Mother’s Day isn’t always quiet.
Sometimes it’s a full house.
Too many chairs pulled up.
Everyone talking at once.
Someone already asking what’s for lunch.
There’s laughter, stories,
and a table that keeps filling up.
She opens her gift somewhere in between.
Smiles.
Maybe calls everyone over to look.
It gets passed around,
commented on,
“it’s just what I needed — how did you know?”
And then it finds its place beside her.
Part of the day.
Part of the memory.
Same same. But better.