A heart full of zucchini

My mother is a wonderful mother. She's the one who taught me to always, always write a thank-you note, how to make spaghetti sauce and that there's no crying in Candyland (even as she mercilessly beat us every single game). Although she's the one who inflicted a chaotic tupperware existence on me, she's also the one, who, this Christmas, bought me (and herself) a tupperware organization system. She's one of those mothers who will fight tooth and nail to feed you before you leave the house and, if you somehow win the battle, will send you with a package of snacks for the road. She's one of those mothers who insisted on packing snowsuits on a summer camping trip out to Western Canada when I was 5 - because "you never know what might happen and the girls might need them" and then triumphantly pulled them out and put them on us when we hit a blizzard on a glacier we were visiting. While there were always plenty of hugs and kisses and "love you!"s, my mother's love has always been expressed more strongly in her actions than her words.

Her desire to help is unending. Even though I'm 28. And have my own house. Several weeks ago, when my parents came to visit, she decided to pick up all the clothes in my bedroom and put them away (even though I hate this and she knows it). Two weeks later, when my sister was coming to visit, she sent an extra set of twin sheets even though I told her I didn't need them. She'll often try to take my garbage home with her because I have to pay to put it out and they don't.

Last weekend, when I was leaving their place to return here (without staying for dinner), we had a 20 minute conversation over whether I was going to take any fruit and veggies. I decided to take 4 oranges. I was standing on the front porch, saying goodbye and she said:

"Are you sure you don't want some vegetables?"

"Yes, I'm fine"

"Not even a zucchini?"

"No, it's fine."

"You should take a zucchini." and she disappears back into the house. Returns to the front door with a zucchini in a plastic bag.

I (apparently, and likely) just had this look on my face as she handed me the zucchini, a look that would've likely reflected my thoughts of "what the heck?!" and very easily could've been accompanied by a shaking of my head.

My sister, standing next to my mother, said, "Embrace Mom's love. Today it comes in the form of a zucchini."

I realized how right my sister was. It wasn't just a zucchini.