grammy in the house

my mom left today. she hopped on her grammy plane and into her little grammy car back to her grammy house.

i am looking around this place that i really do love, how despite the stained mauve 80's carpet, the wood paneled hallway (and not wood paneled in a kitschy, cool 70's way--wood paneled in the same old awful, cheap, dark way), the spots of peeling paint on the ceiling-- despite these flaws, she shines, this old place. it makes me feel like the grinch from the grinch who stole christmas, as i squint my eyes, give them a rub, and peer in to take a closer look:

she came and she scrubbed-- the toilet, the tiles!
she cleaned out the cabinets, the sinks, the files!

she swept and she mopped, washed dishes, made beds!
she held crying babies, walked dogs, kept us fed!

she took us to dinner! she scooped up the litter!
she stocked up our fridge! she dusted! she swiffered!

but seriously, y'all, my mom ironed my comfy pants.

who does this?
love is an action.