Why We Love Our Mothers and Female Entrepreneurs (And You Should, Too!)

You may recall an older post that I published a couple years ago titled, “What is a Mother?” I’m revisiting this post briefly today in celebration and recognition of Mothers’ Day. For those of you reading this how who haven’t read it or choose not to (it is quite lengthy…), the brief summary is that “mothers” can be in all forms, figures, and relationships. We now live in a society where a “mother” can be anyone: a grandmother, a stepmother, an aunt, a friend, or other type of “guardian”. A mother doesn’t even have to be a woman!

But…this year’s Mothers’ Day should be a shout out to all female entrepreneurs. And with the increasing amount of female entrepreneurs out there, there is a great deal of them who are also mothers. Being a female entrepreneur isn’t easy. Not only is being an entrepreneur hard itself, but being a woman on top of that can bring on additional challenges. Now, being a mother on TOP of all those, and you probably have the hardest job of all.

Ask any mother who is also an entrepreneur, and she will tell you that it is a tough balance. So why do female entrepreneurs claim that they are happier than stay-at-home moms or those who work in corporate atmospheres or hold down executive-level roles? This is because most female entrepreneurs get into business doing something they love or that they are passionate. In fact, many female entrepreneurs are breaking the glass ceiling with their online businesses and dominating e-commerce by selling furniture, cosmetics, and décor products, just to name a few.

So what do female entrepreneurs have to do with Mothers’ Day? The point here is that many mothers and female entrepreneurs are one in the same amazing woman. Take some time today to thank that special woman in your life that has helped raise you or your children, the “mother” figure, or that female entrepreneur who does it all. 

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 Written content: © 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010 J.H. Language Solutions

Popcorn Post: Women's Day!

What represents a woman? What makes a woman a woman? Is it compassion? The ability to nurture? A mother? Or solely her biological reproductive parts that make up her gender? Maybe a combination of all of the above. But a woman can be anything she wants to be. That's just one part of what makes up her beauty. There are no more limitations on women. Women have become powerful beings and play crucial roles in today's world.

So if you come across someone today who is compassionate, nurturing, intelligent, powerful, and beautiful in every way, thank her...because she is most likely a woman. Happy Women's Day!






Written content: © 2014, 2013, 2012, 2011, 2010 J.H. Language Solutions

My Grandmother's House, Repost

Some of you may recall when I posted this several months ago. Since then, my grandmother, Annie J. Gniadek, has passed away. I've rewritten this and was asked to speak at her memorial service last week. I like how this was reworked and thought I would share it again.

“Today my brother and I visited my grandmother’s house. A flood of memories overtook us immediately upon opening the door. The quaint little Cape used to be full of knick-knacks, old-fashioned furniture and quilts, and always the smell of something delicious cooking in the oven. But sadly the smell of home cooked meals and love have faded away with time and loneliness, and were replaced with a stale, musty scent with just a hint of a lonely woman's tears.

Every sound, every smell instantly brought me back to my childhood. The sound the storm door makes when you open it, the creak of the floorboards as you step into the kitchen, the smell of the home itself that hasn't faded in thirty years. It was like just yesterday we were all there visiting on summer vacation, coloring on the porch floor, drinking rainbow sherbet ice cream floats she made us in the backyard grass, and drawing in the driveway with sidewalk chalk. We remember her apple pie, walks down the canal, "cout", and...her chicken sandwiches.

A very large part of me felt sad. I missed it. It just amazes me how fast the time goes...and how quickly the little house—that was once filled with life and family—became abandoned, lonely, and sad. My brother and I pawed through items...old dishes, tools, my grandmother's ceramics that haven't moved from the carved, wooden shelves in thirty years. My grandfather's tool bench in the basement sill had his handwriting on the walls. There were old toys that were right where we left them...which seemed like just yesterday.

As we wandered in the backyard, we couldn't believe how small it seemed. When we would run out the back door and into the yard, it seemed so much bigger to us then. It seemed like we ran for miles from the back of the house all the way to the fence. The backyard used to be overflowing with flowers, plants, and vegetables, huge sunflowers that seemed tall enough to kiss the sun, birdfeeders that were always full, and a large garden that my uncle used to tend. Walking in that garden seemed to go on forever. It was like a dense jungle one could easily get lost in. I remember walking through that garden, holding onto my uncle's rear end pockets, afraid yet mesmerized.

