About the Ministers of Affairs

“-Mom, was there really so much to do with me too?” – Do raises his eyebrows, watching how Dad and I bustle around My.
I pause.
I smile.
I smooth the tousled hair on his head.
And I nod in agreement.

Or rather… I should really swing my biggest gesture of my life.
Because now I have something to compare to.
And I can boldly say:
My – Minister of Affairs.

But “while holding this office,” he behaves quite honorably.
He knows sleep is necessary.
He doesn’t complain about appetite.
And he welcomed “soskė” as an old familiar friend.
Patient to infinity.
And even when a sharp twinge of belly pain strikes, he doesn’t send “kakarynė” off to work.

Meanwhile, about his now older brother Do… unfortunately, such epithets can’t really be applied.
A medal for Minister of Life Affairs could have been pinned on him without a second’s thought.
And though he grew up sincere and kind-hearted, at the beginning of his life he was “turbo power” and often played on the last nerve of the two of us and Dad.

We didn’t give up.
Together we learned to be good parents.
We protected.
We cradled in our arms.
We soothed to sleep.
We fed.
We rejoiced the first time he:
Turned over,
Sat up,
Took a hesitant step,
Spoke his first word,
Slept through the night.

We cared for him when he was sick.
We didn’t grumble through the long nights of teething.
We encouraged him at daycare.
We beamed at his first poem learned,
His tied shoes,
His tear-free mornings.
We clapped seeing him ride two wheels toward us.
And even swaying heavily, he didn’t fall.
We held him in our arms, armed with a bigger white gladiolus, standing beside him on the first September 1.

We taught him to write,
To read,
To count.
We celebrated when he succeeded.
We grieved when he didn’t.
With elephant-sized pride, we watched him descend the hill on a snowboard for the first time.
We held our breath and paced the shore as he kiteboarded across the lake.

And now I stand at the window, watching the young man digging snow in the yard,
Then glance at My, snuggled in my arms…
And I think:
No matter how many tasks “happen,”
I wouldn’t trade for “nothing” the fact that I am
THEIR MOM.

They grow up.
Shrugging their shoulders, they listen to tales as if invented anecdotes, of what parades of affairs they’ve organized.
And we.
Having lived through those anecdotes, sworn never to step on that same rake again.
And again, we hold in our arms a new captain of the heart,
With whom we’ll live through every point and little point,
Until before our eyes stands a shoulder-high young man, unable to believe that once upon a time, he held the office of Minister of All Household Affairs.

Sweetly,
V.