The Moth - The Moth Podcast: More Mothers

Episode Date: May 16, 2025

On this episode… more mothers.. A few days ago, we aired an episode of the Moth Radio Hour called “Mama Bears” - where we shared some stories about the archetype of protective mothers. But, for Mother’s Day, we’re expanding that category… with stories about how being a mom, and having a mom, can be a lot. This episode is hosted by Jenifer Hixson. Storytellers: Melanie Kostrzewa learns some lessons about motherhood from her neighborhood ice cream man. Marie Dennehy deals with a mother undergoing mental health issues. Marya Morris is in over her head as a new stay-at-home stepmom. Podcast # 918 To learn more about listener data and our privacy practices visit: https://www.audacyinc.com/privacy-policy Learn more about your ad choices. Visit https://podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Summer is coming and the MOTH education program is offering workshops for high school students, college students, and teachers to learn the art and craft of true personal storytelling. As part of our mission to spread empathy through stories, students and teachers will learn to use MOTH-style storytelling techniques to build personal narratives with benefits in and out of the classroom. Applications for student and teacher workshops are open and the deadline for all applications is June 8th. Apply on our website at themoth.org.edu. There you are, pushing your newborn baby in a stroller through the park. The first time out of the house in weeks.

You have your Starbucks venti, because, you know, sleep deprivation. You meet your best friend, she asks you how it's going, you immediately begin to laugh, then cry, then laugh cry. That's totally normal, right? She smiles, you hug. There's no one else you'd rather share this with. You know, three and a half hours sleep is more than enough. Starbucks, it's never just coffee. When does fast grocery delivery

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Instacart, groceries that over-deliver. Welcome to The Moth, I'm Jennifer Hickson. On this episode, Mothers, part two. A few days ago, we aired an episode of The Moth Radio Hour called Mama Bears, where I shared some stories about the archetype of protective mothers. Fierce or cuddly, Mama Bears are not to be messed with. But for Mother's Day, we're looking at another side of motherhood, the overwhelming side.

First up, we've got Melanie Kostryva, who told this story at a New Orleans Story Slam where the theme of the night was, appropriately enough, mama rules. Here's Melanie live at the mouse. So when my first daughter was born, we brought her home from the hospital, all the advice I was told was, you gotta sleep when she sleeps. Okay, great. And I was sleep deprived. She's a wonderful child.

She's a really hard baby. Or I was a really difficult mom because I didn't know what I was doing. And I was home in the afternoon, I wasn't used to that, and I wasn't used to all the sounds of my neighborhood. I wasn't used to the congregation of men that met outside my window at 10 o'clock every morning to debate the Saints game or anything very loudly. I wasn't used to the dogs barking. I wasn't used to the trucks that came by. I was like, you're going to wake up Avery.

Avery's my daughter. But I really wasn't used to the ice cream man. An ice cream man in my neighborhood comes around at three o'clock every day, and I live uptown, and I'm going to sing you the song. And then at the end of the song it goes, hello? Does anybody know? All right. So that's the... So at three o'clock every day I heard this. And I was in this really weird state of like day and night.

It was like just a concept I wasn't really in because Avery was like just woke up every hour. So I was only sleeping like 45 minute increments and I would hear this song kind of like a crazy circus like, hello. And I was like, oh. But when I would hear him, I meant that another day had come by. And I had survived another day as a mom.

And it was a marker for me to hear the Ice Cream Man. And we eventually made it through that season. And Avery grew to be a toddler. And every day at 3 o'clock after her nap, she'd run to the front of the house and press her face up against the window to wave to the ice cream man and he every single time he rings his bell. A couple years later she's got a little sister, same thing, three o'clock, runs to the window, elbows her sister to

see the ice cream man, waves, rings his bell and then a little flurred little sister comes up and she does the same thing and she's the toughest of them all so she had a good spot and every single day he'd ring his bell and so every turn five and I was like you don't really need to take naps anymore so this is a time when you and I get to hang out while your sisters are sleeping current events politics but she really just wanted to see the ice cream man and I said this is what we're gonna do we're gonna get all the quarters out of the jar of coins that we all have in our house and

