Ode to Mom

I think an 'ode' is officially a poem. This is not a poem. Whatever.

Earlier in the week, I was having a conversation with Jodie about her birthday this weekend. Maddie understands that it's her birthday and has taken to announcing that "Mommy is 34."

I told her that I specifically remember being in second grade and telling everyone (teachers, the bus driver, neighbors, strangers, whoever),

"It's easy to remember my bus number. My bus is 23 and my mom is 23!"

No seven year old should ever have a 23 year old mom. And, I'm just guessing that moms don't want their kids announcing their age regardless of what it is. I certainly won't want my kid announcing my age when he's seven, which, by the way, will be 38. I can't even fathom it.

Mom, I think things worked out pretty well for us though. I mean, the odds were pretty stacked against us. It's practically a miracle that I'm not a sociopathic serial killer. And you know who taught me about serial killers? You did when you helped me with that sixth grade social studies fair project. Remember? You helped me profile Jeffrey Dahmer, David Berkowitz and the like on one of those folding foam board things. I can't even imagine what my teachers must've thought of that. Oh wait, yes I can. They were probably thinking,

"Someone's going to be profiling this girl one day. Didn't Jeffrey Dahmer have a teenage mother too? I wonder if she likes the taste of human flesh?"

Thanks, Mom, for not turning me into a serial killer (so far) and for teaching me about them. I hope I can do the same for my son.