Mother’s Day started a couple of days early for me. Evan came home Wednesday with a small handmade card for me on yellow construction paper. He had written the words “Happy Mother’s Day” and “I love you, Mom.” Evan held my hand and presented it to me, all smiles. Of course, I gushed over it – my first card from my new son! I asked him, “Did you do this?” “Yes,” he nodded with pride. He wrapped his arms around me with a big hug. Then, he turned his head to Ben and smirked.
Ben looked obviously uncomfortable. Not wanting to be outdone, he started to explain that he was making something for me at school and it would come home Friday. I reassured him that I was so excited to see it and not to worry – Mother’s Day was Sunday. I reached out and incorporated Ben into our hug.
As you can imagine, this did not sit well with Evan. He picked up his yellow card and a pencil. He wrote Ben’s name and then a big X over it. Then Evan drew a heart split in two with me in one half and himself in the other, turned towards each other with kissy lips. He signed to Ben, “You’re out. It’s me and her.” Ben frowned. I hugged him again.
The next day, Thursday, was Evan’s class room Mother’s Day event. I left work and hurried to his school. I was a few minutes late, so the room was filled with Moms sitting beside their Kindergarteners. When I walked in, Evan broke into a huge grin. My eyes filled with tears. He gave me a big hug and held my hand.
Evan’s teacher was showing a video of each child telling, “Why I love my mother.” When one child was finished, the screen would change to the next child. Finally, Evan popped up. He signed, “I love my mom because she cooks me chicken. I love my mom because she took me to see the dinosaurs.” The interpreter translated as he signed. Evan beamed. I fought back tears.
Portfolios of artwork from the year were distributed. Evan also presented me with a beautiful Mother’s Day card with flowers he painted on the front. Evan is quite a gifted artist. Inside the card, there is a picture of Evan dressed in grown up clothes. “I will love you, Mommy, even when I am grown up!” I hugged him tightly. Evan showed me all of his artwork. Truly, I was amazed.
I met many of Evan’s classmates. He was obviously well liked. They enjoyed showing off some of the ASL they knew. After snacks, Evan went around photographing everything and everyone in the room. I spoke with Claire, Evan’s Deaf/HOH Teacher. She marveled at how far he had come.
“When Evan came in here the first day, he ran in the room and started pulling stuff off the shelves. The other kids stared at him in amazement,” she said. “I remember sitting with him for 15 minutes trying to get him to write his name. I would put a piece of paper in front of him and he would ball it up and throw it on the floor. I put another paper in front of him, and he did it again. I kept replacing the paper showing him his name. Finally, he picked up the pencil and scribbled something furiously in Mandarin and showed it to me.”
“I’m sure that was his Mandarin name,” I replied.
“Yes,” Claire agreed. “It was really hard in the beginning, but now he is reading words and he knows what they are. He is really so smart.”
Claire went on to tell me how Evan seems to learn everything very quickly. She said, “When he gets a handle on language, I would have him tested for the Gifted Program.”
I am not surprised by this. I knew since our first harrowing days together that Evan’s IQ must be extremely high. I am so grateful for all the work Evan’s teachers have done with him, words cannot suffice.
The school day was ending and Ben arrived at the door of Evan’s classroom. Evan showed Ben all of his artwork and the card he made for me. He stood to my side looking at Ben and hugged me tight. His eyes were locked with Ben’s. Ben folded his arms in front of him and grimaced. As I did my best to reassure Ben, Evan stayed pressed against me signing, “You’re out. She’s mine. Go away.” I felt sorry for Ben, but extremely flattered by the adoration I was receiving from my little Lemon Drop.
We left the school and went across the street to McDonald’s. I had to convince Evan to leave my card in the car. We walked in and got our Happy Meals. Evan could see how much he was irritating Ben, so he poured it on extra thick. He held my hand; he sat next to me; he looked at me with love in his eyes.
