It never gets easier to hear the kids call me “mom”. I am not entirely sure why. I love it, but it breaks my heart at the same time. There is something so deep and intimate about being called someone’s mom. I am fine being the Auntie. I have been Auntie Manda for almost 4 years to the children of my dearest friends from college. I love that title and all the snuggles that come with it. But being called Auntie Manda doesn’t hit the same fault line in my heart that comes with children in a foreign country calling me mom.
The other day three boys called me mom. I was having a hard day. Then one of these boys ran at me calling me mom. Then another. Then another ran and said “NO SHE IS MY MOM!” I quickly said, “I can have more than one son” and was soon embracing and carrying all three boys and watching them with fondness as they played. Some of the younger girls on my team were kind of caught off guard by kids calling them mom and said “no I’m not your mom” and the kids told them “I know, I’m just pretending.” And pretending or not, there is a reason the kids finally called us mom after a month with them. Later a few of them started fighting with some other kids. The fight was broken up and eventually we had a discussion about why it wasn’t okay to throw glass and beat up other kids. All three boys apologized to me and said “alright mom, no more fighting.” Of course, they are still boys and they will still fight, but for that moment there was something deeper than just pretending to call me mom.
I also make it a point to kiss several of these boys on the cheek as we leave. It is my intention that they will learn emotions other than anger and know that it can be expressed in a healthy way. Sometimes it becomes a game where they run away laughing until I catch them, but recently they have come to expect it. My one little guy, actually started doing it back. His English is not very good so that was the best way I could think of to communicate my love for him. Yesterday as I got ready to walk him home he pulled on the sleeve of my shirt and leaned up towards my face and gave me a kiss on the cheek before I could do it first. He is one that called me mom the other day.
When I was younger people were always quick to call my parents mom and dad. I think that is because they are safe people. Maybe then, the kids feel safe enough to call me mom. I can only hope that is true. I know the situations of my friends who used to call my parents mom and dad. Their home lives were not the same as mine. Things were different, rough, careful, fearful. My parents left room for people to be who they were with a little guidance in the right direction when they messed up. If that is why these kids wanted to call me mom, even if just for an afternoon, just for pretend, I am okay with that. But it never gets easier. From being surrounded by block buildings in Romania, to the sweet faces in El Salvador, to the slums of Cambodia, to this precious South Africa… it never gets easier to wonder the reason behind children who are not mine calling me mom. But I will love them regardless.
When the three boys called me mom, of course I decided we needed a family picture, because why wouldn’t I do that. So here we are. Me and my boys.
Side note- For those of you who didn’t know I am fundraising for this trip. I need to raise $2000 by the time I get off the field. If you would like to donate, you can click on the Support Me link on the left side under my picture or the Donate! button on the fundraising bar at the top of this page.
Much Love,
-A
