When we were kids, my sister and I used to play board games with our dad, and Battleship was one of our absolute favorites. It wasn’t just about sinking ships, it was about scheming, giggling, and low-key cheating in the most innocent way possible. We’d pretend we had to go to the bathroom, then sneak peeks at his board, thinking we were being so slick. The best part? We could never remember what we saw. We'd come back feeling like secret agents, only to wildly guess and completely miss. Every time my dad would calmly say, “Miss,” we’d burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing in the world.

As a kid, I was a minimalist before I even knew what that word meant. I liked my space clean, simple, and free of anything that felt “extra.” One day I decided my room needed a full reset, not a deep clean, but a purge. I started small: a stack of old clothes, a blanket I never used, a few knick knacks I was suddenly over. It felt good, lighter. So naturally, I took it a step further… and set my sights on my couch.

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.

Back in the day, when we had a real home phone (landline and all), my sister and I weren’t allowed to just answer it with a plain “hello.” Nope. My mom had a script. We had to say, “Riley residence, Jackie speaking,” clearly, politely, and with a smile you could hear through the phone. It felt so official, like we were working at a front desk instead of just trying to talk to our friend from school. I remember thinking, Why is this such a big deal? It’s just the phone.

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 calling my mom in absolute tears over a C I got on a paper in college. I was an A student, straight As were my thing, so getting a C felt like total devastation. It wasn’t even my final grade, just one assignment, but at the time, it felt like the end of the world. I was dramatic, panicked, and convinced I’d just ruined my GPA and possibly my entire future (classic college meltdown energy).

My mom has a saying for everything, and one of her favorites is: “Haste makes waste.” Growing up, we’d hear it whenever someone rushed through their homework, tried to cook without reading the recipe, or basically did anything too fast without thinking it through. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, just another mom phrase. But on a ski trip to Mammoth one year, that saying hit a little too close to home.

One summer, my mom and I decided we were going to be those people, you know, the effortlessly minimalist, travel-light kind. We packed for our summer family vacation with the bare minimum: a few mix-and-match pieces, one tunic that could be a dress or a shirt (versatility, right?), and a single pair of pants each. It felt efficient. It felt freeing. It felt like we were winning the packing game. My sister, on the other hand, did not play the game. Unlike us, she packed her entire closet! 

That was one of my mom’s go-to sayings growing up, especially during our piano lesson years. My sister and I both took piano, and let me tell you, those lessons came with a strict practice schedule. We weren’t just playing, oh no, we had to log a certain amount of practice time before our next lesson, and my mom made sure we hit those numbers. I remember so clearly sitting at the piano bench, hearing my friends laughing and playing outside, and thinking Why me? But there was no getting around it, no practicing, no playing.

My mom used to say, “One shouldn’t miss the forest for the trees,” and honestly, I didn’t really get it as a kid. She said it all the time, when we were rushing through things, focusing on the little stuff, or just generally not paying attention to the bigger picture. One time it really stuck was during a family RV trip we took across the U.S. My mom, dad, sister, and I hit the road in this huge, moving house of a vehicle, and to me, that was the coolest part. I was obsessed with the bunk beds, the snacks, the fact that we could literally eat cereal while flying down a highway.

There’s a saying my mom always loved: “Even the strongest oak leans in a storm.” It's one of those little nuggets of wisdom that really sticks with you over time, especially when you’ve seen it in action. I remember the time we took my 98-year-old great-grandma to the zoo, just my mom, my sister, and I. We were excited to see the polar bears, but there was one problem: to get there, we had to climb a steep hill. Now, my mom, being practical, suggested we call a zoo staff member for a ride up. But my great-grandma, in all her determination, wasn’t hearing it. “I can walk,” she insisted. And off we went, up that hill, one slow step at a time.