Then, Evan noticed two pretty Asian high school girls at the next table. He started smiling and waving to them. He made faces at them. They thought he was adorable. They were sitting at two tables and talking across the aisle to each other. Evan walked through them about fifty times throwing away one piece of trash at a time. They giggled. He strutted. When we went to play in the play area, he periodically pressed himself against the glass to check on his new girl friends. They seemed to be having fun playing with him. Then, when he wasn’t looking, they left.
It was time for us to leave, too, shortly afterwards. Evan looked around, and signed, “Where are the girls?” He looked crestfallen. It is a testimony to his enormous sense of self esteem that he fully expected they would be waiting for him. I signed to him, “They went home.” When we walked outside, he was still looking around for them.
We got into our car. Evan picked up my beloved Mother’s Day card – the tribute to his love for me, his Mom. I smiled and held out my hand ceremoniously to receive it again. He looked at me and pulled back. He signed, “For the girl.”
I gasped. I feigned hurt feelings. I pretended to cry. He handed it to me with a face that said, “Oh, alright, you can have it.” I was amused. Premonitions of Evan’s teen years rushed upon me. I am certain I will have mothers of young girls with broken hearts calling me. I’m afraid Evan is going to be someone’s Bad Boyfriend some day. My Fickle Pickle.
Yesterday, Ben finally had his moment. He came off the bus with a large brown paper bag. It was stapled shut and decorated for Mother’s Day. He was so excited he wanted me to open it on the sidewalk. I convinced him we should bring it into the dining room. Evan followed, practically glowing green. Evan tried to pounce on the bag. Ben screamed at him, “It’s fragile!” I blocked Evan from getting near the bag. This was the moment Ben had been waiting for all week.
Evan picked up two pencils and drummed feverishly on a book, creating as much noise as possible. I created a Force-Field of Laser-Like Mother Concentration, blocking out Evan and giving my undivided attention to Ben. We opened the bag and carefully lifted out Ben’s creation. Ben explained in minute detail how he painted the flower pot and poured plaster in to cement the flower in place.
“I chose the tallest flower, Mommy, and I had to hold it in place really long until it dried. That was the hardest part,” Ben explained. He was so proud. We both ignored the whirling dervish spinning and drumming around us.
Attached to the flower pot was a laminated index card with a Mother’s Day poem on one side and Ben’s picture on the other. Ben pointed out the flowers he had drawn on the card.
“Is it the most beautiful Mother’s Day gift you ever received, Mom?” he asked.
“Yes, Ben, it is the most beautiful,” I sincerely answered. (One of the perks of Evan’s deafness is I can answer these questions without hurting feelings!)
After admiring the beautiful gift, I told Ben, “Mommy is going to put this in my room where I can admire it and it will be safe.” (We both knew from whom!)
Evan was now very sore, and stomped off to the living room. I placed the flower pot on my dresser and closed the door. I went and found Evan hiding under a blanket in the living room. I hugged him, and he stiffly let me. I signed, “Mommy loves Evan. Mommy loves Ben.” Evan pouted. I signed it again. Evan hugged me, resigned to sharing me, at least for now.
I feel incredibly blessed to have the love of two very special sons. I really cannot express in words what Mother’s Day means to me. I always wanted to be a mother. The saddest days of my life were when I thought, “No one will ever call me Mommy.” I won’t bother to try to explain this. Only women who have experienced this can understand the depth of that grief.
Often, people will comment that my sons are lucky that I adopted them. I know what they mean, and I don’t take offense at this. What I would like others to know is that anything I am able to do for my sons is matched and surpassed by what they add to my life.
I hope Ben and Evan will look back and be pleased with the life I am giving to them. They have certainly made my dreams come true. I have golden-macaroni picture frames. I have refrigerator art. I have a houseful of Legos and Happy Meal toys. I have constructed over two-thousand peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I have countless hugs every day. I referee the most ridiculous arguments. I dream of 5 peaceful minutes on the phone, or – gasp – in the bathroom. The boys seem to get bigger every day. I want desperately to freeze time, but I know I can’t. Some day, my house will be quiet again, and a lot cleaner. In the meantime, I will revel in the fantastic, loving chaos of Motherhood. I am Mommy.
