The Mom Behind the Messages
My name is Nicole.
But the name that changed my life was
Mom
My two sons, Sam and Max, gave me that title — and everything you’ll find here started with them.
“And Then One Monday...”
When Sam finished his master’s at MIT and moved to New York City, and Max left for the University of Arizona, the house went quiet. For the first time in over twenty years, there were no lunches to make, no schedules to manage, no one sitting at the breakfast bar while I moved around the kitchen.
I didn’t know where to put all that energy and focus anymore. Being their mom was what drove everything — my schedule, my daily routine, my sense of purpose. And suddenly, the daily work of it was gone.
My therapist said something I’ll never forget: “They don’t need you to make their lunches anymore. But they still need you as their soul guide.”
That’s when I saw it — there was still a place for all of that love and energy. It just wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.
So on June 11, 2018, I sent my first Monday Morning Motherly Offering — a meaningful quote and my personal reflection on whatever I thought they needed to hear that week. A mother offering her wisdom, her guidance, and her love to her boys.
The boys and I still call them their Monday Morning Motherly Offerings. But around here, let’s call them your Monday Messages.
The Moment I Knew
From the very first message, Sam and Max wrote back. Every week. “This is a great one!” or “Thank you so much, Mommy — I really like this one.” Sometimes one of them would go deeper — sharing why that week’s message hit, or how it connected to something they were working on in their own life. I always knew these mattered.
But I didn’t know how much until the week I missed one.
I don’t remember why I missed it. Life, probably. But that week, my phone rang. It was Max.
“Mom, where is our Monday Morning Motherly Offering this week? I really look forward to getting those.”
And that’s when I understood what these messages had really become. Not just something I sent — but something that kept the three of us connected to each other. Me in Colorado. Max in Arizona. Sam in New York City. Three different states, three different lives — but every Monday, we were still sitting at the same table.
I haven’t missed a Monday since.
What This Became
The Monday Messages kept going. Every week, a quote followed by whatever I thought my boys needed to hear — and every week, they wrote back. It became our rhythm. Our way of staying close no matter where life took us.
And life kept moving. Sam and Max graduated. Started careers. Found their people. Got married. They were building their own lives and making their own decisions — becoming exactly who we’d raised them to be.
Then their friends started finding out. Sam or Max would mention their Monday Morning Motherly Offerings, and often the response was the same — Can I get those too? Then my friends started asking. Other moms would tell me how special it was that I’d kept it going all these years and wonder if there was room for them, too. People kept finding their way to the table on their own.
But I’d never shared them beyond a message read aloud here or there. These were written for Sam and Max — and they still are. What I’m offering now is something I’ve never offered before: a seat at the table. A chance to listen in, each week, on the words I write for my boys.
My sister once gave me a very special birthday gift — she commissioned a singer named Chloe Vuillermoz to write and record a song about me. Being the daughter of my dear friend, she knows our family. She knows who I am. And there’s a line in that song that makes me tear up every single time I hear it — because she captured something so true about me and the home my boys grew up in. It tugs at something deep in my heart:
“Can I have a dining room table the size of Alaska — I’ll save you a seat, you don’t have to ask.”
That’s what this is. That’s Sincerely, Mom. An invitation for anyone who wants a seat at our table.
The Real Me
If you ask me what I’m most proud of, the answer is easy. It’s Sam and Max. Being their mom is the greatest thing I’ve ever done. It’s not one thing on a list of things — it’s the thing. The fact that they are my sons, and I get to be their Mom, is what I am most grateful for in my life.
I’m also deeply close to my sister, my mom, and my dad. I was raised in a family where love was spoken out loud and shown in how you showed up — and I carried that into the home I built for my boys.
My grandmother had a placard that I grew up reading. I can still recite it by heart: “O give me patience, when the little hands tug at me with their ceaseless small demands. O give me gentle words and smiling eyes and keep my lips from hasty sharp replies. Let me not in weariness, confusion and noise obscure my vision from life’s fleeting joys. Then when in years to come my house is still, no bitter memories its rooms may fill.” That’s the mother I tried to be.
Every night, from the time they were little until the day they each left for college, I sat on their beds. Just the two of us — me there to listen to whatever they wanted to share. And every night when I closed the door, I’d look back and say the same thing: “I’m so proud of you and so very proud to be your Mommy.”
Some things don’t change. Every night and every morning, I begin and end each day with a text to the boys — saying good morning or good night. And often reminding them, to this day: I’m so proud of you and so very proud to be your Mommy.
A few things about me: I’m based in Colorado. I host Sunday dinners for family and friends. I love curating a dinner party. I’m a Type A Virgo who believes a clear space creates a clear mind — every three months, three piles: keep, donate, throw away. And yes, my boys still make their beds.
Thank you for being here.
It means more than you know.
I’ll be here every Monday — and everywhere else in between.