Let me introduce myself – you know me as Max. You know I’m the second daughter of my mom’s 5 kids, a reformed picky eater, who has – with questionable success – been taught to brag, and who once considered moving in with the Bartniki’s from school. I’m a little more grown up now: in my late twenties, living and working in the city, and learning to see my mom less as a mythic parental force and more as a full, amazing, complex person.

As you know, in our family, Mother’s Day means morning scrapple, salmon on the grill, and a day spent on the patio in between. And more than anything else, you’ve gotten to know my mom — through her thoughts, jokes, highly practical advice, and the stories she’s shared here on this blog.

I Grew up on the Stories my Mom Told . . .

And if there’s only one thing you’ve learned about my mom by now, it’s that she believes in the power of storytelling. She is such a good storyteller herself that it’s sometimes a struggle to watch movies with her – 15 minutes in, she’ll casually predict the ending, with the defensible rationale of ‘Well I don’t know!’ One of her favorite lines, when on occasion accused of exaggeration, is “Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!” 

Turns Out, she was Doing a Little bit More than Keeping us Entertained.

Research backs up what I’ve learned growing up in our house: the stories families tell matter. A recent study from Emory University found that kids who know their family stories — the triumphs, the disasters, the inside jokes — have higher resilience, better self-esteem, and a stronger sense of control when life gets hard. Whether it’s about a great-grandparent I never met, the time someone burned the Thanksgiving biscuits, or my own meltdown about having salad on my dinner plate, those stories shape how I understand myself, right now.

In so many families, it’s moms who carry those stories. They remember the story we tell on Scout’s birthday, the inside jokes from vacations, and the recipes you “couldn’t stand” but now miss. My mom has always been that person. She could tell you which of us wore butterfly pants to the first day of kindergarten, who has an irrational fear of mayonnaise (spoiler – me), and which neighbor kid looked over at our single-family shenanigans and announced “They’re having a party!”. 

It’s one of those invisible jobs moms take on — the kind you don’t notice until you realize someone has to remember who lost the Christmas ham and which dinner dish is “the ugly plate.” And these stories become the threads that keep us connected, even when life stretches us out in different directions.

And now, I’m old Enough to Tell Some Stories About her.

While this blog mostly features stories where my siblings or I are the main characters, we’ve gathered plenty about my mom, too.

Like the time we were on a long car ride in Ireland and my mom chatted with our driver the whole way, nodding and laughing like they were old friends. After we stopped, she turned to us and asked why we hadn’t joined in – and we had to reveal she was the only one able to understand his thick Irish brogue! 

Or the year I insisted on going as Laura Ingalls Wilder for Halloween — and my mom spent weeks sewing me a red cloak with a hood because the Little House books said she had one, and if my mom was going to do something, she was going to do it all the way.

Or how food never runs out at our house – my mom makes plenty for every meal, because without fail, neighborhood friends would show up at our house after their own dinner with a casual, “I could eat!” 

Because Those Stories Shape us all – Parents and Children Alike.

And those stories don’t just shape us — the ones we tell about our parents shape them, too.

A recent New York Times article pointed out that Mother’s Day cards — those scribbled memories and goofy inside jokes — are time capsules of how kids see their moms at each age. What tidbits and stories we share back with our moms can help inform the identities they carry as people and parents. 

I remember filling out one of those preschool “about my mom” worksheets. According to three-year-old me, her favorite drink was coffee (semi-accurate) and her favorite TV show was “The Weather” (debatable). Those tiny snapshots become part of the archive, too.

Even now, the stories we choose to tell — and the ones we pass down — matter. Gratitude researchers have found that reflecting on the people who shape your life improves your relationships, strengthens your resilience, and boosts your overall happiness. This recent study from Baylor University shows that intentionally practicing gratitude fosters new connections and fortifies existing ones by promoting positive interactions and prosocial behaviors. So this Mother’s Day, I figure it’s worth saying the good stuff a little extra out loud. 

This Mother’s Day, I Hope you’ll Tell yours too.

I’m not a mom yet, but I’m collecting the stories already. Stories for myself, for someday, and for the people I’ll want to hold close. And if my mom’s taught me anything, it’s that you don’t wait for a perfect moment to tell them, you build them into eveyday. 

So this Mother’s Day, tell a story. If you’re a mom, about the days or moments that made you a mom, or the ones you remember most about your own. If you’re not, tell one about the people who mothered you — whether they were family, neighbors, friends, or the kind of women who always had room at their table and time for your story.

And to my own amazing Mom – Happy Mother’s Day! We love you – thank you for filling our life with love and with stories. 

Love,

Max