For most of my life I thought my mother was the most beautiful, creative, intelligent, and kind women that I could ever aspire to be like. Turns out the french Canadian Caplette in me often over powers the Swedish Carlson and I talk like a trucker and laugh loudly and abruptly like my father. I no longer aspire to be just like my mother but I can only hope to posses a fraction of her kindness, grace and grit. If I can only have the good intentions that live inside her pinky finger, I know I will be a good woman. Thank you Mom for teaching me what is truly important in this world. Sorry for 14-20. I love you more than you know.