Now all that remains is one, single maple tree; a young tree that symbolizes the birth of new life that the house would see again one day. It was difficult to accept that none of us would be coming back here to live or visit again. My grandmother's days for caring for others are gone. And while the home is still filled with spirits of my grandparents, my father and uncle, my brother and I, and our cousins, it's also filled with the ghosts of what seems like lifetimes past. Regardless of where I go, or where I end up, it will always and forever be my grandmother's house."

Annie was always a nurturer. She spent her life caring for my grandfather, her two boys, her grandchildren, and sick family members. My uncle put it perfect just the other day…that God ran out of people for her to care for. And I think I speak for all the grandchildren when I say that missing our grandmother...and her chicken sandwiches...is an understatement. Unlike the scents from her home, or the color of the wooden tulips that still sit in her windows, our memories of her will never fade.

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© Content written and owned by J.H. Language Solutions. Usage by written permission only.

My Grandmother's House

It's amazing how much sights and smells can remind you of a certain time in your life...almost instantly.

Yesterday my brother and I went to visit my vacant grandmother's house. It's been empty for about nine months now. My grandfather passed away in February 2003, and my grandmother has been alone since. In that time, she cared for my two cousins until they grew up, and her sister, until she also passed away.

My grandmother was always a nurturer. She spent her life caring for my grandfather, her two boys, her grandchildren, and sick family members.  Unfortunately, the time has come when she can no longer live on her own. After being diagnosed with and treated for skin cancer and a series of accidents, she now lives with my aunt and uncle, the gracious people that they are, where she will most likely stay until her time comes. Since then, all of us have taken turns visiting the house, cleaning things out, and feeding her cat until he was found another home.

While my brother and I were there yesterday, it just amazes me how surreal it still is. The quaint little Cape used to be full of knick-knacks, old-fashioned furniture and quilts, and always the smell of something delicious cooking in the oven. Now there are only remnants of boxes, old musty photo albums, dispersed chairs and furniture that will most likely be donated, dust bunnies, and some old, cheap Christmas decorations. The smell of home cooked meals and love have faded away with time and loneliness and were replaced with a stale, musty scent with just a hint of an old woman's tears.

Every sound, every smell instantly brought me back to my childhood. The sound the storm door makes when you open it, the creak of the floor boards as you step into the kitchen, the smell of the home itself that hasn't faded in thirty years. It was like just yesterday my brother and I were there on summer vacations, coloring on the porch floor, sipping ice cream floats in the backyard grass, and drawing in the driveway with sidewalk chalk. It just amazes me how fast the time goes...and how quickly the little, quaint, three-bedroom house with the little red, wooden tulips that sit in the windows have become white...faded from years on sunlight. Faded over time.

A very large part of me felt sad. I missed it. It just amazes me how fast the time goes...and how quickly the little house, that was once filled with life and family, became abandoned, lonely, and sad. We spend some much time of our childhood waiting to get older. Then when we get older and become adults, we wonder how quickly everything slipped through our fingers. It almost doesn't seem fair.

As my brother and I pawed through items...old dishes, tools, my grandmother's ceramics that we remember, and haven't moved from their homes on the wooden carved shelves in thirty years. My grandfather's tool bench in the basement sill has his handwriting on the walls, there were old, rusty, nickel keys that belonged to cars that have been gone for at least twenty years. There were old toys that were right where we left them...which seemed like just yesterday.

As we wandered in the backyard, we couldn't believe how small it seemed. When we would run out the back door and into the yard, it seemed so much bigger to us then. It seemed like we ran from miles from the back of the house all the way to the fence. The backyard used to be overflowing with flowers, plants, vegetables, and huge sunflowers that seemed tall enough to kiss the sun, and a large garden that my uncle used to care for. Walking in that garden seemed to go on forever. It was like a dense jungle that you could easily get lost in. I remember walking through that garden, holding onto my uncle's rear end pocket, afraid yet mesmerized.

Now the backyard seems empty and lonely. My grandmother's clothesline is overrun with grape vines and ivy, and are old and full of moss. It seems like a lifetime since they've seen and held clothes. All that remains is one, single maple tree. A young tree that symbolizes the birth of new life that the house would see again one day.

It was weird to think that none of us would be coming back here to live or visit again. My grandmother's days for caring for others are gone. And while the home is still filled with spirits of my grandparents, and my father and uncle, my brother and I and our cousins, it's also filled with the ghosts of what seems like lifetimes past. Regardless of where I go or where I end up, it will always and forever be my grandmother's house.



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SUNFLOWER
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© Content written and owned by J.H. Language Solutions. Usage by written permission only.

What is a Mother?

