One of my earliest memories of my Mom was when I was about 9 years old. I was walking with her from the grocery store carrying two gallons of milk. I wanted to show her that I was strong enough to help and take the load off of her. But when we got home, getting ready to put the milk away, I dropped the milk and it burst all over the floor in the kitchen. I looked at my mom, and she was furious. She made me clean it with paper towels and a mop. She was relentless making me wipe the counters, and cabinet doors. I used just about the entire roll of towels and went to get the mop and there she was right behind me with the mop, and a bucket of warm soapy water. But she wasn't there to be a terrifying nanny. She was there mopping the floor behind me. She was there to take the load off of me. She taught me a valuable lesson about responsibility and owning up to fix my mess. In hindsight, I love her for making me clean up the milk and I love her for being there for me.