Growing Up in a Bakery Family in South Texas
I grew up in a family of five, the same year my parents opened their bakery—1981. Back then, TV had four channels, cordless phones were the big teenage gift, and big hair with big bangs ruled the day. My childhood was steady, flavored by the smell of fresh bread, more arroz con pollo than I could ever want, and a constant flow of family and friends.
(Little Liddy growing up in the RVG)
The Rio Grande Valley (RGV) was quiet then—wide open fields, Friday night lights, the occasional rave in a storage building, and low-riders cruising McAllen roads. My own “rowdy” moments? A few weekdays spent across the border in Mexico and a senior skip day busted by helicopters.
The Valley’s culture seeped into me—its rhythms, its heat, its border-town spirit. Most people don’t know the RGV exists. They think Texas ends at San Antonio. But when I say “South Texas,” I mean deep South Texas—dry, dusty, humid, and alive with grit and heart.
(Celebrations always had Piñatas, cake, and cookies)
(Hot Valley Days spent outside)
Lessons From the Bakery: Hard Work, Heat, and Humility
As the oldest sibling, I experienced my parents’ bakery differently than my brother and sister. They responded to my parent’s call during the weekends for help as the bakery experienced massive busy-time swings during the holidays. It’s SOUTH TEXAS, so it was HOT and HUMID all the time. I hauled multi-tiered wedding and quinceañera cakes, loading cookies into delivery vans and out of vans for years. Being a Junior in High School, I resented it and only wanted to do my own thing with my own weekend. HA!
(My dad would write all his recipes on note cards, eventually only to end up in trash, covered with all the baking ingredients)
Only later—seven months pregnant with my first child, when my feet throbbed from long days at work—did I realize I hadn’t labored harder than I had in high school. My parents trusted me with wedding cakes and customer deliveries as a teenager. It was chaotic, unorganized, and often tense (imagine your parents as your bosses), but it shaped me.
Still, I wanted out - Out from under my parents’ rules. Out into the world. And so, I left.
(I was Edinburg High School's Drum Major)
From the Rio Grande Valley to Notre Dame
In 1999, I entered the University of Notre Dame—during Y2K chaos, no less. It was the first time I’d seen snow. I thought frostbite was a disease you caught from touching it.
I came from one of the poorest counties in the U.S., so the rigor of ND nearly flattened me. I was a mediocre test-taker, overcommitted in extracurriculars, and poorly prepared. Wealth, networks, alumni connections—these were foreign concepts.
But I stumbled into ND’s new entrepreneur program and a Family Business Plan competition my senior year- finally, something I could SINK MY TEETH INTO. I built a plan to take my dad’s bakery online. I didn’t win, but I placed as a runner-up, and more importantly, I felt a spark—an instinct for entrepreneurship.
(I was part of the Notre Dame Marching band my Freshman and Sophmore years)
Building a Nonprofit Career and Raising a Family in Denver
Graduation came with a crash landing: bills to pay and jobs that barely covered rent. Eventually, in 2009, we moved to Denver. I joined a workforce center as a contractor and eventually founded a nonprofit, WorkLife Partnership. Over 15 years, I built WorkLife into a $3M national nonprofit, helping low-income workers stabilize in their jobs and build stability for their families.
During those years, I also built my family. Married at 27, three kids by 32. Today they’re 16, 14, and 12. I powered through pregnancies, sleepless toddler nights, and eventually, sleepless teen nights, all while scaling WorkLife.
(WorkLife was my 'first' baby, then I had three more real, beautiful, precious babies within 5 years. We spent summers trecking all over Colorado.)
Rediscovering My Roots Through Cookies
In 2024, everything shifted. After 22 years, my marriage ended. I sold the family home, moved into my own space, and felt the ache for something new. My creativity had been squeezed dry, and my heart longed for revival.
Out of love for my children - I wanted them to see my resilience - –
Out of love for my heritage - I wanted to honor my Mexican-American roots —
And out of love itself - supported by a new partner who championed my wild ideas
—I was ready for a rebirth.
Cookies and my culture became that rebirth.
Launching Romero Cookies: From Idea to 33,000 Cookies Shipped
By fall of 2024, I asked my parents to come to Denver and teach me my dad’s recipe. I secured a commercial kitchen, landed an SBD loan, and poured myself into building a plan. I worked with designers to craft the Romero brand, ordered equipment, designed packaging, and held my breath as everything arrived just in time for December shipping.
On December 1, 2024, Romero Cookies shipped nationwide for the first time. It was messy—machines broke down, ovens failed, packaging wasn’t perfect. But every order went out.
By January 1, 2025, we had shipped 33,000 cookies.
Romero Cookies was real. A business born of resilience, love, and heritage. A story that started in the Rio Grande Valley in 1981 and rose—like the Phoenix on our logo—out of ashes and into something new.
(I bought all my equiptment, set up my kitchen and learned how to bake in 1 month)
(I'm so proud that our cookies are made with simple ingredients and no preservatives)
(My dad is pretty proud of the work too!)
Founder’s Note ✍️
I share these stories because Romero Cookies is more than a business—it’s a reflection of my journey, my family, and my culture. Every cookie tin we ship carries with it decades of tradition, resilience, and love.
Thank you for being part of this story with me. I hope when you open a tin of Romero Cookies, you feel a piece of home, heritage, and connection—just like I do.
With gratitude,
Liddy Romero, Founder
(My journey back to my culture and heritage was the inspiration for this design)