she's like okay and we put all the quarters in this jar I was like I want you to hold this jar and then the next time the ice cream man's comes we're gonna go get ice cream and she goes what and I was like yeah but we're gonna we're gonna go get ice cream he has ice? And I was like, yeah, but we're gonna go get ice cream. He has ice cream? And I was like, but yeah, like he's the ice cream man. Oh, I just thought he really liked ice cream. And I was like, I'm either like the best mom or the worst mom.

I was like, how did I not get that, ooh. It was like five years of just waving to this strange man who drove by every day, and we called him the ice cream man. So the day comes, the day comes, and we hear his bell, and we're like, this is not a drill, and we run out. And the van, the van that drove by was just like a solid van. There was nothing on the side that we saw of the man my children wave to every day for five years. And so I was like stop! And he probably thinks I'm like such a cheap person because I never

purchase anything. And so I take every stand and we walk to the other side of the truck and she sees the whole truck is covered in pictures of ice cream. And she's like oh my gosh and she just like she got something super like over frozen and I got like a choco taco and and I gave him like all My coins and I was like, thank you so much. He goes. All right. See you later. He rang the bell and It is one of my favorite memories with my daughter. So This is a huge pivot and I do apologize for the pivot a This is a huge pivot and I do apologize for the pivot. A couple months ago, I experienced a pretty hard bruise to my mother identity. I had a miscarriage and it was really hard.

I had one a few years ago as well and it's this process of maybe thinking, I'm not having these beautiful babies anymore, and this might not be in the cards for me. I had to have surgery, and it was just a very difficult time. And I kind of hibernated in my grief. And I was surrounded by people that literally did everything for me in these days. And Avery, she refers to this time as, yeah,

you were sleeping for a few weeks? I was like, yeah, mom had to sleep for a few weeks. And my first entrance back into the world is, like I didn't have to be a mom basically for a few weeks. And my first entrance back into the world is I had to go to Costco and I had to get milk. And you got to go to Costco with a very specific list or else you're getting all the nuts and the protein bars

and every type of sparkly water. And I'm just pushing this cart, and I'm like, no one knows what I'm going through here. No one cares who I am. And I felt so lonely while being surrounded by people eating inch-sized pieces of cheese and elbowing people for it anyways. And so I finally get to the checkout,

and I'm just hanging my hanging my head and I look up and it's the ice cream man is checking out in front of me and I go around my cart and I go, hey, and he goes, it's girl mom. And I was like, that's me. That's me. I said ice cream man. And he hugs me like we were at a family reunion. And I just like, I like squeeze him.

I'm like, oh, ice cream man, you know? And he was like, all right, see you later. And I was like, bye ice cream man. And in that moment, in two words, girl mom, he like kind of healed my bruised identity as a mom Just this thing I've been going through and and he just like when Avery was a baby and I was sleep-deprived Him in my life just oddly and he literally would have no idea This is even like a story of my life, but he's part of it and just how he was whenever was a baby He just let me know that I can do another day. I can make it through another day because I am girl mom.

That was Melanie Kostriva. Melanie is a teacher and librarian in New Orleans. She's the mother of four daughters, married to a pastor, and has loved telling stories at the Moth for over 10 years. You can find some of her other stories in our archive. She writes when she can, with hopes of writing a book one day about motherhood and living in Nola. If you'd like to see photos of the ice cream truck, check out our website themoth.org slash extras. And what is it about that Pavlovian ice cream truck? You can have the same exact creamsicles or rainbow rockets in your freezer, but your kids will tell you they just don't taste as good.

