That Mom

When children pack up to move away, a strange thing happens to their view of home, of mom, and of life in general.

Mom becomes expendable. A mean, unreasonable woman who forces them to be who they don't want to be (ooops, it couldn't possibly be the child they're trying to leave behind?)

Home becomes a place where they should be able to leave their 'stuff' indefinitely until they want to retrieve it, from wherever they leave it. If it's in the way, or Mom needs that space, she's supposed to pack it up and put it away where it's safe from harm, other prying eyes or any damage, and it's her responsibility to put it away, if the middle of the coffee table isn't where she wants it left. Always.

But Mom isn't supposed to ask them to help around home, or to expect them to put their things away, because that's just TOO DAMNED MUCH expectation from Mom.

The door is always open. I expect them to be at home here, do what they would do if they did live here, and be part of the family. I never realized that I was to treat them as guests when they come home... I guess, the thought never occurred to me that they wanted to be treated that way, either.

I suppose it's probably the difference between my own expectations and the expectations of others... Evidently, I'm not expecting the same things.

However, I'm that mom...

The door is open, you're always welcome, this is your home if you are here, and I expect you to treat it as such. I'm not good at being a hostess... When I believe the guest is family. I believe my family should be family, not a random guest off the street.

Always. All the time. Not part of the time. And not just when the LIVE here, but forever.

The door is open. I love you.