THE DOORMAT

Moms and daughters, this one’s for you. You are all getting ready to see each other again during one of the most sacred and frenzied times of the year. You are going to be in the same house and doing domestic stuff together (if your mom will let you in the kitchen). You are going to want to use paper plates and she is going to want to use the china. She will want all the serving dishes on the table when you would have preferred a buffet line. In preparation for this season of rubbing elbows and egos, I submit to you this piece about a doormat to remind you what is really important as you get ready to see each other.

I am an anomaly to my mother in the domestic way. We are alike in a lot of ways, but not in this one.  My mom has always kept a clean and tidy house. I never grew up in a mess or any amount of chaos. Stuff had places. Appearances were kept up. Dishes were done. Clothes were picked up. There was never any accumulated filth to speak of (except for in my room.) The sad part is, that was all lost on me because I would never have noticed if things were otherwise. Where my younger brother likes to make his bed with military precision, I could count on one and a half hands how many times I decided on my own to make my bed while growing up. When I was a teenager, my dad used to stand in my bedroom doorway and ask me when the bomb went off. When things became unmanageable, I would take care of it. As long as we were still in the “I can get from the bed to the door” stage, all was well with me. I was given a daily and weekly chore list and I did what I was told. I was taught how to scrub a bathroom down, starch and iron shirts and that if a job is worth doing it’s worth doing well. It’s just that, now with my adult freedom, I don’t find those jobs worth doing.

I can function in a high state of what some might call “disarray.” If you are into Gallup’s StrengthsFinder, you should know that my top strength is Strategy, which means that I can see past unimportant things to the things that really need to get accomplished. I do not need to make my bed to get dressed and get on with the day. I do not need to wash the dishes to be able to sleep well. Now, to be fair, that just means that making my bed and doing the dishes are not important to ME (this does not extend to my husband and children). If the ability or desire to keep an immaculately clean house was a pass-downable trait, wouldn’t I have it? All these years later, I don’t give a rat’s patootie about things like drawer liners, fabric softeners, cloth napkins, tablecloths, placemats, winter gloves, jackets and…wait for it…doormats.  To quote one of my beloveds, “you can’t make me care.”

Once I had my own home, my Mom visited and noticed that I did not have a doormat. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I should have one. I am guessing that the function of a doormat is so folks can wipe their shoes off.  If I didn’t care or notice if folks wiped their shoes off, why would I care if there was a doormat? After several years without a doormat, my mom was babysitting my kids for a few days and when I returned, there was a doormat (and a tablecloth and some placemats and a really cool cutting board).   When she left, my dogs, who thought the doormat was a pee target, peed on it repeatedly so I threw it out. I felt kind of defensive about that doormat so I was happy for an excuse to throw it out. In my insecure, young homemaker-ness, I interpreted my mom buying me a doormat and placemats and a table cloth as her saying to me, “Listen Michelle, every house needs a doormat and I can’t believe you haven’t purchased one yet. Let me deliver you from your ignorance and make this a proper home.” This is NOT what my mom meant by buying me a doormat. She just wanted to bless me and assumed that by buying me these apparent home necessity items that she would indeed bless me. Annnnnnd she matter-of-factly really wanted for there to be a doormat at my house.

What my own insecurity formed in me then was a deeply held commitment to never own a doormat and my dogs were aligned with my cause. It know, it’s psycho. And so are many of the ridiculous hills we want to die on. Of course I need a door mat! It will protect my entry way floor! It will keep my beige carpet from getting a brown path right down the middle of it! I need a flipping door mat!

I went to visit my mom at her house a couple of months later and she asked me how I liked having a doormat. I told her that I had thrown it out because the dogs were peeing on it. She asked me if I wanted her to buy me another one and I said, “No thank you.” She was incredulous. “You don’t want a doormat?!? Well I just….I can’t even…why would you….?” and so on and so forth. She, for the life of her, could not imagine, in all the history of domesticity, why her own flesh and blood, a grown woman with a lick of sense, would choose NOT to have a doormat. She had not yet clued into the fact that the reason I didn’t want a doormat was because she so badly wanted me to have one.

