Why I am ALL About the MOM BOSS Trend!

So, there is this new breed of women. You’re familiar with the Mommy Wars and the working full-time versus stay-at-home mother debate. Blah, blah, blah. Can we please stop having this conversation? Guess what? The GREAT thing about us all living our own lives is that we get to make our OWN choices! Today I went to Whole Foods. Another person probably did their shopping at the Meijer across the street. If I met that Meijer shopper at a party, I would still talk to them (provided they weren’t a complete jerk). This is how arbitrary the Mom Wars are – it’s like refusing to be friendly to a mom because she’s in a different club than you. Ridiculous. Maybe shopping at Whole Foods is totally your thing. Maybe not. We all make choices for our family, given our unique circumstances, and we are all doing the best we can, in general. For the most part, we are all just trying to pay the bills and not mess up these little creatures that come into the world totally innocent and wonderful. That is my daily goal. Don’t f*ck up the angels that the universe has blessed us with. Continue to treat them as the blessing that they are, even when there is urine all over your floor that the blinds sales person may or may not be standing in (I’ll have to tell that story another time.)


Back to this new breed of mom. So, she seems to be doing it all. She’s the new work from home mom. She’s on her iPhone, rocking her thing, making the parties, passing out business cards in the school parking lot after drop off. Get it, girl. She’s doing all this in her damn yoga pants. Guess what! She probably has a Bachelor in Science and used to work at a high-end boutique or law firm or environmental protection agency – whatever. Friends from high school may look at her and wonder, “What happened?” Why did you give up your career? Guess what. Somewhere along the way she probably got a little tired of working for the man and decided to work for herself. More freaking power to you!


Here’s why else I totally buy into this – because we were already doing it, and somebody just figured out how to get paid doing it. Then companies figured out that women could sell a lot more than just makeup. So maybe I don’t want to buy your lipstick that stays on for 16 hours or maybe I’m not really into scented stuff for my home. That really isn’t a big deal. I still support you. Bring on the oils, the shakes, the at-home-workouts, the amazing yoga pants that feel like butter, and the piles of books for my kids. Do it. At the end of the day, we are all in this together. At least that’s how it should be.


If you haven’t figured this out yet. You are a brand. You are a unique set of preferences, skills, characteristics, and look. All of this together makes you AWESOME. It makes you what you are. You are promoting something. Every single day. You’re promoting that coffee shop that you frequent on your way to work. You’re promoting the clothes that you’re wearing, the car that you’re driving, and the posts that you’re “liking” … you’re already doing it! As humans, our brain takes inventory of all of these millions of images and inputs and looks for patterns. We come to realize that a person that drives a Subaru is outdoorsy (or at least want to appear outdoorsy). Companies spend a lot of money to figure out what people want and what kind of people fit their brand. We are putting all of this data out there, and somebody that understands statistics a lot better than me is paid a lot of money to analyze it. The world is changing, rapidly, and in the future, there may be a lot less people working for the man. Frankly, I hope so. Cheers to all of you that are figuring out your own way of doing things. Cheers to all the entrepreneurs. You people are the ones making the damn world go round!

A Letter to my Father, 10 years after you died of brain cancer.

A Letter to my Father, 10 years after you died of brain cancer.
(In honor of John David Farrell – born September 15th, 1958 and died October 5th, 2007.)


It seems strange that 10 years have gone by. Ten. You passed from this life to the next just a few weeks after our birthdays. I had turned 22 and you, 49. Now here I am, newly 32, and I guess you would be 59. I don’t know what you look like at 59 years of age. I picture you much the same, with a few more lines around your eyes, your laughing eyes, always laughing. I know that you would be delighted in how far we have come in these last 10 years. In many ways, it feels like an eternity. I was so lost when you left. So completely lost. Somehow, I feel like you guided me through. That was a dark year. We used to have talks in my dreams, meeting up somewhere like Jupiter, just for a coffee. It has been a while since we have had a coffee date, but, I know that they will always be there, when I really need it.

Lately, I have been thinking about the lessons that you taught me. They call these LIFE lessons. Lessons about life… You always seemed bigger than life, yes, even bigger than death. Your charisma, your spirit, your laugh. These are the things that carry on. These are the things that I must find a way to show my boys. I hope that they can see the piece of you in me.

It never mattered what you did. You could be in the grocery check-out lane, or preaching from the pulpit, or comforting a friend over coffee, but your love made a difference. It never ceases to amaze me, years later, how many people that your love made an impact on. Life has a way of bleeding us dry from time to time – all of us run ragged and empty on occasion, and feel like we have nothing left to give. I know that you felt this way sometimes, maybe more than others, and yet from this, out of this, you continued to love. That love, as you poured it out into others, always filled you up. I watched it, all my life, in amazement. You were never perfect. It was your humanity that was amazing, though. I watched you, even in your worst moments, reach out and make a difference for somebody else. In the end, it was always your love for others that carried you from one heartache to the next victory.

I know that you asked us to take care of Mom, just so you know, we are trying. Sadly, I think you were much better at this than we are.

When you were sick, you became even more of a prophet, a spiritual man. It was like as your body was fading, your spirit was growing stronger. It was intense and overwhelming to be around, as a mere mortal. When you finally left your body, after days of struggle, days of coma, it was the heaviest air that I have ever breathed, breathing in the room where you took your last breaths. I stuck around in the room, for a few moments after. I wanted to feel its emptiness, to know with certainty that you were gone. To be in the room with your empty shell and to be alone. You were gone. My sister came to get me. I’m thankful for that.

In retrospect, your death was powerful, but nothing compared to your life. I hope that I can live in a way that honors your legacy. All of your 4 children hold different pieces of you. We all honor you in our own ways, all very differently. If there was anything that you taught us, it was always to think for ourselves – to question everything, especially the things that were “given” – and to take nothing for granted.

The curse of being an idealist – as you were, and as I am – is that it is the things that are bigger than life that draw us and keep us alive, yet it is in the everyday and the mundane that we seek to fulfill this greater purpose. I’ll be honest, sometimes, right now, I don’t feel super powerful as I’m cleaning up poop and doing dishes. I’m just a mom. Right now, this is my purpose. This is my season in life. I am giving more than I ever have before. I give more of myself than I knew that I had, and yet, I’m not getting paid a dime. Ha. I’ve learned to find my value, finally, outside of a paycheck, in a society that holds no value to what doesn’t hold the value of a dollar. It has been a humbling experience, to say the least. I also know that you would be incredibly proud.

To say that I miss you is silly, because you know it already. To say that I love you is obvious. I’ll just say that, if life is so kind as to give me another 10 years, and I hope that I have many more after that, I hope that with each passing decade that I continue to grow and I continue to shine a light. I pray that in that light, somewhere, is a piece of yours.

Always yours,

Kristy Lynn