“Moms’ decafe”

At home, I always have “decafe” coffee.
No. Not because I’m some exceptional health nut or turn my nose up at regular coffee.
I keep it because sometimes I need a cup… at 7 p.m.
And if I “sin” with regular coffee that late,
I risk not falling asleep in 3–2–1.
By the time my head finally reaches the well-deserved pillow, it would be too late.

Honestly, I don’t even care what kind of coffee is in the cup.
I reward myself.
Five minutes to drink my coffee.
Because I feel like I’ve done an enormous amount of work.
I cooked.
I vacuumed.
I washed.
I laundered.
I dried…

For a moment, I think: how did I even survive all this?
Meanwhile, my husband is spending his Sunday productively, trying to “refresh” the boutique.
I’m holding down the home front with the four kids.
Having put My down for his evening nap.
I rush to make coffee.
“Reward yourself” with a five-minute treat.
I slump onto my sore spot.
And I feel…
SUPER MOM!

Ha! Not really!
Three kids!
All fed.
Clean!
Lessons “done.”
Clothes washed.
Dried.
The house vacuumed.
Baby under the window peacefully blowing raspberries.

And suddenly, alongside these heroic thoughts,
another one pops into my head:
The dishwasher washed the dishes.
A special blender cooked My’s porridge.
The robot vacuum cleaned the house.
The washing machine cleaned the clothes.
The dryer dried them.
We didn’t even have to wash diapers.

I feel a little embarrassed.
I take off my crown.
Rub off the “heroism” stamp.
I want to call my Mom and say “thank you” for raising me
without diapers, without blenders, without robot vacuums,
with hand-washing laundry for ages
and what seemed like endless clothes-drying.

And if you ever ask her if it was hard…
she wouldn’t hesitate for a second: “NOOO.”
Back then, “decaf” wasn’t even a thing.

To all Moms.

Realizing I’m not the greatest hero,
V.