I think it's not the ice cream, it's the whole experience. Up next we've got a story about a mother from the perspective of a child. Marie Dennehy told this at a London Story Slam, where the theme of the night was family. Here's Marie live at the mosque. APPLAUSE My mum decided to call the police to tell them that my dad was in the IRA in the summer of 93. Not only was he in the IRA, but he had enough bombs hidden in Arloff to blow up the whole of London. Now there's never a good time for your mum to tell the police that your Irish father is an active member of a terrorist organisation.

But that was a particularly bad time. For all of you that aren't familiar with the inner workings of the IRA, this was the year that they'd hidden bombs in bins in Camden and had stormed through the streets of Bishop's Gate with an armed tank injuring 44 civilians. London was on high alert. Our house was raided pretty much before my mum could even hang up the phone. I remember them storming through the house, high and low but they found nothing, not even a stick

of dynamite. Looking back now it was obvious that the house was going to be clean. It all made sense now. The hours that my mum had spent thinking that the television was talking to her, the knives she gave to us for protection when she was paranoid. My dad wasn't in the IRA. My mom had postnatal depression and it had developed into psychosis. It probably wouldn't have developed into psychosis

if someone had intervened. Someone like the midwife who came to see her after my younger brother was born. The midwife who, when my mom sat my younger brother was born. The midwife who, when my mum sat there crying uncontrollably, said to her, what have you got to be upset about? You've got a good husband, he's got a nice job, and you've got a three bed semi in zone four. My mum was so embarrassed she didn't say anything to anybody else and slowly descended into madness.

I remember the countless times she was sectioned after that, the weekends we had playing in secure mental health wards and retreats. I remember the countless takeaways that my dad bought for us because he couldn't cook when she was away, and the times that they tried and failed to cure her with electric shock treatment. Years passed and she did recover and she even began to laugh about that phone call she made back in 93.

And even though my dad was never in the IRA, the police kept our house under surveillance for years. I remember the sound of the house phone clicking when we picked it up to make a phone call and I remember asking her, who's that guy stood outside the house hanging off a telephone pole with binoculars looking into our house? My mum would just look at me and say, Jesus sure don't worry about him. Sure he's just watching the house because I told them that your dad was in the IRA when I went mad. She was so casual about it,

she probably would have made him a cup of tea. Over 20 years have passed, it's that phone call back in 93. And apart from a relapse back in 2011, when my dad died, she remains well. The police surveillance has long since stopped on our house. And to be honest, I don't think they'd have much to report on now, watching her go to mass

from her retirement flat in Watford. And I look back and I remember feeling so embarrassed and so ashamed of what had happened and all the sort of pressure in our family and how weak she must have been. But now I'm a bit older, I feel so proud of her and how resilient she must have been to get through it all and I hope a little bit of that resilience has rubbed off on me. Thank you. That was Marie Dennehy. Marie lives in London and works for a charity that helps unhoused

people. She's been working on a collection of short stories since 2021. Her mother, Chris, remains well and lives nearby. When we emailed Maria to let her know that her story was airing, she was actually visiting her mom that weekend, so she was able to find some old photos. To see those photos, visit themoth.org slash extras. After the break, we'll hear from a mom who gets in over her head. Be back in a moment. There are very few things that you can be certain of in life, but

you can always be sure the sun will rise each morning. You can moment. mysteries that life has to offer, a few certainties can really go a long way. Subscribe today for the peace of minds you've been searching for. Public Mobile, different is calling. Spring is here and you can now get almost anything you need delivered with Uber Eats. What do we mean by almost? I mean you can't get a well-groomed lawn delivered, but you can get chicken parmesan delivered. Sunshine? No. Some wine?