Mom and I have worked hard for a relationship where we can communicate and prioritize staying connected to each other so I said to her, “Ok Mom, when you stare at me with your mouth open, exasperated like that and say things like, ‘why in the worrrrrlllld…..I can’t imagine…..’ it is causing me to feel a tad stupid.” I did my very best Flabbergasted Sharleen impression and we got to laughing pretty hard. She had to concede that I am indeed a domestic anomaly and that she was going to have to love me anyways, even if I didn’t want a doormat. And I had to concede that my mom had a point, doormats are useful and if my dogs weren’t so committed to peeing on them, it would really be nice to have one.

Is there a doormat in your relationship with your Mom? Does she think you are insane for having your baby at home or that you are neglectful for not swaddling them like a human egg roll? Does your mom think it is trashy for you to use paper plates? Does your mom want you to start wearing a more supportive bra? Does she want your kids to pull their pants up and comb their hair? (Just to clarify, I have collected these scenarios from my girlfirends and their mama scrutiny stories). Does she tell you that stuff in passive aggressive or aggressive aggressive ways? And then do you mouth off or internally fume and make vows about your bra and how you are never ever on God’s green earth going to have placemats?

Let me encourage you ladies on both sides of this age-old domestic chessboard.

MOMS: You are the original Mom! You know how to do so much stuff! You know cool ways to do things and God made you how He made you! You did your part for all of those years and training your daughter is now over, unless she requests a refresher on something. Now you get to relax and enjoy your daughter for who SHE is. As my late Grandfather would say, “wind your flippin’ neck in.”  Bite your “suggestion” tongue but be really quick to bless her and the way she is running her home (even if she is starkly different from you and does not value doormats the way you do). Remember that you are an essential source of blessing for your daughter that she so desperately wants and needs. You can, with your words and your obvious approval of her, change the way she views herself and her world. Let go of your ideas of how things must be and embrace your unique daughter for who she is. Chances are, if your daughter knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that you love and respect her, she will even be open to your awesome Mom ideas!

DAUGHTERS: You are the original kid! Remember that your Mom will never EVER stop feeling like your mother and that there are things she has yet to teach you and give you. You will know what this feels like someday, when YOUR daughters are grown. Kick your ego to the curb if your mom makes a suggestion. You have got to understand,  it’s REALLY hard to stop Momming! Listen to her logic and if it’s good, be an early adopter! If your Mom has a habit of speaking her mind without reserve or regard for your feelings, be brave, respectful, kind and honest and tell her how that makes you feel. If you have snapped at her, apologize. If you have disregarded her ideas out of spite, knock that off. Chances are, if you tell her that you so badly need to know she approves of you and she gives you that blessing, you will be open to her awesome Mom ideas!

Both of ya’s – just get over yourselves. Life is too tragically short. Let the little stuff be little stuff. Change the funky ways you have related to each other for years and reclaim your mother-daughter relationship. Decide to let stuff go. Weigh your words. Choose to see and honor each other, no matter what.

I can’t be with my Mama this year for Christmas and I am sad about it. My precious, spitfire Mama is about to belly up to the bar for breast cancer surgery again, right after Christmas. I wish I could rub elbows with her in her kitchen this year on December 25th. I wish I could wash some dishes in her kitchen, scrub some turkey grease spots out of her tablecloth and unwrap a doormat. I love you, Mom. You are the best Mom and I love the way you are made. I love that you taught me how to do the domestic things that MY daughter likes to have done. She must get that from you, so maybe it IS pass-downable!   Thank you for accepting me and blessing me. I love you so much and the only hill I will ever die on is the one where I love you forever.

PS If you are dreading being with your mom or your daughter this holiday season, I challenge you to ask God for more. More forgiveness, more insight, more compassion, more connection, more healthy boundaries, more love. My Mom and I have worked through some heavy things over the years and it has been worth it. Read more about our mother-daughter journey here. I pray you receive the things you are asking for! I fully know that there are relational situations that cannot be navigated through with any of the strategies I have recommended. So, for those of you who are dealing with too much brokenness in your relationships with your moms or daughters, I pray for healing for your hearts and for God to fill in the broken places. He is able.