Baby Maiasauruses had all the luck. They had good mothers.

Their mothers never made them wear sunscreen, eat their peas, or go to bed before they were done reading their dinosaur books.

My mom makes me do all that stuff—and way more.

Like the time my baseball coach was going to take us for ice cream after the game.

"Not right now," Mom said. "It's almost supper time. You don't want to ruin your appetite for liver, do you?"

OF COURSE I wanted to ruin my appetite for liver! Sometimes it's hard to believe how silly moms can be. Not Maiasaurus moms, I'll bet.

Another time, Mom found me getting ready to play Rodeo with Hamilton, my dog.

"I don't think so," Mom said. "Does Hamilton look like a steer to you?" She took away my rope and my spurs. "You're not going to play Get Along Little Dogie with our doggy," she said.

"Don't they mean the same thing?" I asked.

"Look them up," Mom said.

She always does that. I'll bet Maiasaurus moms never made their dino kids expand their minds.

Sure enough, the dictionary said a dogie is a stray calf. A doggy is a little dog. Hamilton isn't little. But I'm sure Maiasaurus moms would let their babies play Rodeo anyway.

And Parachute.

And Stunt Man.

And even Ghost in the Garden. But not my mom.

"Real ghosts float," Mom said. "Little boys trample tomato vines. Tomatoes are much better inside you than squished on the soles of your sneakers."

That did it. "I wish I was a Maiasaurus," I hollered. "Hamilton and I want a Maiasaurus mom! And we really mean it!"

"What on earth are you yelling about?" Mom said.

"Look it up," I said.

"Look what up?"

So I showed her in my dinosaur books where it said Maiasauruses might have been very good to their babies. Scientists found fossils of Maiasauruses looking after their babies in nests. The word Maiasaurus even means "good mother lizard."

"I want a Maiasaurus mom," I said again and went back outside.

I climbed my favorite tree higher than ever before. Then I just sat and thought about how great it would be if I had a Maiasaurus for a mom. I saw Mom looking out the kitchen window at me, but I didn't look back or wave or anything.

After a while, I'm not sure how long, I heard Hamilton whine. He was waiting for me down on the ground. Just then the wind started blowing and my tree swayed. Then there was a huge crack of thunder, and suddenly it was raining harder than I had ever seen it rain. I was soaked in about two seconds. What made it worse was the tree was soaked and slippery, too, AND swaying back and forth, AND starting to creak pretty bad.

"MOMMMMM!" I hollered, but she was already there, looking up into the rain to see me.

"CLIMB DOWN, HONEY!" she shouted, her voice almost covered by the wind.

"I CAN'T," I shouted back.

The next thing you know, here comes Mom right up the tree! I didn't know she could do that! In a minute, she was right there beside me with one arm around my back, holding me even tighter against the tree trunk.

"Now, we'll just go nice and easy, one branch at a time, until we're on the ground, all right?" she said.

"Okay," I said.

And that's what we did. Slowly and carefully, we worked our way down the tree. Mom steadied me a little, but mostly she just stayed calm and showed me how to climb down myself.

Pretty soon we were on the ground. We beat it for the house with Hamilton barking and jumping around us. Just as we got inside, a huge bolt of lightning struck somewhere nearby, the thunder crashed, and all the lights went out.

But a half hour later that just made it cozier as Mom and I sat curled up on the couch in front of the fire. I took a bite of the peanut butter sandwich Mom had made after getting us both dried off and warm. Then I sipped the hot cocoa she had poured, steaming, into my mug. And it all felt pretty good.

"Mom," I said, "I'm sorry I said I wanted a Maiasaurus mom. You're great the way you are."

She sipped her cocoa. "What changed your mind?" she asked.

"Maiasauruses can't climb trees," I said.

"Oh?" she said. "Are you sure?"

I grinned. "Uh-huh. Just look it up."