She made us clean the entire house before we ever left for vacations. And I don't mean picking up clothes off the bedroom floor and put the dishes away. We dusted every shelf holding photo albums and classic books, scrubbed the toilets, polished the wood surface of her vintage desk, even wiped down the black leather couch in the living room. She vacuumed the bedrooms while Aerosmith played from the media player. That's one thing our dad installed before the divorce—a thousand dollar surround sound system.

Sometimes she would get into public arguments with other moms from school. We called it "The DiCenso Temper." Her dad had it, her dad's brother, her own brother, herself, and also my brother. It was like watching the fuse run down a bomb in those cartoons. Everyone was quiet in anticipation for the explosion.

She loved classic rock. We listened to AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Styx, Boston, The Rolling Stones, Grateful Dead… almost exclusively. Those were the only CD's you could find in her car. Rumors around the family went around that she was a groupie with her best friend Giuliana in Quincy, Mass.

Her favorite color changes every time you ask. She wanted to be an artist but real life got in the way. She hand-sewed all of our Halloween costumes, and they were definitely always the best ones.

For some reason, she yells while talking on the telephone. If she's on her cell in public I have to pinch her arm to quiet her voice and her eyes get wide and she mouths "sorry." She's always on her phone at every celebration. Work never stops, even on Christmas morning.

She never wanted to move to Florida, but she never wants to move back up north, either.

She blames her many years of working at Baskin Robbins for the arthritis in her feet.

I inherited a slew of her personality flaws. I hate to say flaws, but they're not exactly admirable. Manic depression, anxiety, neuroticism, OCD. She blames it all on being Italian.

When my brother was arrested, she didn't cry. She did cry, however, when our first dog got sick for the first time. Until my step-dad came along, the idea of a dog in the house was an absolute NO. Now when we're driving through town she has to stop and awwww at every dog or cat we pass by.

Every time I see her she picks at my face or tries to fix my hair. She claims appearances aren't important, but if I'm the slightest bit disheveled she'll always let me know.

If I'm ever a mom, I can only hope to be half as great of a woman as her. As a single mom, she worked two jobs for ten years, then built a successful career for herself, and now has two homes, and two Jaguars. She pretends like she doesn't enjoy them, but last night I caught her driving away with the convertible hood down.