Vicki Briganti – CW50 Writer / Producer / Editor
Don’t forget – Mother’s Day is Sunday. Since I wrote a blog about my dad at Father’s Day (Downriver Dad Gets Better With Age), it only seems fair I should write about my mom.
I probably wouldn’t be working at a TV station with the opportunity to write this blog if it weren’t for Barb. When I graduated college, you applied for jobs by sending a resume in the mail after wading through the help wanted section of the classifieds in something called a “newspaper.”
My mom would slip on her reading glasses, searching for ads matching my skills and interests. No joke. I was hired into two of my former jobs because of classified ads my mom handed me. Now, she doesn’t have Internet access, so I guess I’ll work at CBS forever.
That’ll be fine with her. She enjoys TV and many CBS shows like Criminal Minds, Survivor, and Person of Interest. Her old favorite soap opera, As the World Turns, was on CBS. She watches Jim Madaus weeknights at 11pm for weather updates. Then she’ll call. “I saw the weather. There’s supposed to be a storm on Sunday. Weren’t you going to the beach?” She keeps a watchful eye on her flock.
Like most mothers, she feeds us…and feeds us…and feeds us. She’s a great cook; her cherry pie and lasagna are yummy. I don’t order lasagna at restaurants because I’ll be disappointed. The last time she made it, she gave me extra for leftovers. Why do people wonder why I’m always visiting her in Howell?
The amenities are top notch. Homemade cookies. Chili. Freshly prepared grapefruit. Unlimited tea service. Large Jacuzzi tub. Comfy beds. Over 160 movies and TV shows stored in her DVR. I refer to my parent’s house as the Howell B & B. (Bed and Breakfast/Bob and Barb.) They’re only four miles from Thompson Lake for walking, swimming, and picnics. It feels like a weekend getaway without getting away.
Fix Up And Wear Lipstick
If it weren’t for my mom (and my sister), I might not have passed my math classes in high school. Barb has a knack for numbers and was the true author of homework assignments involving story problems. “If a train is traveling at 55 mph…” Blah, blah, blah. I’m already bored. Unfortunately, my answer of “This is stupid; I don’t care” wouldn’t get me an “A.” I needed her help. She also taught me how to balance my checkbook and do my taxes – two tasks I like to do.
Just yesterday, her lifelong advice of “Buy it when you see it” came in handy. I saw “cheap” gas for $3.65/gallon, so I filled up. Isn’t that sad when $3.65 is a good deal on gas? Sure enough, an hour later after I’d gone grocery shopping, that gas station was closed. The one across the street was $3.69/gallon.
Her philosophy of “Do it while you’re young” has proven wise. I’ve jetted off to Italy, Greece, Mexico, Ireland, and England before travel became a nightmare after 9/11. I heard Spirit Airlines plans to charge $100 for carry-ons. Geez. I’d rather drive my Jeep to Howell for the weekend.
My mom pays attention and tries to be helpful. If I have a problem, she’s on the alert for a solution. After checking around with various sources, she’s rooted out what might be wrong with me. She has determined:
You aren’t getting enough sleep.
You aren’t drinking enough water.
You aren’t getting enough vitamin D…or vitamin B…or calcium.
It’s because you’re left-handed.
Always on your team, she’ll be there when you need tough love with comments such as “I’m not sure that shirt fits you anymore” or “Did you wear that to work?” or “Maybe you were exposed to black mold.”
My mom is witty, calm, patient, intelligent, and flexible. I think she’s my biggest fan. She reads my blogs (after I print them for her). She spent her thirties driving me to the mall, signing me up for girl scouts, gymnastics, cheerleading, and band. She watched me play softball and tennis. She insisted I take swimming lessons even though I hated it.
I joke that she prefers my sister. Nowadays, my mom dotes on her grandkids, Paul and Carl, more than her kids. Isn’t that the way? Besides us, we know her true love was Elvis. One of her regrets is not having seen him in concert. When we went to Graceland, she cried at his gravesite. Elvis named his only child Lisa Marie…the same name as my older sister. Coincidence? My mom denies it and points out my sister was born first. So, did Elvis name his daughter after my sister?
I know the real truth. Her deepest love was for our family cat, Dufus. He was fat, fluffy, and purred quietly. How can we compete with him?
To all the selfless, giving, caring moms: Thank you for making your children’s lives better. We’re lucky to have you.
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