We drove 2,000 miles in a minivan to the midcoast of Maine.

Just me, her, and a map made of paper with only the highways we needed highlighted.

For three full days we drove, only exiting every 4 hours for gasoline and Gatorade.  I remember the mini-cooler of meals wedged between us for easy access, white knuckling my way through the blinding rains in Virginia, and power walking the parking lot together before crawling into the hard hotel bed.    

It was the summer of 2006, and no other memories with my Mom have surpassed it since.  

That trek was truly a trip for two, with no phones or Facebook to interfere with what was growing into the most effortless friendship that's only richer today.  When I think back to those days, I wish I had more than words to share the details I do remember.  Details that I would have Instagrammed today.  Details I wish I had proof of, like selfies in the front seat while I spoon-fed her yogurt, or the East coast exits with nothing but a shoddy shack to fill up - our approach hesitant yet hysterical - to the single pump that was so sluggish we had nothing but time to wait for the dreaded dirty wooden bathroom key.

Why am I telling this 10 year old story?  Because the story is all we have.  

So no matter the moment - road trips with your mom, Saturday morning cereal with your son, or growing your new hobby of greenery and gardening with your girls - it's all about the kinship.  Make note of it - snap it, selfie it, print it - just do more than only remember it.  

Those memories with my Mom are rooted in my heart, but oh how I wish they were also in my hands.