Remember me as the Mom that abandoned her diet all because you said, "Mom, we can have a feast."

Remember me as the Mom that took you and your three siblings on a train from Newark to New York City and she admitted this was foreign territory for her too.

Remember me as the Mom who bought you each an $8 cup of plain ice cream and reassured you that being in New York meant you didn't have to count pennies.

Remember me as the Mom who sat beside you on the plane and drew a not very good likeness of your cute face on the mini etch a sketch.

Remember me as the Mom with the infinite octopus arms who complained, though nevertheless begrudgingly toted your coats and backpacks like a traveling gypsy.

Remember me as the Mom who only carried a pocketbook on special occasions, she never could say handbag, and it was filled with snacks, gum, playing cards, bandaids, cars, Chinese Checkers, aquaphor samples and a few spare notebooks.

Remember me as the Mom who agreed to smell your yucky socks to see if they were still "clean."

Remember me as the Mom who was never afraid to ask a stranger for directions and showed you that the world is quite nice and willing to help if only you give it a chance.

Remember me as the Mom that loved you with her whole heart and wondered how she ever got along before she was blessed with your precious selves.

Remember me as the Mom who stood on the corner with her map unfolded and tried to teach you about finding your way until you both dissolved in giggles because she really had no idea either.

Remember me as the Mom who held your hand and sang, "Go Tell It On the Mountain" for a dozen blocks.

Remember me as that Mom.