Mother's Day leaves me thinking of Drew Peterson, accused slayer of one mother and suspected in the disappearance of another. In fact, had he not been hauled off to jail this week, he'd still be wooing a third one, a lost, lovestruck girl who seems not to care that two of his previous wives didn't fare very well.

A couple of things occurred to me as I watched the media coverage of his arrest. One is whether the Will County State's Attorney really has the evidence he needs to prosecute Peterson for the murder of his third wife. A good lawyer, after all, can pursuade a Grand Jury to indict a ham sandwich. Winning a conviction is considerably harder. If political expediency and not facts led to Peterson's arrest this week, it's going to be a really short, embarrassing trial for James Glasgow.

Peterson brought an almost Jimmy Cagney-esque flavor to his first court appearance. While he didn't quite dance into the courthouse, he jested with reporters and grinned for photographers in the manner of a guy with a get out of jail card taped to his buttocks.

I wonder, though. Behind that charming facade, that arrogant grin, what goes on in his head when he's alone in his cell?

Is he bluff and hearty or is there the tiniest spark of fear? Of panic?

His attorney won't be available until May 18th, leaving him to enjoy the county's hospitality until then. If Peterson is the psychopath many claim him to be, I'd be damned uncomfortable being that lawyer.

The sick part of my enjoyment of Mother's Day this year comes from thinking about Peterson sitting on his bunk, furious. Frustrated. And worried, if only a little bit, if this is all just a prelude to the way he'll spend the rest of his life.

Happy Mother's Day Drew. And, hopefully, many more just like this one for you.