When “Mom” is a Four-Letter Word

Before I had kids, I loved to tell the story of my friend Jimmy. Jimmy, like any child, loved to say “Mom,” over and over and over again. Like any mom, one day Jimmy’s mom had enough and told Jimmy she was changing her name. What was she changing it to? Shit. And every time Jimmy said that bad word, he was going to get it.

Jimmy’s mom was also Jimmy’s school teacher. One particular day, all the kids were yelling her name and she told them she was changing her name. Little Jimmy, knowing what her new name would be, couldn’t resist baiting his mother. He raised his hand and asked the question, “What are you changing your name to?”

Having been sent by his mom, Jimmy found himself in the principal’s office, where the principal (holding in his laughter) did not punish Jimmy because he knew Jimmy would get it at home.

I haven’t thought about this story in probably 15 years but a long Christmas break, a husband on second shift, being sick for almost two weeks, and not having a second to myself without someone needing something has me thinking my head my might explode if I hear “mom” one more time. Even the times my husband is home, the kids will walk past him to ask me to find their missing sock, get them milk, or tell on their brother for taking their toy.

I remember when my kids were babies. I couldn’t wait to hear them say momma. It warmed my heart and took away all my bad days. Now, it has become a four-letter word.

I have to remind myself that being called “Mom” is something special. I have no idea why I have the privilege of being a mother but I am grateful for it. And even though it may drive me crazy, I can tell you in an instant if that cry of “Mom!” means they need something, they are hurt, or if it’s asking me to come wipe a butt. And one day, all too soon, those “Moms” will be because someone broke their heart, they made some team they tried out for, or they got accepted to the college they wanted.

One day they won’t need me for all these things. So even though I often want to follow in Jimmy’s mom’s footsteps and change my name, instead I’ll think of it as a privilege that these two little people think I’m the only person in the world who can solve all their problems. Besides, it might be hard to explain why my kids scream, “Shit, help me!” all the time.