When your son doesn't call you "Mom"

"Why does your son call you by your first name and not mom?" asked one of my curious fifth graders one day this past week. The question didn't come as a surprise to me as it is one that our family has gotten before. These types of questions are one of the many reasons I love my job being a teacher to fifth graders. Their eager to know spirits are one of the many things that make me love teaching this age group. They are often willing to ask anything that their inquiring minds want to know. So this particular day, it happened to be the question of how my two boys address me.

Since she asked in front of the boys, the ten year old and myself explained to her how he has two moms. It turned out to be a sweet moment as we were able to tell her together how I am his foster mom, soon to be adoptive mom, and he also has a birth mom, too. My student got her question answered and the conversation ended. However, for me and our boys, this is a reality that is a part of our stories that we will continue to think about in the days to come.

Some days, I wonder about this more than others. If I am honest, there is a part of me that longs to be called mom by our two boys.  Then, there is another part of me that believes this isn't necessary for me to be a mom to these two boys. It is somewhat of an indescribable feeling, but I wanted to try to put words to it. So here goes.

As of today, I have mothered these two boys for almost 3 years. And while I may not ever have the privilege of having them call me mom, I have already been filled beyond measure in other ways. I am the one who has the privilege of putting these boys in bed every night. The one who gets to pray with and for them about their days, their hopes, and their futures. I am the one who gets to hold their little hands as we walk through the parking lot at the grocery story. I am the one who they snuggle up next to and nestle their heads against me when they are cold or tired. The one who gets to wake them up every morning by kissing their sleepy faces. I get to be the one who helps them with their homework each day, reads with them, and practice their multiplication facts. I am the one who gets to wash their dirty socks and remind them to brush their teeth every morning. I get to watch them ride their bike and scooter and watch as they jump their new ramp they made. And then sometimes, after that, I am the one who gets to wipe their tears and bandage their scraped knees when they fall. I am the one who their teacher calls to tell me when they have had a good day, and also the one who they call when they’ve had a not so good day. I am the one who gets to make their favorite cupcakes on their birthdays. I am the one who they wake up in the middle of the night when they aren’t feeling well or had a bad dream. I get to hug them and tell them they are safe and to not be scared. I am the one who gets to tell them about how kind and good our God is and also the one who will have to tell them the truth of the brokenness and sin of this world we live in. I am the one who gets to celebrate with them when things in life go well and grieve with them when things in life don’t go as they want. I am the one who will get to remind them that they are deeply loved.

I will be the one to tell them how their story is exactly the one that God had perfectly planned out for them since the beginning of time.  

When I think of all these things, there are many emotions that I experience. One is a joy that wells up inside of me that I wouldn’t trade for anything. Another one is an overwhelming sense of peace that makes me truly believe that it really doesn’t matter what they call me. I am their mama. While I am not the one who brought them into this world, through God’s grace and mercy, I am the one He has chosen to walk with them and guide them through this world. I am the one who gets the privilege of pointing them to the One who is the author of their life. I am the One who has the privilege to teach them how to follow Jesus. To me, this is far better than any name I could ever be called. My one hope is that one day I will hear these words from Jesus, “Well done, my good and faithful servant”….and just maybe then I will also hear Him say, “Well done, mom.”