Mom Brag: That’s when I go off

It doesn’t matter how old kids get, they’re still yours. The connection doesn’t end at age 18. It morphs from tending tangible needs—Hungry? Eat. Problem solved—to listening as grown kids solve their own issues. Or try. In the age of TMI—too much information—options are on the rise. Stress too.

College? Career? Men? New York, Virginia, or California? Or cat memes until it all goes away? Akkkkk! These are decisions mom has no business making.

That said, some days are great; others not so much. That’s true for any relationship, even the one we have with ourselves. But moms—and most women I know—will get a warm fuzzy when a gal takes her talents and runs with them.

No judgements. Just a high five. Atta girl. (The same goes for boys although that’s another blog.)

So while I was never one to flash baby pics—when you’re the youngest of eight that’s been done to death before you’re even born—I’m taking a minute to share some pictures with you.

My youngest daughter, Gwendolyn, not inclined to be photographed in D.C.—not asking anymore—green lighted me sharing the following shots. The reason? She took the pictures? Or could be she’s proud of her work. I know I am.

Enter Dream Wire Designs.

I’m not boring you with the low part of our lives that gave birth to this fantasy wire shop where dreams–weddings, Quinceañera, and out-of-this-world larping (life action role playing) took life–began. Suffice to say the shop, the creative drive, the focus on future, and Gwendolyn’s daring to embrace her creative talents came precisely at the right time. Needs must. And Gwendolyn did. I’m glad she did. She inspires me to do the same with my writing. God is good.

Check. It. Out.

I love her business attitude. Her bravery. Getting it out there is never easy. Taking risks often gets you creamed. Tackling the learning curve while being vulnerable, especially to that creeping self-doubt that assaults us all, can be a real nightmare. I don’t care how secure you say you are. Everyone has battled that voice in their head at one time. (If you’ve succeeded in slaying that nasty permanently, please, have mercy. Clue us all in by commenting below. I know I’d be grateful.)

But while jewelry making is not exactly writing—something both my girls do although that’s not out there yet—crafting requires the same creative process, the same struggle to bring what’s in one’s brain to life. The risk of self-sabotage is the same. So too is the need for support, not financial as much as emotional. Knowing you can do it and having others appreciate your effort goes a long way on a journey that often seems to stretch from one desert to another and back again.

We writer’s get that in spades.

So do women. Some more than others.

And here’s why I’m smiling.

Gwendolyn and I just came home—grocery shopping is sad necessary—to a big, brown box on the front stoop. “What’s that?” Gwendolyn asked first. She’s faster than me. “I didn’t order anything from Uline (a box shop).” But, hey, we love packages. And as Gwendolyn hauled the box inside, what did she find? More boxes.

Huh?

We almost didn’t need the text that came, as if summoned, to explain. Older sister Melanie, fledged and fully aware of the nature of the creative process, wanted to help her sister out. I’m not sure how many little silver boxes—perfect for wire/bead earrings are inside—but it’s the thought that counts.

Sister helping sister. Woman helping woman. Business woman helping business woman. Creative artist helping creative artist.

It’s great being a mom, a woman, and a writer, especially on days like this. What’s your mom brag? Share your mentor moment. Taking time to go off keeps that creative train moving. (And that includes men, too. There’s no man bashing on this blog. It’s all good.)

Write on, peeps!