No language can express the power, and beauty, and heroism, and majesty of a mother's love. It shrinks not where man cowers, and grows stronger where man faints, and over wastes of worldly fortunes sends the radiance of its quenchless fidelity like a star.  ~Edwin Hubbell Chapin

I realize that Mother's Day has long past for the year. My intentions were to write this article for then, however, I found it incredibly hard to put this article together. It really didn't occur to me until I began writing this the crucial role that mothers play in our development as human beings and in our lives. First off, I'd like to begin by discussing the term, as well as the role of a "mother". What is a mother?

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines "mother" as:

a : a female parent b (1) : a woman in authority; specifically : the superior of a religious community of women (2) : an old or elderly woman 

 

I think both these definitions are up for debate. In today's world, mothers aren't necessarily "parents", by definition, nor are they necessarily female. So, I ask again, what is a mother?

How would you describe a mother? Perhaps your mother was how a mother "should" be, in that this person was nurturing, loving, affectionate, protecting, and compassionate. Or perhaps your mother was distant, cold, maybe even abusive. Or perhaps your "mother" was a stepparent, or a grandmother, or a sister, a foster mother, or even a surrogate mother. Regardless of what term you use to describe your own "mother", we each had some kind of maternal role in our lives.

From my own personal experience, I've learned, from my own childhood as well as my own experience as a stepmother, that "mothers" are not feckless. I recall from my own childhood my mother caring for us when we were all sick. I remember several instances where my father, my younger brother, and myself were all laid out on the couch or in bed sick with God only knows what disease we contracted and shared between one another. And there she was...running around getting us juice, toast, medicine, etc. And it wasn't until I was older that I realized that I don't recall her ever being sick. I mean, sure, there were times where she didn't feel well...but laid out in bed for days while we waited on her? Never. Mothers don't get sick. They are incredible human beings who take on the world, and all its challenges, dangers, as well as gifts, and nurture and protect their children with the gifts and from the dangers, all at once.

I remember when I was a teenager reading Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. One of the articles in the book was titled "Mother's Hands". While I can't remember the article verbatim, I remember it describing a child who always feared the kitchen sink. Not an actual fear of the sink itself, but specifically the dark, disgusting, grubby mess that always seems to conjure at the drain from washed dinner plates, pet fur, and soap scum. The child feared reaching his hands into the dark, murky water after helping his mother wash dishes after dinner. After the dish washing ritual was finished, the mother fearlessly reached her hands into the questionable water to pull and release the drain. It was at that point that it occurred to him what a mother's hands encounter on daily basis. It's a mother's hands that symbolize what a mother encounters, fearlessly. 

I am a stepmother. To all the stepmothers out there who read this, you know how difficult it can be. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. Coming into a child's life, regardless of the child's age, is not easy...for either party. Dealing with an "ex", whether it is an "ex-girlfriend" or "ex-wife" that is still actively involved in the child's life is even harder. Dealing with a new child, or children, a new spouse, AND an ex-partner just might be the epitome of intense family situations. Running back and forth to schools, day cares, and after-school programs. The rules "here" vs. the rules "there". Child support. Court dates. Custody battles. The list goes on. I've seen it all and none of it is easy. However, personally, I think the part that I had the most difficulty with was what I meant to my stepdaughter. Who am I? I'm not her mother...but I am the "mother" figure in my own household. I'm legally married to her father, but I'm not her "legal guardian".

I remember a time several years ago after my husband and I had just married. There was a REAL slap in the face. There was a parent-teacher conference going on at my stepdaughter's school. I had planned to take the morning off from work to attend with my husband> I wanted to be the new, proud "parent" and take an active interest and involvement in my stepchild's life and education. Unfortunately, something had come up that day and I needed to go to work. However, I tried to plan so that I could at least attend the meeting via a conference call. I had looked up my stepdaughter's teacher through the school's public website and I called and left her a message. I stated who I was and how I was to be attending a meeting with her father and mother. I asked for someone to call me back with a conference line number that I could dial into. After several calls and several messages, no one ever called me back. I was so frustrated and hurt that I could not be a part of the meeting. After touching base with my husband afterwards, the school told him that since I wasn't a "biological parent", I had no right to attend the meeting nor did they feel any obligation to return my calls. I was absolutely dumbfounded. You mean in this day and age with all the different family dynamics they STILL don't consider stepparents as active "parents" in a child's life? I don't remember a time where I had ever felt so hurt and angry.