Yes. Get almost, almost anything delivered with Uber Eats. Order now. Alcohol in select markets. See app for Yes. Get almost almost anything delivered with Uber Eats. Order now. Alcohol in select markets. See after details. Welcome back. Our final story is a favorite from the archive, from an often unheralded and sometimes maligned kind of mother, the stepmother. Maria Morris told this at a main stage in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Here's Maria, live at the Moff. I was 46 years old, never married, I lived in Chicago, I owned my own house, and I had a fantastic career going. My big indulgence was

traveling to see about 15 or 20 Bruce Springsteen shows every year. I had a little bit of FOMO though. I thought maybe those people that say I don't want to die alone are right. So I joined eHarmony. The first match I got was a fellow named Andy. He was a widower. He had a job as a software engineer. He had three children. He lived in a little nice suburb and he actually mentioned Springsteen in his bio. So of course I pounced on him and uh wasn't quite like that. Our first date we went to a very elegant restaurant. We had the best time. He told me that his wife Judy had died four years prior and he'd been raising his kids on his own. And it was just the best night. We closed the place down. He drove me all the way back to the city and when he dropped me off he said,

would you like to go out again tomorrow? I was like oh okay he said how about coming up to the house to meet my kids and I said to myself I don't know much about dating but I think that breaks a rule sure I'll meet him so I get there the next night and three of them all lined up at the front door waiting to shake my hand. Cassidy was 12 at the time and she was very reserved, keeping an eye on me but very polite. Honor was this tiny wisp of a little kid. He sat on my lap and drank an entire quart of wonton soup by himself. And Hannah was nine and she wanted to show me everything in her room. Her Polly Pockets, all her American girl gear, her books, her homework, everything.

And I said, after a while I played with them and I was like, okay, I got to take off you guys. And Hannah said to me, do you think you could stay and help us get ready for bed? I'm like, come on. What does the matter with you? Are you trying to cue me to death? And I drove home, I'm like, I think I love these people. Our third date was, it was either the next night or the night after that, and Andy said,

I'm going to ask you to marry me, but I'm going to wait until enough time has passed that you won't think I'm joking. And I said, oh, what the hell, just ask me. I'll say yes. So he asked me. I said, yes, I'll marry you. At that point, I thought maybe I should tell some people in my real life about this. I, my parents lived on the first floor of my two flat in the city and I hadn't even told them I'd gone on a date. I had not been on a date in more than 10 years.

So I tell my mom, mom, I met somebody and she's like, God, you think you know a person. And my friends, I find out later, were trying to stage an intervention. Everybody was unsettled, let's put it that way. And so we got married six months after we met. And I moved to the suburbs, into the big house, and immediately I could feel the void that Judy had left. It was deep and cold and quiet. I just looked around and said, what is my role here? What do I do?

I got the answer two months later when the mortgage crisis struck and I got let go from my job. And I went from a person who had always obviously supported themselves and had a really good thing going to being financially dependent on somebody and I was a full-time stay-at-home stepmom. I looked around and I thought, you know, I have never cooked raw chicken before. I have never managed household finances and here I am, I'm in charge. I googled what do families eat for? And it turns out it's not popcorn and red wine. So one of those very first days, I was home alone, the kids are at school, and I'm looking,

I'm like a detective with a marriage license in lieu of a search warrant. And I'm digging through drawers, like how did she do this? How did she manage finances, feed these people, keep them clean and relatively happy? How did she care for Andy? How did she care for the kids? And in the drawer of the vanity in our bathroom, I found a black compact of Lancome blush. And I opened it and I could see the indent where her finger had rubbed it down.

I turned the compact over and the color was a plum. It was the same one that I had. And under our bed, I found the baby books. And she, Judy, had taken such care to write every detail. The first smile, their first food that they liked, what they didn't like, their first little noises, of course, their first steps. I found out from that part of my search

that Cassidy, who was 12 12 then she didn't sleep for the first three years of her life and I was kind of glad I missed that era but I had time that's all I had and I dove in I'm getting kids out of bed I'm making lunches I'm driving them to school I'm sitting in the car line I'm making lunches, I'm driving them to school, I'm sitting in the car line. I'm just kind of following along with what other parents seem to do. And it was a lot. And I realized at a certain point, I'm not sure I like this.

