But no matter what, Jenny will always be older than me.

Thirty years ago today, my birth was proclaimed to all the world via the "today's special" sign outside my dad's restaurant. With such an auspicious beginning, there should have been little doubt that I was destined for great things. I mean, really, can President Obama or the Pope claim to have beat out fish and chips for top billing the day that either of them were born? I don't think so. And I am proud to say that I have spent the past three decades living up to the tremendous potential hinted at by that sign so many years ago: I am a pretty decent teacher, a college graduate, a published writer, and a returned missionary. I can play three instruments, speak fluent Canadian, and program my DVR to record two programs at the same time. When I look back on my list of accomplishments, I can't help but feel tremendously blessed, which is odd because, when I look back on the photos of my early childhood, I can't help but notice that I look tremendously annoyed.

My big sister Jenny always seems to be smiling and looking pleased as punch about her lot in life, but my facial expressions seemed confined to the unhappy, confused, or generally ticked off side of the emotional spectrum. I find this to be somewhat troubling because I have always believed my childhood was extraordinarily pleasant. Photographic evidence, however, seems to disprove that.

Apparently, my childhood was full of terror,

...frustration,

... confusion,

...and whatever emotion inspired me to do this.

I clearly suffered a great deal during my formative years, but that newly gained insight into my past has actually had a positive effect on me. I have been anticipating this thirtieth birthday with a great deal of trepidation because I couldn't imagine that my life could get any better than it has been. I felt like I had already experienced my high point and everything else would have to be a downhill plunge into the dark and hopeless abyss of old age. So you can imagine my relief when I realized that, according to the photos, my childhood actually sucked, which means I still have some good years banked.

Of course, my other working theory to explain the faces in the photos is that I spent the first five years of my life stressing out over the knowledge that I would eventually be thirty years old. And that would explain why, when my mom wished me "Happy Birthday" this morning, my facial expression looked an awful lot like the one I am wearing in the photo below.

Here's hoping the next thirty years are just as terrifying, frustrating, and confusing as the last thirty, because it has been one heck of a fun ride. Viva la birthdays! And please pass the cake.