Playing Mom

A Personal Essay by Ana Hirschi

“What you do to children matters. And they might never forget.” 

—Toni Morrison

Three children might never know how much of an impact they left. They became children I learned to love, despite their difficult times. I especially came to love the three-year-old, as I spent the most time with him.

Maxwell, the three-year-old, and I instantly had a connection. He had enough energy to run five miles without taking a break. I wouldn’t be surprised if in one hour, he ran five miles inside the house. 

He would reach up to grab my hand whenever he wanted to go somewhere. “Ana, come.” He would say. Even though he always went places alone in the house, as long as I was there, he needed me to go with him.

After a while of watching him, he started asking, “Mom, can you play –.” As my time with Maxwell was coming to a close, he started calling me mom, and his older brother had to correct him. Maxwell would respond, “She’s my second mom.” All I could do was smile, even though I knew the truth. It was hard to correct him—after all, he was only three.

I loved the thought of him thinking I was his mom, even if I was temporary. I saw Maxwell almost every day, and he became someone I loved having play time with. However, my favorite time of day was reading time and nap time. It gave me at least one hour to myself, to think, clean, and do anything I wasn’t able to do for the rest of the day. Once evening rolled around, it was always a comfort to know I had somewhere to go, in order to unwind from the stress that associated with watching children day after day. Even though it was only for a few hours before I began the next day, those few hours reminded me that I had my own responsibilities. I was able to have the freedom to do activities I wasn’t able to do while I was there, such as swimming and taking strolls around the neighborhood to think.

***

In August, Arizona was in the middle of monsoon season. It would rain in the middle of the day, even though the day started out with few clouds in the sky. Maxwell loved the rain. Even more, he loved to play in the muddy puddles.

Nothing can compare to the smell of rain after an Arizona rainstorm. Many people don’t think rain has a smell, but rain does have a smell in Arizona. Sometimes I miss the smell of a yard after it’s been mowed, but, after monsoon season, I desire the smell of rain once more.

Double rainbow after a Tucson rainstorm

Because of the uneven levels of dirt in Maxwell’s backyard, his huge mud puddles were waiting for us. He had a tiny Step 2 water table that was always filled with water. That was one of the reasons he loved the rain so much. 

On an afternoon, after the rainstorm had stopped, he pulled my hand in the direction of the back door, to signal it was time to play outside. He told me to gather rocks (his attempt was to gather all the boulders I could carry, but I thought it was safer to look for small rocks instead). After gathering close to ten, Maxwell would throw them into his water table, turning the rainwater into a dark-colored mess. He would place his hands in the water, until they touched the bottom, and would ask me, “Can you see my hands?” I would tell him no most of the time. After a while, I began to tell him yes. Frustrated, he would shake his head and bang one of his hands on his forehead. Then he would move his hands around in the water to see if there was another position that would make his hands “disappear.”

When he was sick of the muddy water, he would ask me to fill it up again with the hose. To his request, I told him to play in the water he already had at his disposal. When I didn’t do what he wanted, he decided to play in the muddy puddles in different areas of the yard. “As long as you only get your hands wet,” I would tell him. However, being the three-year-old that he was, he decided to go big or go home. The next thing I knew, I had to change him out of his now-mucky clothes. Even though I tried to keep the house as clean as possible, he left a trail of footprints on the hardwood floor before I had time to come back with a clean outfit.

Maxwell kept me on my toes all day, every day. Sometimes I felt jealous that he was the one who got nap time and I didn’t. I didn’t need to go to a gym because I was receiving my own workout by looking after him. 

***

Somehow, no matter who it was, Maxwell was always able to beat me to the front door. I couldn’t do anything to stop him. I wished all I had to do was call his name and he would let me answer the door, but he was pro at ignoring. There was no point in trying to distract him—if the doorbell rang or someone knocked, he would begin his sprint, which meant I would to.

Maxwell had a keen sense of sound. When Maxwell’s dad was returning from work, during one particular evening, and as Maxwell heard the front door beginning to unlock, he placed his paw patrol figurines down, next to his giant PJ Masks house (which he referred to as “PJ Maxwell”) he would frequently play with. As soon as the toys were out of his lap, he bolted to the door to throw himself onto his dad.

His dad would tell the kids to say goodbye to me before I would leave. On one occasion, Maxwell cried, “Ana, don’t go! We still have to play!” To spend more time with me, he asked his dad if they could get “the packages,” which he was obsessed with; In other words, the mail. Their mailbox was on the way to my house—I would walk home, if the weather was bright and sunny, as I only lived a block away. With a smile on his face, Maxwell not only got to spend a little more time with me, but also peek into the mailbox. He hoped he could walk farther so he could come home with me, but his dad had to redirect him.

As much as I enjoyed Maxwell’s company, I was thankful for the opportunity to go back home, where solitude awaited me.