Happy Birthday!

She really shouldn't have been born on St. Patrick's Day. If there is a fiery-tempered sibling who fits the Irish stereotype in our family, it's not her. She's the middle child. The peacemaker. The cheerleader. The mender of torn hems and of hearts. She's the one everyone loves to be around. And the one we all want to please.

My sister does have a bit of the ol' Irish luck, though. Our first international vacation together was a mess of delayed flights, bad weather and lost luggage. We spent Thanksgiving, smelly and tired in a flea-infested Paris hotel without any hope that we'd get our luggage before we left for our next destination. She smiled right through it and convinced me our dinner of oranges and chocolate was the best she'd ever had and our trip would be splendid - with or without clean underwear. Our suitcases arrived 6 hours later.

A few years later she gamely agreed to a vacation in Thailand - even though the food, open markets and 24 hour flight were anything but exciting to her. She came despite the fact that I'd just spent six months trying to make her hate me. I was being jealous and petty, and I'm still not sure why she ever forgave me. We rode elephants, ogled enormous golden buddhas and experienced the torture that is traditional Thai massage. I've thought about going back, but it wouldn't be the same without her. And now that she's married and the mother of one of my favorite nephews, she's got better things to do than sit on a beach with me.

I don't hold that against her, because deep down we both know I'll be lucky if I turn out half as well as she has.