That was only the starting point. From there I found more and more scenarios where I just didn't count. Working with the schools was a biggie, but then there is the legal system. Child support is based on "household income", which many stepparents are forced to contribute to, but aren't considered "legal guardians". In fact, they are strictly referred to as "caretakers". And you better believe that if something happens to that child on your watch, even if you aren't a "real parent", the punishments are ten-fold. So pay for the kids, assume all responsibilities, but they still aren't yours. The only way to assume legal guardianship is to legally adopt the child, which can only be done if one parent voluntarily gives up parental rights, is deemed unfit and is stripped of parental rights, or is deceased. At least those are the laws of Massachusetts. The system is completely corrupt. After what I do for her and what I contribute to her well-being, I'm just a "caretaker".

Then there are the comments people make. (People ruin everything, they really do). Particularly for those who are first married, the conversations that you have slowly conform to a conversation about children. Which at that point you have no choice but to tell them that you are a "stepparent". After that, at least one of several reactions will take place: some of these include confusion or judgment (as to why you would marry a person with "baggage"), disgust (for the never-ending break down of family dynamics in society...because that's all YOUR fault), or even "that poor woman" (referring to the child's mother...as it is most common that the child's father marries "a younger woman"). The final, yet the least common reaction, is genuine interest or happiness for you.

All in all, I think my favorite reaction was a conversation I had with someone who was also a stepparent. After going through the conversation motions about just getting married, kids, and getting to the part of having a stepdaughter, the reaction I got was, "Oh, I also have stepchildren...but I NEVER call them that." As if I was some horrible person for calling my stepdaughter, well, what she is...my STEP daughter. At that point I started doing the opposite. I started just calling her my "daughter" rather than go through the whole charade. But that didn't help matters. 1.) I felt bad about calling her my "daughter" when she really isn't, out of respect for her mother, and 2.) I got comments and reactions regarding my age. Having a nine year-old at age 27 would have made me 18, should I have really given birth to her. I couldn't win.

All in all, I had a REAL hard time adjusting to this new family dynamic. In trying to deal with my overwhelming feelings, and with no one else to turn to, I came across this book Stepmotherhood by Cherie Burns. It really helped me deal with my feelings. It also gave me one thing I was looking for...validation. It helped show me that my feelings as a whole were not wrong. I recommend this to any stepparent.

In almost three years of marriage, I have begun to accept just who I am. I also found comfort in how my stepdaughter feels about me. All in all, it's up to her the role she wants me to play in her life. If she wanted me to be a mom, then I would be a mom. I would be a friend. I would be a caretaker. I just wanted to care for her and my husband and embrace having a child and family in my home...regardless of whatever that made me. I just go through each day doing the best I can for her and hopefully someday, maybe when she's 25, she'll look back on me and think, "Wow, my stepmom was really there for me." And it'll all be worth it.

So I've learned that just because someone is a "mother" on paper, or even gives birth to a child, does not necessarily make them a "mother". According to the Drama of a Gifted Child, by Alice Miller, a mother doesn't even necessarily have to be a woman. "The act of mothering, another need not be biological or even a woman." In fact, there are more stay-at-home Dads today now more than ever. Not that being a stay-at-home-parent means that you are a better parent than those who are not, but this fun fact just goes to show you that a "mother" doesn't necessarily mean this person is female. 1 point for me, 0 for Merriam-Webster.

For those who feel they had a lack of a "mother" in their lives, my heart goes out to you. Truly. So many childhoods ruined from mothers who were loveless, distant, cold, or even intimidating or used violence. As a result, children who arise from these types of childhoods often grow in fear, or have difficultly with establishing and/or maintaining relationships. Some even develop other mental or psychological disorders such as anxiety or depression. Mothers are crucial to our development as human beings as well as have a direct impact on how we act and behave and how we interact and treat others. Having this taken away from a person, or never having the luxury to really learn love...to love another and to love ourselves...makes some feel robbed, or like a piece of them is missing. Those who live with a negative interpretation of a "mother", live with in pain and suffering until they learn to reach their inner child and accept their life for what it is and make peace with what they never had.

It's interesting to see how "mother" figures have an impact on our lives, for the good and the bad. But from what I've learned as not quite a mother or a parent, or even from loving someone who had a lack of a mother, a "mother" doesn't necessarily have to be a biological. Yes, this of course, is the norm, but certainly isn't the exception to the rule. As I mentioned above, "mothers" should be nurturing, loving, comforting, and should teach us about love. A "mother's" love should teach us about love, and how to love another, and to love ourselves. The strength of a "real" mother is incomparable.


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