Happy Birthday, Mom, and Thanks.

Tomorrow is my mom's birthday. She's turning 70. Which is sort of hard to believe.

Seventy? My mom? But that makes me...

Well, that too, of course.

Anyway, for once this isn't about me. Except for the part where I owe so much of who I am to her.

My mom introduced me to the music of Linda Ronstadt, Joan Baez, Neil Diamond, the Moody Blues, and Andrew Lloyd Weber.

My mom taught me how to do cross-stitch and needlepoint. She tried to teach me to knit and crochet, but my head exploded. So she knit fabulous sweaters for me instead.

My mom gave me a lifelong love of reading. Because of her I discovered science fiction, especially Robert Heinlein and Isaac Asimov. Because of her I devoured the "Dragonriders of Pern" series. Because of her I grew up wanting to read, and I'm proud to have passed that on to Precocious Daughter (whose personal summer reading list included The Great Gatsby, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and several original James Bond novels).

My mom made sure I watched "Sesame Street" and "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" every day when I was a pre-schooler. And she watched with me.

My mom got me hooked on game shows, soap operas, and Oprah Winfrey.

My mom taught me to cook and bake, including the most important step: cleaning up. Which is why, even though I'm a fairly indifferent housekeeper in every other room, I can't abide a dirty kitchen.

My mom wasn't perfect, and she didn't raise perfect kids. But she raised three kids who love her very much. Which is way better, as any mother knows.

Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you. You seem much younger than 70 to me.

Feel free to return the compliment.