All the Kinds of Moms I Am

I wrote the following several years ago - when more of you lived at home. But I want to share it with you...

ALL THE KINDS OF MOTHERS, I AM

I’m not sure when it happened. But at some point the line that separates “your kids” and “my kids” was almost completely erased and Maria and Ryan, Seth and Sarah, just became OUR kids. It was about the same time that they stopped referring to us as “your Mom” or “your Dad” and we became “the parents.”
“Where are the parents?” “What did the parents say?” “Where are the parents taking us for dinner?”

We liked that title. All of them have other parents in other places, but as a combined force in our household, we were now THE parents.

Which brings me to the other thing I have been thinking about, trying to explain. Last Mother’s Day, Pastor began reciting a list of all the kinds of Mothers there are.

“Some of you,” he began, “are mothers because you gave birth.”
“That’s me,” I said as I nudged Steve.
“Some of you are foster mothers.”
“Been there, done that,” I whispered.
“Some of you are adoptive mothers,” he continued.
“That’s me, too.”
“Some are stepmothers.”
This time Steve nudged me as I nodded yes.”
“Some of you are spiritual mothers to those you have discipled in the faith.”
“Guess that’s me, too.”

Now as he continued I conceded that I am not yet a Mother-in-law nor a Grandmother, but still it seems that I have come to the title of “Mom” in all the ways it is possible to do that.

And each of my five children hold a place that is unique in my heart, yet at the same time equal.

There is nothing like whispering to you husband, “We’re having a baby” and seeing that look come over his face that in some ways never disappears again. Having a much-longed-for and awaited baby growing inside you is so astonishing, so utterly amazing. Neither Ryan’s nor Jeremy’s births were the result of long and arduous labor. Jeremy burst into the world in the same fashion he would later jump into every activity in his short life and Ryan, just came in his own good time and way. I remember every detail of their births and every joy of holding my two sons for the first time. I loved them before I saw them or held them. Before we were first introduced, they filled my heart and still do.

Becoming Maria’s Mom was different, but no less magical. I stood at the door as the social worker walked up my sidewalk with the three year old beauty. She wore a faded purple dress and shoes several sizes too big and in one hand she held a can of Coke while tucked under her other arm was a baby doll. At that moment I only knew that she would be with us for while and that probably she would not stay forever. I didn’t know that we would fall in love.

But one Wednesday evening as I walked into church, she turned around from her perch in the front pew and when she saw me, her brown eyes sparkling, she said the one word that hooked me forever, “Mama!”

Later she would say to the nasty boy who teased her about being adopted, “Listen, when you were born your parents were stuck with you. My Mom and Dad chose me!” But in truth, she chose us, too.

When she was still little and loved best to be “Wonder Woman,” she would say, “Mama! When I turn into Wonder Woman I’m going to get my udder-one Mom out of the cage” (her birth mother, we assumed, was in jail somewhere). And then she would always add, “And then I’ll come home.”

Becoming Maria’s mom was magical and mystical and equally amazing to loving that newborn that God made inside me.

With Seth and Sarah, it was different still. Maybe the best way to describe it is like an arranged marriage. We all came together as kind of a package deal. And while the individual packages looked really attractive, we were all aware of the huge amount of baggage tied to each one. How do six strangers become a family? That’s hard to answer. Over time, commitment turned to love, obligation faded into genuine affection and the initial awkwardness of strangers turned into the ease of true familiarity. At some point we were each overheard saying, “my Mom and Dad, my sister, my brother, my children” without that preceding disclaimer “step.”

I love Seth and Sarah with all my heart. They are the children of my heart, too. The fact that they love another Mom, too, is simply beside the point. To think that loving a step-child (or for that matter step-parent) demands that in turn they have to choose who they will love best (or instead) is in itself the polar opposite of what love is. In a recent sermon our Pastor said, “Following Jesus mean we give up the right to choose who we will love.” In a step family, loving each other means we give up the right to think of ourselves as the only one they should love.

We are an affectionate family. Maria is quick to give a lingering hug and quicker still to end every conversation with “I love you, Mom.” Ryan is playfully overly affectionate, not just with me, but with both his sisters. In fact he “loves them” until they scream. Sarah, snuggles up to me on the couch and lays her head on my shoulder. And often, as I feel a gentle hand rubbing my shoulder, I hear Seth whisper, “I love you.”

They are dear and special to me, all five of my children. And there is nothing they can do to undo that. Ever.