Growing up, garage sale weekends at our house were basically a full production. And my mom? She was the director. My sister and I weren’t just bystanders, we were staff. We had to wake up early, help haul out the boxes, and be ready with price stickers and change boxes in hand. She didn’t give us “pretend” jobs, either. We were really in it, negotiating prices, greeting customers, and handling money with the kind of seriousness only a kid with a fanny pack full of quarters can have.

There was a time when I swore I didn’t like 80s music. My mom would have it playing in the car, at home, anywhere she could sneak it in. And every time she did, I would sit there in silence, arms crossed, face unmoved, determined not to enjoy it. Stubbornness is a family trait, and I was no exception. My sister, on the other hand, gave in almost immediately. She was humming along to “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and belting out Pat Benatar before I’d even admitted the music had a beat.

I still remember the magic of the American Girl store in Chicago like it was yesterday. My mom, grandma, sister, and I made the trip together, and in my little-girl eyes, that place was nothing short of a dream. Towering displays, endless dolls, matching outfits, it was like stepping into a storybook. But what really stuck with me wasn’t the shopping. It was teatime. We sat down with our dolls for a dainty little tea service, complete with tiny sandwiches, sweet treats, and fancy pink lemonade. I felt so grown-up and so full of joy, like the whole day had been made just for us.

I still remember the magic of the American Girl store in Chicago like it was yesterday. My mom, grandma, sister, and I made the trip together, and in my little-girl eyes, that place was nothing short of a dream. Towering displays, endless dolls, matching outfits, it was like stepping into a storybook. But what really stuck with me wasn’t the shopping. It was teatime. We sat down with our dolls for a dainty little tea service, complete with tiny sandwiches, sweet treats, and fancy pink lemonade. I felt so grown-up and so full of joy, like the whole day had been made just for us.

There’s something special about back-to-school shopping, especially when you’re a kid. For me, it wasn’t just about getting new clothes, it was about the whole experience. My mom, my sister, and I would head out to the stores together, browsing the racks for the perfect outfits to kick off the school year. It wasn’t just about the clothes themselves but the feeling of fresh starts and new possibilities. I remember the excitement building up as we picked out new jeans, shirts, and shoes. And of course, my mom’s go-to saying, “Out with the old, in with the new,” would ring in my ears, marking the moment we’d leave behind the old school year and step into the next one with a little more confidence and style.

One of my favorite memories from second grade was when my mom volunteered in my classroom. But it wasn’t just her being there that made the day so special, it was because she brought our little white dog with her. I remember she hid the dog under the table while we were all working, and whenever I’d look over, I’d catch a glimpse of her wagging her tail. It was such a small thing, but it was exactly the kind of surprise that made my day. 

Growing up, my mom always said, “There’s no place like home,” and I never really understood the full meaning of that phrase until much later in life. As a kid, I just thought of home as, well, home–where I lived, where I slept, and where I did my homework. But my mom created something much more than that. She made our house a safe haven, a place filled with warmth, love, and security. No matter how chaotic or stressful school life could get, I always knew I had a cozy, welcoming place to come back to at the end of the day.

Growing up, Christmas at the tree lot wasn’t just about picking the perfect tree. It was a full-blown adventure, and my sister and I were always at the center of it. Every year, we’d run through the trees, weaving in and out of the rows like our lives depended on it. My dad would count to ten, giving us a head start, and then we’d take off, dodging low branches and trying to blend in with the camouflage jackets we’d sometimes wear. As we got older, and a little bigger, the game got more difficult, and let’s be honest, less graceful, but that didn’t stop us. It became a tradition, no matter how ridiculous it looked.

One of my favorite memories with my mom is when my sister, my mom, and I would all dance around the house while our player-piano played. The music would fill the room all the way to our high ceilings and she’d always say, “Dance like no one’s watching.” It didn’t matter if we had rhythm or not, we’d just spin around, laugh and enjoy the moment. There was something special about those little dance sessions, where the goal wasn’t to look good or follow any rules, we just had fun and we were together.