birthday or mature? I don’t know.

This same sister, Whitney, is seven years older than me and was like a second mother to me when we were growing up. She was always taking care of me and doing my hair and dressing me up like a little doll. After she left home, went to college, and got married, she’s still taken care of me. She let me stay at her house, helped to teach me how to drive, fed me countless meals. She took me shopping, moved me out of my dorm after my freshman year, and always made me birthday cakes (even if I shared them with her son, Luke, who happens to have a birthday close to mine).

Yet at the same time, Whitney is impulsive and spontaneous. She likes to have fun and giggle. I’ve slowly matured and come of age, so to speak. The other day, she asked me, “Do you want to come skydiving with me for my thirtieth birthday?” Yeah, right. Way too scary for me. Does that make me childish or responsible? I don’t know.

Another time, when she had some reckless idea or was making some lame teenager joke, she said, “Sometimes it seems like you’re the older sister.” And sometimes it does.

Here are some photos of us over the years:

Christmas 2003, Hawaii

Fall 2005, Utah

Spring 2006, Las Vegas

Spring 2008, our backyard

Upon these recollections, I decided to put my age to the test. According to RealAge.com, my “Real Age” is 21.5, as compared to my biological age of 22.9. These are some of the results of what makes me younger and older.

Buckling up in the car

Being happily married

Not eating much (really any) red meat

Eating breakfast every day

etc.

Not knowing my cholesterol levels

Not flossing enough

Sleeping too much

Not having a dog

etc.

What does this mean? That I probably have too much time on my hands to take dumb quizzes. But really, I should floss more and take multi-vitamins (my mom’s on my case about both of those, actually). It doesn’t prove whether or not I’m really older or younger than Whitney though.

This reminds me of an interesting part of New Moon, which I will be attending in about 10 days with my sister Whitney. Bella and Jacob discuss how old they really are, according to their skills and characteristics. Here’s a synopsis of Chapter 6.