By Sara Thomas
Finding your place as a 30-something single adult in a religious community that focuses on family can be a challenge. Like attending church on Sunday with mostly married people who once you get to the fact that you’re single, suddenly have nothing else to ask. Or listening to talks at General Conference that are targeted to husbands and wives and trying to decide if you should tune out or listen with an eye of faith (and hope) that one day it will apply to you.
But I’m used to all of that and it doesn’t come as a surprise anymore. I was surprised, however, when I found myself struggling recently to find my place in an entirely unexpected setting—among my family.
I had booked a 15-day trip to visit my younger brother David, his wife Emily, and their three girls. Their family was anxiously awaiting the arrival of child number four, and I planned to arrive the day before the induction date (amazing how much planning you can do for what was once something entirely in God’s hands) to help out.
I was welcomed at the Portland, Oregon airport by the whole clan. I climbed into the full mini-van and was instantly greeted with smiles, hugs, and kisses from three favorite nieces, ages 9, 6, and 3. The rest of the whirlwind day was spent in orientation for my pending duties: learning the girls’ schedules, discussing meals, finding out what activities were available in the area—you know, essential babysitting knowledge.
The next day Dave and Emily left at 7 a.m. for the hospital, and official Aunt Sara time began. We had breakfast, did an hour of the girls’ summer school, and then packed a lunch and headed to the park. Well, a park. My detailed orientation the evening prior had somehow not included local parks in the area. But I was armed with my Blackberry and Google maps. No sweat.
I polled the girls for their favorite parks (while driving, of course) and got the unanimous answer, “Let’s go to circle park!” I typed “circle park” into my trusty smart phone (after pulling over, of course), only to discover that was more of a nickname than an actual name. But luckily, the 9-year-old could remember the real name of the park, and in just a few minutes we arrived. First we played on the playground and then we sat down to eat. I smiled when my 3-year-old niece sitting next to me leaned over and said, “Yep. This is way more fun with a babysitter.”
While we were eating, the sprinklers came on, and when the girls asked if they could run through them, I of course gave the green light. When they were sufficiently wet and tired, we loaded up in the van to hurry home and dry off before piano camp. In the car, as the girls all talked excitedly about the fun time getting wet at the park, the six-year-old chimed in, “Our mom would have never let us do that!” Mission accomplished.
Like her three previous deliveries, Emily’s labor was slow going, and by 8 p.m. that night there was still no baby news. Although I had told the girls the baby probably wouldn’t arrive before bedtime, every time the phone rang, their eyes would get wide with excitement, “Maybe the baby is here!” At 10 p.m., Dave called to say things were finally progressing and the doctor hoped they would have a baby around 3 a.m. the next morning. It looked like the Aunt Sara show was on for that night and a few more days as well.
Those days flying solo were filled with laughter and fun. We crammed in a ward swimming party, a DVD rental of Hannah Montana, brownies, and a few trips to the grocery store. In between, I prepared meal after meal, did dishes, and made sure the house stayed clean. There were also a few meltdowns that required Aunt Sara to dish out a little more discipline as well as extra love. Doing it all, I felt like a single mom.
Those feelings faded when Dave would appear at home, stopping by periodically between work and the hospital for a quick meal. On one of his visits, as I handed him his warmed up leftovers from the dinner I had made, I told him I felt a little like his polygamist wife, taking care of house and home while he tended to the “first wife.” That feeling was magnified on our trips to the hospital to visit Emily and the baby. I wondered if any of the hospital staff watched Big Love and what crazy ideas might fill their heads when they saw my brother with two women, roughly the same age, and four kids.
Those first few nights alone in the house with the girls, as I would climb into bed reveling for a few moments in the quiet, I felt exhausted and content. I liked playing Mom. And I was pretty good at it. Mingled with those emotions was also a little tinge of sadness. This was a temporary job that I had long wished could be permanent, with children of my own of course. That darn first step of finding a man continued to be my stumbling block.
When mother and baby arrived home from the hospital my full-time mothering turned more to three-quarter time. I worked to find my place as helper, without overstepping my bounds. I was no longer solely in charge, and this required some adjustment.
A few days later, I was given the happy task of accompanying my sister-in-law and new nephew to their first doctor’s visit. I drove, carried the baby inside, and stood by Emily as she checked in with the nurses at the front desk. As we sat down in the waiting room, I suddenly realized I no longer felt like the polygamist wife. Emily filled out paper work while I rocked and cooed the baby, and I thought, “Is this what a lesbian partner would feel like?” I voiced this to Emily, and we shared a hearty laugh. I continued to chuckle every time she went out of her way to mention her husband to the doctor, nurses, and orderlies.
The remaining weeks flew by much too quickly as I filled in where I could for convalescing mom with back-to-school shopping, more trips to the park, chauffeuring, vacuuming, bathing the girls, curling hair, reading stories, cooking, and cleaning. We managed to find a day to spend at the beach, and even enjoyed one more swim party at a neighbor’s private pool.
The last night of my visit, my three-year-old niece and I sat on the couch talking and giggling. Suddenly, she looked up into my eyes, and with all seriousness said, “Who are you?” I replied, “I’m Aunt Sara.” She said, “No, who are you in this family?” Puzzled, I answered, “Well, I’m your aunt, your mom’s sister-in-law, and your dad’s sister.” Silence. I could see the wheels turning in her head, and knew this wasn’t the answer she wanted, but we left it at that.
The next morning this same niece stood on the stool in the bathroom as I did her hair. With those wheels still turning in her little blonde head, she asked, “Aunt Sara, are you a mom?” “Nope,” I said. “Not yet. I don’t have any kids.” “Yes, you are,” she countered. “You’re an Aunt-Sara-Mom.”
She had watched me do all sorts of things that both an aunt and a mom do for weeks. She had struggled, like I had struggled, to figure out what my role was exactly in her family. But then with all of her three-year-old wisdom she summed it up perfectly.
For now, I am an Aunt-Sara-Mom—a role I relish.
4 Responses to “Aunt, Mom, Neither, Both?”
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What a wonderful story, and I’m sure any mother would love your wonderful countenance and sweetness (and motherly-ness, for sure!) in their home, taking care of their children during such a special time. I’m glad to hear that Dave and Emily are doing well, and you are too! Our family loves to pick you out during various musical presentations we see on BYUTV
Hugs,
Christy (from the old choir days)
Wow Sara. I’m sitting at Big O Tires waiting for the car and trying to keep the tears from breaching the boundaries of my eyelids and escaping down my cheeks. I’m hoping to get things under control before the nice, but greasy man in coveralls appears wondering what I could possibly be crying about if he hasn’t even given me my bill yet. Thanks for sharing a little of your soul. What a beautiful soul it is. I love you Aunt Sara Mom. Love, your sis.
Interesting!
When my nieces were young, their family came to live on my farm in their own little cabin. Both decided to call me Wendy-mom. Each year I took in several interns on my organic farm. They all called me Wendy-mom, too.
Beautiful! I have many sisters and friends who are in the same position as you. I ache for them to have what I have someday. In the meantime I hope they can feel to be Aunt Mom’s too.