I started to panic, but I was so invested in looking competent and secure in my role that I didn't tell anybody. So it just built and built, and the frustration grew. I was both overwhelmed and finding the whole thing just really tedious at the same time. And it all came to a head one day when I was serving corn chowder

that I had made from scratch, okay, no powdered mixes here. I was ladling it into one of Hannah's, into Hannah's bowl and she looks at it and she's like, I'm not going to eat this. And I responded in a way that I thought was proportionate at the time. I took the pot of soup, I walked to the sink, I held it three feet higher than the sink and I dropped it and I turned around ran upstairs and I cried in the bathroom. And Andy came up. He's like, I'm sorry. Hannah feels really bad. She's sorry. I said, I think I'm in over my head. I'm not good at this. I don't even like it. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this anymore. I gotta go."

And he's like, they're there. They're there. You're doing a wonderful job. And I was like, job? Did you hire me or marry me? This is awful. I don't like this. And he's like, well, what's so bad?

I was like, well, take the socks, okay? In the laundry. Pairing up little kids' socks is a job that should be relegated to people who have to do community service in lieu of jail time. I settled down. I just got used to what I was doing. Even though I'm still bitter, I missed about 20 Bruce Springsteen shows that first year. All my friends are out there on tour and I'm, you know, matching socks. I did eventually, on another excursion into the cabinets, find the key to the castle. It was in the form of Judy's Blue Lucite recipe box. She had all the recipes for

the Jewish foods that the family loved. I made it as a meal. I made the beef brisket. I made banzabal soup. I made noodle kugel. I put it on the table, and everybody smiled. They were so happy. They were like, you get us.

This is wonderful. And I met other parents and I realized, you know, I'm not a failure. This stuff is hard. Everybody goes through stuff. Like, my coping mechanism was to take a bottle of wine up to the laundry room in iron sheets and pillowcases for an hour, but everybody's got their thing. I could even see myself rubbing off on them a little bit. I busted on her, who was only six, singing Born to Run.

And that first year, Christmas fell right in the middle of Hanukkah and Cassie said, let's call it Christmas Cup. And I'm like, yes. And then we went to get a Christmas tree and Hannah says, we can bring that thing in the house but it's going to have blue lights and we're calling it a Hanukkah bush. And I'm like, that's perfect. It was perfect. It was wonderful. It was about six or eight months after we were married that I was

helping Hannah get ready for bed, and she said, Mumsie, is there any way that you know that my mom can come back some day? I just, I wanted to say yes so bad, but I said, no honey, and I am so sorry. We cried, and then she said, well you're a pretty good mumsy. So last August, Andy and I celebrated 13 years of marriage.

Thank you, it was all me. There's been 12 or 13 Christmas because two Bat Mitzvahs, some door slamming. Andy and I went to see Bruce Springsteen together on Broadway. And when I think about it, I hope Judy is both relieved and proud of us. Thank you. That was Marja Morris. Marja is an urban planner who lives in Chicago. In her free time, she designs and maintains perennial gardens and fights to save our democracy. She's a two-time Moth Grand Slam winner. You can hear more of her stories on YouTube. That's it for this episode. If listening to these stories has inspired you to tell your

own, why not get up on the Moth stage at a Moth Story Slam? To find one near you, visit themoth.org slash events. You can also pitch us your story at the Moth Pitchline. For instructions, go to themoth.org slash pitch line. And for all who celebrate, from all of us here at the Moth, happy Mother's Day. Jennifer Hickson is a senior director, one of the hosts of the Peabody Award winning Moth Radio Hour, and co author of the

Moth's How to Tell a Story. Mariam Morris's story was directed by Chloe Salmon. This episode of the Moth podcast was produced by Sarah Austin-Giness, Sarah Jane Johnson, and me, Mark Salinger. The rest of the Moth leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Christina Norman, Jennifer Hickson, Kate Tellers, Marina Cluchay, Suzanne Rust, Leigh Ann Gulley, and Patricia Ureña. The Moth podcast is presented by Odyssey, special thanks to their executive producer, Leah Reese Dennis. All Moth stories are true as remembered by their storytellers.

For more about our podcast, information on pitching your own story and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.