Why My Mom Is Better Than Your Mom

I don't want to make this a competition, but my mom rocks.

I sent her a Mother's Day card, like a good daughter that I pretend to be around Mother's Day, her birthday, my birthday, and Christmas. When I was home at Easter, I stashed her Mother's Day present in the desk drawer in Dad's "satellite" office in my old room. In the card I wrote where she could find her present. I added, "I poked holes, so it should still be alive."

Today, we had our weekly phone call. She said, "Sara... It's dead." She had me for a second because I couldn't know what she was talking about. She continued, "And starting to smell." Oh, right. "Like cucumber melon?" I asked. I had given her cucumber melon lotion and soap and some toiletry freebies I had picked up while on the interview circuit.

That's a good mom: one who can one-up your jokes.

The card--a good card, not a great card--featured a mama kangaroo looking in her pouch, saying "Don't _make_ me come in there". I didn't know kangaroos could look in their pouches.