a packed 2022

Mostly dedicated to Moms.

We jumped into 2022 holding illnesses by the arm.
“How you start it—that’s how it will be,” I remember the almost simultaneous sigh my husband and I shared.

And I wasn’t wrong.

I remember perfectly how, at the very start of this now nearly finished year, I sat holding my head in my hands, feeling like I was staring up at the Everest of challenges. At the peak, my goal was stamping its feet, shouting at me from the top of its lungs:
“V., come on, you can do it!”

But I didn’t know if I could.
How could anyone know, really, when…

Ahead of me were wide-eyed, completely “fresh” My, who—drawing on the experience of raising Do and Pa—would, over 2022, learn to:
Sit.
Stand.
Walk.
Eat.
Open cupboards.
Manage their contents.
Discover stairs.

And make me forget the quiet little kicks on the couch after work.

Not enough?
She would break every little object I’d placed “just so.”
She would rearrange the home “adapted for a baby.”
And remind me that kids get sick at the absolute worst possible moments.

Still not enough?
Next to me, restless, with adolescent hair flowing, was Mister Ego.
How would he survive with My?
Would the roof stay on the house for our loved ones?
Would there be time for the training he so desperately needed?
And if not, what would become of this little hooligan?

Add to that Do and Pa wandering around.
And the feeling that I couldn’t skimp on attention for them either.
And layer on top the realization that my plan—
“To calmly push the stroller down the narrow streets of Vilnius Old Town”—wouldn’t happen.
And that work would demand me no less than when I wasn’t a parent of many…

I sighed deeply. And once again, looking at the mountain of 2022 before me—with ten (!!) planned collections—I nearly burst into tears thinking:
It’s all too much.
I didn’t expect it.
I didn’t plan for it.
I hoped.
I thought I knew…

In my mind, optimistically exploding thoughts, and in my eyes, tears threatening to burst.

But.
Then, God knows from where…
Maybe glancing around.
Maybe reading a few fitting books.
Maybe watching some “stirring” movies…
Inside, the lion of “I really can do this!” roared.

Some days, the roar was quiet, more like a cat purring.
Some moments, the inner lion roared with a note that stunned everyone around.

And now.
I descend to the ground, after sending My off to dreamland for the evening nap.
I fix my famous decaf.
On the table before me lie ten books documenting the “completed” collections of this year.

I lift one.
So heavy! So sturdy!
For a moment, I close my eyes, unsure what feeling washes over me.
Smiling, while a tear rolls down.
Like rain with a rainbow stretching across the sky.

The second-to-last day of 2022.

Upstairs, peacefully sleeping:
My, who has learned to sit, stand, walk, eat, raid drawers, break misplaced objects.
At her feet, curled up comfortably, sleeps Mister Ego, adolescent hair now neatly combed.

Last night, I was invited on a date with my husband, whom I fell in love with all over again during these years of enormous challenges.
Without his steady shoulder and his calm, comforting embrace, I would have stumbled far more often in these past twelve months.

At the countryside, enjoying vacation, are Pa, mid-second grade, and Do, mid-sixth grade.
In my eyes—children full of life’s joy.

Before me stand the ten books representing all the work accomplished.
Not “just okay.”
Not “it’ll be fine.”

Was it easy?
No.
Sometimes it was hellishly hard.
There were many challenges.
Disappointments tripped me up.
Later, I realized they strengthened and grew me.
Mistakes threw sticks into the wheels, but now I understand—they taught and guided me.

There were many painful lessons, which at the time seemed “unfair and wrong.”
Many times, the rule was reminded:
“Don’t close the door with your foot, because tomorrow you’ll need your hand to open it.”
And it worked.

The result at the end of the year?
A smile and a tear at the same time.

It happens?
It does.

When, on the last day of the year, you sit holding the big accomplishments you’ve achieved, cradling all your loved ones.
A feeling overwhelms you: I did it!

Fear that I would give up sleeps quietly in its winter nap.
And joy that “V., you can do it!” now roars not just from one lion, but a whole choir of lions.

The year was “macni.”
Unhookable alone.

Thanks to my husband. For my happy self.
Thanks to my children’s grandparents, for giving me the free hands I needed for work and the feeling that My was in the very best and most loving hands.
Thanks to my sister, for short restorative escapes, after which dimmed eyes would shine again.
Thanks to my team. Repeating myself tediously.
But.
Without you, I’d just be a person with many wishes and dreams.

Thank you.
All together, and each of you individually.

The knowledge that so many good eyes follow me, and hearts beating with sincerity—
works miracles.

And hands me an invisible magic wand, turning “I can’t” and “too hard” into “I can” and “everything is possible if you want it enough and believe in it wildly.”
Even with temporarily “non-working” free hands.

I hug.

Mua,
V.