My sister bought us
a Blu-ray player for Christmas. It was a
blessing because Netflix was responsible for my sanity during the 473 days off
from school due to snow. One of the
series that has hooked us is Blue Bloods. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact
that Tom Selleck was hanging on my wall as a teenager. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact
that Tom Selleck has not changed ONE BIT since he was hanging on my wall as a
teenager. It has absolutely nothing to
do with the fact that although Danny Wahlburg is better looking and a better
actor, there is just some kind of Bad Boy thing about Donnie. I just
absolutely love this show - its morals
and values, its premise, its message, its style of the Sunday family dinners,
its Irish desire for a good glass of wine after a hard day of fighting for what
is right, and particularly its love of God.
So for Mother’s Day
today, we sat down to continue our quest to watch all episodes of Blue Bloods
before we turn 100. We are on Season 2,
episode 14. By the end of this episode,
Billy and I are both in tears because of the Mother’s Day message of this
random episode we were meant to watch.
Erin Reagan is
struggling as a single mother to raise her rebellious and fiery daughter. She is constantly coming to daddy Frank for
wisdom and guidance. One evening she
shows up with a container of “brown bread from mom’s recipe” and daddy Frank
points out that mom never wrote it down.
She proceeds to inform him she did it from memory. She butters the bread and takes a bite. You expect there to be a moment of description
from Erin and Frank about the delicious taste of the bread and how much it
reminded them of mom/wife. Nope. It tastes terrible. Really bad.
Not right………….and in the words of Erin, “Something’s missing.”
Billy’s mom had a
recipe for Oatmeal cookies. His sister
has the recipe and gave him a copy. We
have made these cookies so many times.
They are delicious. They are so
good warm out of the oven. I can eat a
minimum of 14 at one time, and I know this fact because it has been
tested. Sometimes I make them. Sometimes Billy makes them. No matter the chef, he has stated every time……..that something is just not right…….something is
missing.
We both have lost
our mothers. We went to the gravesides
to pay our respects, to remember our moms, and to say “Happy Mother’s Day” to
them. I put roses on my mom’s and
grandmother’s graves. I smiled at
memories that flooded my mind. I laughed
SO HARD at my dad as we drove him through Big Stone Gap and Norton trying to
take him down memory road only to find out that the roads have been moved. My sister and I told stories about our mom -
stories that dad had never heard.
Stories about my mom that I tell my own kids and even my students. We laughed over a brunch at The Flippin Egg
(that’s a restaurant, folks). But here’s
what I learned. Something was
missing.
Moms are tough on us. They can make our life beautiful. They can make our life hell. They can be there when we need them and make
us mad for just being there. They have
radar that boggles the minds of scientists.
They have a look that can penetrate Kevlar. They have a touch that is so gentle as they
rub Vick’s Vapor Rub on your chest. They
have a soothing breath as they blow on the cut knee as they apply Mercurochrome
and a Band-Aid. They have the gift of a
bartender as they mix a “hot toddy” when you are 14 and suffering through the
worst period cramps known to woman. They
have a temper that can’t be controlled when they appear at school to verify
that you didn’t cheat on a test and demand to take the same test to prove they
helped you study. During church when you
aren’t paying attention, they have a grip on the back-of-the-arm fat that would
bring Arnold Schwarzenegger to his knees.
They have the job of instilling in you the love of the Lord, the knowledge of right from wrong, and the gift of having love in your heart. Here’s something that I know, that Billy
knows, and that the Reagans on Blue
Bloods know……….
when moms are gone,
something sure is missing.
Happy Mother’s Day
