A Tribute to My Mother: All the Times I Made Her Question Motherhood

Since today is Mother’s Day, I wanted to make this post extra special and dedicate it to the most important woman in my life: my mom.

My mother was quite literally born to be a mom. She’s had many jobs over the years, but motherhood? That’s her calling. She’s the kind of mom who did everything and I mean everything from cooking to homework help, party planning to decorating, playdates to grounding me (a personal favorite of hers, I’m sure).

She is what I’d call a classic Martha Stewart-type mother without the jail time, obviously. I can honestly say I didn’t grow up on McDonald’s. Sure, I had my fair share of Happy Meals, but breakfast, lunch, and dinner were always home-cooked and always an extravagant affair.

Mornings before school? Eggs, grits, and bacon, pancakes, oatmeal you name it. Lunches were lovingly packed and waiting for me (until I hit middle school and ditched them for school lunch because it seemed cool. Spoiler: it wasn’t). And dinner? Oh, dinner was fine dining in the Moritz house. We’re talking lamb, couscous, and salad on a random Tuesday night. Homemade chili. Oxtail. Soup from scratch. Pork chops. Not a box of pasta or can of pesto in sight.

My mom also made sure our house was fully stocked snacks, drinks (non-alcoholic, of course; she was strict) and when it came to birthdays, she went all out. Handmade invitations. Personalized party favors. Game stations. And since I’ve always been a Halloween girly, for my 7th birthday she turned the entire house into a haunted fortress and dressed up as a fortune teller, giving each kid a funny, kid-friendly fortune. (Mine probably said something like “You will cause your mother to question every decision she’s ever made.”)

Because, let me tell you I did not make things easy for her.

If you knew me, you knew I had an attitude that could rival any reality TV star. I pushed her buttons like it was my full-time job. Everything they say about the youngest child being completely unhinged? 100% true in my case.

So, grab your matcha, and enjoy this chaotic, loving rollercoaster of a tribute a little walk down memory lane featuring some of the many, many times I made my mom question motherhood entirely.

And Mom try not to get PTSD.

Credit Card-Gate

Ah yes, the infamous day my father (God bless him) thought it would be a great idea to give me an “emergency credit card” when I turned 13. You see, I had a lot of “fashion emergencies.” And by 14, I was living out my European dream during peak Juicy Couture era.

Let’s just say… I saw pink. A lot of pink.

I walked out of that store with cupcakes, a cappuccino, and a man carrying my bags. That man did not work for me he worked for the boutique.

You can imagine Andrea’s heart attack when she got the American Express alert.

The 10K Phone Call from Santorini

Flash forward seven years. This time, not even my fault (kind of). I was 21 — legally an adult in the U.S. — and my parents were on a peaceful holiday in Greece when they got a magical alert: a $10,000 charge on their credit card.

Turns out my wallet had been stolen. And wouldn’t you know it — the only card the thief used was their beloved American Express.

34 phone calls later, I had successfully ruined a peaceful sunset in Santorini.

(But to be fair, the money was refunded. So really was the panic necessary, Mom?)

Joyrides in Mommy’s BMW

Ah, the glory days. I used to “borrow” my mom’s BMW and drive it around town with my friends. Why else would she have bought a BMW if not for her teenage daughter to take it joyriding?

Let me be clear: I was 15 and legally not allowed to drive without an adult. But, in my logic, four 15-year-old girls in one car = 60 years. That counts as an adult, right?

Highlights include: getting the car stuck in a hole and needing it literally lifted out.

Sorry, Mom.

College, a Sailor’s Liver, and a Hospital Visit

In the United States, college is about two things: education and drinking. And I treated both with equal reverence.

Let’s just say I could drink like a sailor... until one day, I couldn’t. One particularly rowdy weekend landed me in the hospital, hooked up to an IV with a hydration crisis and a blood alcohol level my mom definitely didn’t need to hear about.

The kicker? I had to call her from the hospital bed and ask for my insurance info. Love that for us.

The Boozy Brunch That Became a 24-Hour Bender

What was supposed to be a relaxed Sunday brunch with bottomless mimosas turned into… well, chaos.

Somehow we went from brunch → kicked out of a restaurant → stumbled into a club → ended up on a boat.

In the middle of all this? My poor mother, frantically trying to reach me. 55 missed calls. Yes, 55.

I left the house at 11 a.m. and didn’t return until 4 p.m. the next day. (To be fair, a friend who wasn’t even at brunch invited us onto a boat. We said yes. I was perfectly fine just working on my tan.)

Sorry again, Mom.

I could go on. I could probably write a whole novel of the ways I’ve given my mother gray hair. But for her sanity and blood pressure I’ll stop here.

So, Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy. I love you. And aren’t you glad I’m old now and can’t do half of these things anymore? I make bread. I sip matcha. I pay for my own credit card bill (most of the time).

You finally deserve some peace and quiet.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there you make it look like a walk in the park (even when we’re the ones setting the park on fire).