I love you forever, I love you for always.

I'm going to start this blog with a disclaimer. It's going to be disgustingly cute, not very sarcastic, and you'll probably shed a tear or two, if you're related to me. So snuggle up close, grab a stack of tissues, and proceed.

Tonight, was the season premiere of the TV show, Grey's Anatomy. And I made myself a batch of cookies (well, half a batch, and half a batch of cookie dough), I turned off all the lights, I cuddled up under my blanket, and prepared myself for the return of my favorite show. Through the first half of the show, I had to keep answering messages on my phone, and remembering to switch the wash, and wash the dishes, and a million other things I needed to do. I kept one eye on the TV, but didn't give it the devotion I intended. And by the time the last half hour had rolled around, my roommates had come home, trying to tell me about their days, and attempting (and failing) to commandeer the television. All in all, not the ideal Grey's evening I had planned out. And I know exactly why that is.

Grey's has always, always, ALWAYS been my mom and I's show. When I lived at home, Thursday nights were our time, and we would kick the boys into the garage, and watch teary eyed, as Izzie got diagnosed with cancer, and Chrisitina got abandoned at the altar, and Mer tried to drown herself. We swooned over Karev and his bad boy swagger, and McSteamy and his, well, McSteaminess. After I moved out, I made her TiVo every SINGLE episode, and then also made her sit and watch them with me whenever I got the chance to come and catch up. This was always accompanied by some delicious snacks, gossip about the show, and gossip about life, which always took us well past the show's 10PM end time. It was our ritual. It was our thing. Watch our show, and then strike up deep conversations at inopportune times.

These conversations, those were also our thing. Random, meaningful, generally with a slight mental breakdown or two, and always ending with me feeling refreshed and comforted.Generally, these happened in inopportune places, as well. In her closet hallway, for example, or on the back patio while she was cleaning up dinner. Or in the garage when we went to let to guys back in, or over the fence between our backyards.It didn't matter where, it just mattered that I knew Mom was there when I needed some "serious mom advice". And she always seems to know the answer, although I don't always even know the question. I guess that's a mom thing.

Tonight, though, it was all wrong. I made the delicious snack, I set the mood, I turned the volume up reaaaaally loud (we're both totally TV deaf), but it didn't play out quite right. I even called Mom up before hand, and we broke down the previous season's finale, trying to remember who died, who was in love with who, and who was going to be new additions. We totally prepared ourselves, made predictions about what twists and turns were going to happen, and of course we totally called it, but it still didn't feel like Grey's night to me. And I realized, nothing can replace that time. I can't replicate it, without having Mom there. I can still love my show, and I can still love my mom, but the era has passed where that will be our thing. And that breaks my heart a little bit, because I never wanted that thing to die. But I suppose that just means a new thing is to come our way- Long-distance Grey's viewing. Grey's via Skype and texting. But no more Grey's nights.

The one thing that won't change, however, is the fact that I know, always and forever, that my Mom is there when I need some "serious mom advice". I know it for a fact, because I've called on it about 19 times in the past 3 days. "Mom, I need some serious mom advice. How soon do eggs go bad after the date?" or "Mom, I need some serious mom advice, should I quit the job I just started?" The questions go on and on. There's only one that I haven't asked, and that's cause I don't think she knows the answer either.

"Mom, when do I stop missing you guys so much?"