A Love Letter to the Moms in My Life

(Because one day a year just isn’t enough)

*Mom, JoJo, and I on X-Mas morning…late 80’s?*

I’m not breaking any news when I say moms deserve more than one day of recognition a year. In fact, trying to capture everything I feel about the moms in my life in one blog post feels impossible. I’ll be totally candid—this may not be the most linear thing I’ve ever written, but that’s because there are so many different types of moms who’ve shaped me: my own mom, my wife, my stepmom, my grandmas, and a handful of women who took me under their wing with no obligation to do so. They all share that same selfless, no-questions-asked love that defines what it means to be a mom.

When I think about my own mom, a few things come to mind.

First—she loved me more than I probably deserved. She was my biggest fan, constantly in my ear telling me how smart, funny, helpful, or patient I was. No matter how many teams I bounced around on, she always thought I was one of the best players out there. Her assessment of my abilities never wavered. Unshakeable belief is a superpower moms seem to have in abundance.

Second—she was my first teacher, and though she believed in me, she didn’t tolerate half-efforts. In her world, you either did something the right way, or you didn’t do it at all.

Which leads to the third point—she never hesitated to let me know when I missed the mark. But it was never about failure; it was always about effort. She could handle a bad grade or a loss on the field. What she couldn’t stomach was me not trying. That kind of tough love—the kind where you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it comes from deep, unwavering care—that shaped who I am.

One of my favorite stories that says it all:

My sister Joanna and I were being particularly annoying at the grocery store, sneaking snacks and candy into the cart. Eventually, Mom cracked and bought a candy bar to shut us up. As we settled into the car, she held up the candy and asked, “Is this what you wanted?” We yelled “YES!” with big grins. Then she calmly rolled down the window… and chucked it out. Her message was crystal clear: It’s not about the candy. It’s about how we act to get it. That was my mom in a nutshell—her way or the highway, but always with a purpose.

She often pointed to Joanna—my younger sister and, as it turns out, a future Olympian—as the gold standard for work ethic. Jo approached everything like a job: speed coach, personal trainer, hitting coach—you name it. I was more of a team-first, play-for-the-love-of-it kind of guy. I loved the process, the camaraderie, the challenge. But if I’m honest, when it came to school, I often just did enough to get by. A’s and B’s were fine by me—but that “good enough” attitude drove my mom up the wall.

I’ve always had two speeds: OFF or ON FIRE. And when I was in goofball mode, you could see the steam coming out of her ears. She knew what I was capable of, and she wasn’t going to let me coast.

We butted heads a lot, especially in my teenage years. I had opinions and wasn’t shy about them. One time when I was 17, I was mouthing off and she literally kicked me down the stairs. (Don’t worry—I deserved it. And we both laughed the second I hit the bottom.) She didn’t back down because her love wouldn’t let her. She wasn’t trying to be my friend—she was trying to raise a good human. And because of that, the friendship we eventually developed as adults was all the more meaningful.

Now I have a front-row seat to motherhood every day through my wife. We have four young kids, and let me just say it: being a mom is the hardest unpaid job on the planet. Somehow, I landed one of the best. Whenever anyone compliments our parenting, I can promise you—it’s because of Shelbs.

This isn’t lip service. If you know her, you know—when she commits to something, she’s all in. She approaches motherhood like a true professional. She reads, reflects, discusses, adjusts, and keeps showing up. We’re not perfect, but it’s not for lack of effort. And if there’s one thing I know my mom would appreciate—it’s that.

To all the moms—biological, step, chosen, and otherwise—thank you. For the selfless love, the high standards, the late nights, the lessons, and the belief that your kids are capable of more than they even realize. One day a year isn’t enough—but it’s a good excuse to say what we should say more often:

We see you. We love you. And we wouldn’t be who we are without you.