A Mom to Moms

When my eyes cross from the daily chaos and the relay races organized by my three little ministers of “urgent matters”… I’ll admit it.
Sometimes, in my thoughts, I escape to the “I live just for myself” paradise.
And there… my imagination runs wild:
What would I do if I didn’t have three tousled heads beside me?

I’d travel more.

I’d explore the corners of the world and maybe even debate with any travel guru about incredible places.

I’d take care of myself.

Sleep at least eight hours every night.

And feel more rested.

Exercise at least three times a week.

And be healthier, stronger, and prettier.

Regularly go for beauty treatments.

And have fewer wrinkles and brighter under-eyes.

I’d have a meticulously organized home.

Where every item has a clear place.

No stubbornly jammed drawers overflowing with gloves and hats that constantly get outgrown.

I’d cook less.

Or maybe not cook at all.

Do a lot less laundry.

I know for sure that without my household trio, at least five washing machine loads each weekend wouldn’t even exist.

I wouldn’t hear thunderous declarations like:

“Mom, my shoes are too small again and the sleeves are too short.”
I’d live in the center of Vilnius.

Read lots and lots.

Maybe have a dog? Though even that is questionable…

Maybe I’d be a workaholic?

Going home only to sleep…

Maybe I’d even write a book…

And here my imagination slammed on the brakes:

A book?
About what? If I didn’t have the three biggest inspirations of my life.

Yes!

If I weren’t a MOM, I’d live an easier life.

Cook only when I feel like it, not every day.

Sleep without guilt.

Do little laundry and ironing.

Never experience piles of dirty clothes resembling Everest peaks, waiting to be sorted—socks and little underwear stacked in heaps.

Live in order.

Be well-read and have traveled much more.

But.

Would I be happier?

Before me appear three pairs of round, loving eyes:

“Mom, it’s Mother’s Day,” solemnly begins the eldest, Dominykas.
“You’re the best in the whole world,” adds Patricija.

And the little one stands in the middle, sending freshly learned air kisses.

I hug all three.

I feel the hug growing tight.

My arms can barely wrap them all.

And immediately I think:

If I were to write a book, this is how its plot would look.

Love that won’t fit in your arms, and life’s meaning that’s hard to embrace with hands.

Not exchangeable for any minutes of rest, order, or attention to oneself.

For Moms.

Without my life heroes, we might be:
Healthier, prettier, more rested.
With fewer wrinkles and body imperfections.
But I guarantee:
Eyes radiating with love and fulfillment like theirs—could never be claimed by us.

From one Mom to all Moms,
V.