Hey Mom

I was in our room putting away clean clothes when she stopped outside the doorway.  She’d come to ask if she could meet some friends at a movie matinee that afternoon.

“Hey Mom.  Uh, I mean, Ruth.”

I looked up to see her standing there.  All four feet ten inches of her.  Twelve years old, going on 37.

She’d been in our home for a little over a month.  And it had been a difficult month.  I don’t know her whole story.  But I know enough of it to know that she’s already learned not to expect anything from the adults in her life.  Certainly not to expect consistency, or rules.  Not to expect fairness, or safety.  Not to expect them to stay, or to protect her.

I smiled, acknowledging her blunder.  She pretended that she hadn’t meant to call me Mom, and I went along with it.  It’s not a big deal.  Just a blunder.

Except it’s not a blunder.  And it is a big deal.

I smiled, and gave the okay for her to go to the movies.  Knowing full well what a huge thing this was.  It wasn’t an error.  It was a deliberate, very tentative, dipping the toes in the water.  She had said it, and I had heard it.  I let her know I’d heard it.  And that it was fine.

I know this trail well.  We’ve been foster parents for a number of years.

We always start out as Ruth and Geoff.  We refer to each other by our first names when we’re talking to a new kid in our home. 

“Did Geoff say what time he was going to pick you up?”  I’ll ask.

“Ask Ruth if you need to wear a coat today,” Geoff will say.

And somewhere along the way, after a few weeks or a couple months, the other words will start slipping in.

“Hey Dad, I mean Geoff, can I go to the Rec Center after school?”

“Hey Mom, I mean Ruth.  Can I go to the movie this weekend with some friends?”

It’s deliberately formal, dressed down casually so as not to draw attention.  Like saying ‘I love you’ for the first time.  Just going to slip this in right here.  Not sure if you’ll even notice.

We notice.  Every single time.  In the moment we’ll respond as though we didn’t notice so as not to draw attention to it.  We just go with it.  Not a big deal.

But becoming Mom and Dad is always a big deal.  It’s an honor.  And a gift.

I don’t know how many times it’s happened over the years that I’ve gone from being Ruth to being Mom.  It’s a progression marking a child’s acclimation into our home.  A settling down and settling in.  A standing down of the guard.  And every single time it’s a gift.

I was reminded of that again just the other day.  When she stood in the doorway asking if she could go to the movies.

“Hey Mom, I mean Ruth.  Haha.  Yeah, wow, that was weird.  I don’t even know what I was thinking there.” 

Smiling, I acknowledge the change in how she addresses me.  Knowing that she’s watching intently right in this moment.  Waiting to see if she’ll be accepted.  Waiting to see if it’s okay.  Hoping it will be.  Hoping that I’m up for it.  Hoping that I won’t be just another adult to reject her.

“Hey Mom.” 

It’s just a word.  A small word.  But it’s huge.