When I was a young woman, I thought advertising was just like sports.
My dad used to sell ice cream at the local Dairy Queen, and it was a nice way to make some extra money.
But the women in my family, I remember, always complained that I was too busy working for the Dairy Queen to be a good businesswoman.
My mom, for one, wasn’t much of a businesswoman, either.
“I’m a lawyer, not a lawyer,” she said, adding that she liked to get out of the way.
My sister, on the other hand, was a lawyer and a great negotiator, but she was also a very demanding mother.
When she got mad at me for being a mother and a stay-at-home mom, she would say, “I’ve got two daughters.
How can you expect me to be in charge of you two when I don’t have any money to spend?”
And I would always respond, “No, I’m just going to do my best.
I can’t be a mother to two girls.
I’m not that kind of mother.”
The truth was that my mother worked her ass off to support us, but we had a tough time finding work that would pay her the minimum wage, let alone the minimum $1.10 an hour she had worked.
I was only 15 years old at the time, and my father had already gone back to school, and he couldn’t afford to keep me.
As I got older, I realized that I had no control over my mother’s job.
“She’s not that much older than you are, but you’re the one who has to pay the bills, and I don, too,” my sister said.
So my mom and I worked at the same bakery together, and we could make enough to pay for groceries, rent, and a little extra food to keep us from starving.
In a few years, I was working at my father’s bakery, and she had gotten the job at the Dairy King.
That was a different kind of business, but it was also one where I had to work extra hours, even if that meant taking a few extra days off from work.
At the end of my first year at the bakery, I got sick.
It was very bad.
My brother was there to pick me up.
“You’re doing okay,” he said.
“Your stomach hurts.”
My mom said, “Oh, yeah, your stomach hurts.
It’s because you didn’t eat.”
“What is your job?”
“My job is to keep my family healthy,” she replied.
“So when you get sick, you’re not doing anything,” my brother said.
My mother looked at him and said, in a sad voice, “My whole family is sick.
So when I see your brother, I know it’s my fault.”
My brother’s reaction was a little different.
He said, without a hint of surprise, “That’s a terrible thing to say.”
But it wasn’t just my brother who was thinking that way.
Many of my friends who grew up with the same family also believed that I should work more hours to make sure that my parents and sisters were well enough to get by.
I knew that this kind of thinking was not healthy for my family.
It made it hard for my mom to be at work, and this was the kind of attitude that my sisters were constantly complaining about, too.
I couldn’t do anything about it.
My sisters were right, and so was my mother.
The problem with this attitude was that it didn’t work.
My parents didn’t get paid enough to support them.
They weren’t getting enough time off to care for their daughters.
And they weren’t working as hard as they should, either, because they weren- they weren” working as fast as they could to make up for the gap.
“And that’s going’t be good for me.” “
If I’m at home and my mom has to work, she’s going to have to eat a lot,” my mother told me.
“And that’s going’t be good for me.”
“You should work harder,” my older sister said to me one day.
I told her that my dad worked a lot harder than I did, but he still didn’t make enough money to support my mom.
“He’s a good man,” she told me with a smile.
“But I’m so worried that he won’t make it.”
She then paused, and said something to the effect of, “You know, it’s hard to make ends meet when you’re a mother, because you have to go back to work all the time.”
My parents never had much of an income.
“Well, I guess it’s not hard to find work if you have a lot of money,” my younger sister replied.
And my mom was right.
My family did have a