To Moms
Midwinter.
Christmas has settled into a cozy drawer of memory.
I can barely make out signs of spring, even if I try.
I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day.
I quietly mark national holidays in my heart.
I graze my eyes across the expanse of the overcast sky and try to imagine the next upcoming “waiting.”
True, I clutch tickets to the long-awaited mountains in my hand.
But considering today’s realities, that “waiting” hangs by a thread.
Meanwhile, all the proper “waitings” float in the air like elusive, multicolored butterflies…
And they are often “replaced” by handily reachable “unwaitings.”
A cough knocks at the door.
Streams run from a nose, waiting on the windowsill.
A “Mom, my stomach hurts” stops by for a visit.
Miss Fever, like a long-awaited guest, drops in and, as if having a great time with us, decides not to leave in a hurry.
You care for them.
You love them.
You pamper them.
Sit on the edge of the bed.
Stroke them with a hand softer than soft.
Wrap them in a hug brimming with love.
They recover.
And just when you think you’ve set everything right again, the fast-moving wheel of life spins once more.
And with a sly wink, it says:
“So, Mom, relaxed now?”
Here’s your “busywork” for the night.
A turbo night of fevers, cough salvos, or urgent bathroom visits.
I don’t stress.
Even when trying to open an eye narrower than narrow, in the backdrop of yet another unexpectedly arrived morning, I rejoice:
That we, Moms, are from the pages of a bedtime fairy tale read last night.
We don’t get sick.
We don’t get tired.
We forget nothing.
We administer medicines and mixtures according to a carefully organized, unwritten plan in our heads.
And we don’t get it wrong for any assigned child.
We move through the rooms of the house.
Change pajamas.
Make beds.
Serve teas.
Perhaps we’ve taken acting or medical courses?
Maybe we’ve attended “stress-free” training?
Or “multitasking” lectures?
Because after tending to our loved ones and putting out the household fires, we sit at the wheel of life and confidently press the “gas” to catch up with its wild pace.
Which waits for no one:
Not for those caring.
Not for those stroking.
Not for those measuring doses.
And it kicks responsibly, “softly,” recommending we stop wasting time sighing, pack self-pity into our pockets, lift our noses high, and tell ourselves:
Life is charming because of this.
Because there are days that don’t go according to plan.
But… by the end of those days, you fall asleep in three seconds, not even realizing how it all fit into you.
Evening chamomile tea toast:
To us.
Those who love. Care. Stroke.
Those who manage an impossible number of tasks.
Those who hold plans bigger than we weigh in our heads.
To us.
Beautiful every day.
Composed.
Dressed up.
And deeply loving Life.
Life may stick a little stick into the fast-spinning wheels of daily routines.
But it does so only to make us grip the wheel of life even tighter.
Mua,
V.
