Happy Birthday, Mom!

My mother grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. Her family didn't have much money, but my mother made it to Penn State anyway (her straight A's probably helped). She majored in journalism and wrote for the Daily Collegian. Since this was the early '60's, most college educated women became teachers or nurses. When my mom walked into her first professional newsroom, she was the only woman not getting coffee.

My mom dealt with being young, female and hot (she still looks so good) in a profession dominated by older men in the coolest way possible - she taught herself to drink martinis and swear like a sailor. And she became the first woman general news editor at a respected news organization. She met my dad because she was his boss (this was the mid-'60's).

Eventually she married my dad, helped him found the company they work at to this day and had me. She worked and was still "The Picture Lady" at my school (she came in and taught us about great works of art). To this day she supports me in too many ways to count and STILL brags about my ballet performances. The only time she has ever lied was to tell me about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And as soon as I got old enough to question them, she told me the truth. When I loudly asked what a douche was as we were surrounded by businessmen on a crowded airplane, she did her best to answer me. She reads ALL of my blogs.

My mother will tell you that she's pushing seventy. She will tell you that after she gets home from the gym, cleans the house, works in her garden and makes a fantastic dinner (with candlelight!) or goes to ballet class, goes to work and makes a fabulous dinner. She will tell you that after she outruns my children. She will tell you that after she has a couple of martinis. She will tell you that while she hauls a huge sack of peat to her garden. She will tell you that as she puts on high heels made in Italy and an above the knee skirt and you realize that her legs are better than yours.

Have a wonderful birthday, Mom.