Mother’s Day, what can I say? A lot.

This is the third Mother’s Day weekend I’ve spent moving myself or one of my offspring since losing my mother. This is it? My mother crosses over to the other side, and suddenly, I’m in the moving business at 60? Something about that feels deeply unfair.

First of all, no one, absolutely no one, should have to help move themselves or anyone else after the age of 35. Frankly, since our government seems to be operating in full rogue mode anyway, maybe they could make that a law.

Aside from a very sore ankle, two long days of schlepping and driving, I did receive beautiful flowers, an all-paid-for facial, and a homemade card from my grandbabies featuring black scribbles and a butterfly sticker, so it wasn’t a total disaster.

After arriving home from what felt like a tour of duty, my sweet neighbor stopped by with a gift. Diane is recently widowed and has become someone I’d truly call a friend. She’s in her early 80s and full of spunk. My favorite expression of hers is “what a dope,” which she uses to describe everything from people driving too fast to starting wars. There’s no middle ground with Diane.

Diane did not have human children, but she is the mother of her four-legged companion, Timothy. Yes, he is referred to by his legal name, and if you met him, you would know exactly why.

Back to my gift.

I can honestly say that this gift was unexpected and priceless. My husband brings in a bag from Fresh Market, a grocery store nearby, and says, “This is from Diane, it’s for Mother’s Day, she said it’s something Buddy (her husband) enjoyed, and it made dinner easy one night a week.”

First of all, how thoughtful was that?

I open the bag to find a rotisserie chicken and a local paper with fun things to do in the area.

I’m not going to lie, I had to pause as I pondered my gift. Honestly, it was perfect!

Conclusion: Keep your diamonds, and give me a rosterrserie chicken any day of the week.

Maybe this is what Mother’s Day looks like at this stage of my life. It’s actually what I’ve always wanted, to be seen. About someone recognizing that, after two days of physical labor and a sore ankle, the greatest luxury in the world was not having to figure out dinner.

So no, this Mother’s Day wasn’t the most glamorous; it was exhausting, funny, a little achy, and unexpectedly sweet.

Somewhere between the black scribbles on my homemade card, to Diane calling the world “dopes”, and a warm rotisserie chicken, I realized something important:

Love is rarely wrapped in diamonds. Sometimes it comes in a grocery bag from Fresh Market.

Happy Mother’s Day.

Enjoy the Ride!