They were the best bacon, egg, and cheese bagels we'd ever eaten. Vivia, Alora, Mark, and I sat silently on a sidewalk bench in downtown Brooklyn, noshing in agreement over the foil-wrapped goodness. The few times we looked away from each other, our eyes met those of seemingly envious morning commuters. People, like Mark, who already knew what my daughters and I were learning: Brooklyn bagels are the best in the world!

The early November chill only added to our readiness to explore. We had five days of New York ahead and preplanned itineraries for daily wanderlust. This was our first time staying overnight or traveling together, and the only aspect we hadn't prepared for was just how deeply we'd enjoy each other's company. A realization that would soon change our collective trajectory.

It all started two days earlier, around 6:30 a.m., when we arrived at Charlotte Douglas International Airport. Still tired from the previous nights' Halloween tricks and treats, we dragged our luggage from the car. With Mark leading the way, I watched Vivia's and Alora's suitcase wheels roll from behind. I also noticed when their facial expressions switched from anxiousness to anticipation as we made our way across the parking lot and then through security screening. It was the girls’ first flight.

''I'll sit by the window this time and you can do it on the way back,'' said Vivia to Alora. It was a welcome compromise made by our tween to our teen, while Mark and I secured bags in the overhead compartment. With seatbelts buckled, the girls teetered between clenched jaws and excessive chatter, their eyes scanning every inch of the cabin as voices came over the PA system and we ascended into a grayish, overcast sky. When we stabilized, their tension turned to exaggerated gestures and giggles about the closeness of the clouds to our window.

Gliding into Manhattan, we floated past the city's concrete giants, skyscrapers with window patterns that resembled faces and made Transformers movies come to mind. The buildings were more dominating than I remembered and definitely more massive than the girls had ever seen. The plane soon landed at LaGuardia Airport, where we stepped into what felt like organized chaos. Our travelator rides slowed things down just enough to look around. After exiting the building, we boarded a transit bus and then stood for miles in the middle aisle, tightly gripping smudged metal poles, our feet pressing into the floor for stability. Alora and Vivia were sandwiched between Mark and me as the bus jolted us like rag dolls all the way to the subway station.

Mark, who’d lived in New York for years in the 90s, took the lead once again, purchased our tickets, and taught us to hustle in and out of subway cars. The hecticness made us thankful for his previously-lived New York experiences. I felt safe with him, and I saw that my daughters did, too.

The Sheraton Brooklyn New York Hotel, with its East River and Lower Manhattan views, was our home for the week. A perfect location for our upcoming plans. Arriving in our room was a welcome respite. It had been a long day, and everyone needed downtime before heading out to explore the neighborhood.

''Good morning. Time to wake up.'' Our eyes slowly opened to Mark's smiling face and outstretched hands carrying steaming cups of coffee. He had already ventured out for his first cup and a morning walk. I took notice of how he lovingly catered to us. It felt good.

On the day's agenda: the Brooklyn Bridge, Chinatown, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art. First, however, were those Brooklyn bagels. We're now doubtful any others will ever compare!

Major calories were burned on our walk to and across the Brooklyn Bridge. Fascinated by its architecture, steel cables, and panoramic views, we were halfway done before realizing the monument is over a mile long. Cold breezes surfaced periodically from the East River below. The wind stung like light rubberband pops on my skin. Still, the four of us snapped as many pictures as tolerance allowed. The walk only confirmed our need for heavier coats — a decision our group discussed before the trip, but chose to postpone until our New York arrival. Partly because we'd planned to layer, but mostly because that meant shopping!

Chinatown teased our senses with something new around every corner. The hubbubs of conversation and the smell of toasted sesame oil filled the air. On Mott Street, vividly decorated lanterns floated above us like paper planets. And along Canal street, the fullness of the color spectrum shone on the produce of fruit stands.

Something stirred inside of me with each step. I finally felt alive again. As a visual artist, I was overdue for stimulation and wanted to capture everything on camera. We stopped a few times just so I could observe and take it all in. That's what I love most about surrounding myself with other creatives — they get it and get me.

My daughters and I quickly learned that getting around New York is a process. Country living has spoiled us with convenience and much less traffic. Luckily, our wonder was greater than our fatigue. And although Mark is originally from a small North Carolina town, and hadn't visited New York in over a decade, he immediately adapted to city pace. He was clearly back in his element.

I appreciated his patience when we needed to rest or wanted to be leisurely. Instead of hurrying, he became a tourist with us — something, he confessed, he hadn't done while living in New York. Therefore, some of our firsts were also his.

At The Metropolitan Museum of Art, there wasn't a gala, but perusing the vast art collections carried a sophistication all its own. Our group moved from corner to corner of the iconic museum, weaving through the masses of art-crazed visitors. The final (and best) showcase was on the famous front steps, where Alora and Vivia posed for their version of “Met Gala” editorial photos.

While adjusting my angles and framing, I noticed Mark in equally contorted body positions, happily snapping pictures of the girls on his phone. Like me, he wasn't afraid or embarrassed to do whatever was necessary to get the shots they wanted. I was impressed and once again intrigued by how much he continued to fit right in with us.

The next few days were a whirlwind. We braved the formidable height of the Empire State Building's 102 floors and celebrated Alora's 17th birthday at The Museum of Ice Cream. Along Broadway in NoHo, we created our own retail rush, racing through stores, shopping for clothes and souvenirs.

Up in Midtown and Times Square, Mark pointed out Radio City Music Hall and the MTV Studios building where he once served as Vice President of Music Editorial. I recognized the large windows where VJs Carson Daly and the late Ananda Lewis waved to crowds of screaming fans during broadcasts of Total Request Live, the main show Mark worked on. For different reasons, it was a nostalgic moment for both him and me.

One of our last evening activities was a leisurely carriage ride around Central Park before devouring scrumptous Korean food at K-Bap & Wings. Spending more time in both places is at the top of the list for our next New York visit.

On the day we planned to explore Harlem and meet one of Mark's friends at the historic Apollo Theater, we learned the legendary Quincy Jones had passed away. As it turned out, Vivia wasn't feeling well, but we agreed that Mark should go regardless. Surprisingly, Alora insisted on tagging along.

Resting on the bed with Vivia, I watched the two of them gather their things and walk out of our hotel room. Within minutes, however, feelings of impending doom washed over me. I found myself in a pivotal wake-up position as reality set in… I'd let my daughter venture out into that big ass city without ME.

I'm certain I typed the fastest text in cell phone history asking Alora if she felt safe and comfortable with Mark. She texted back assuring me she was fine, and that's when I realized the dynamic of our collective relationship had changed. Over the course of a year, Mark made such a huge impact in our lives that he'd done the (almost) impossible for any man outside of our immediate family: he'd earned our trust.

Alora was so comfortable, in fact, that she allowed an on-site TV news crew to interview her in front of the theater. The producer wanted her to speak on the impact of Jones’ work within pop culture and her generation. Normally, a momentous event like this for her would require my presence and emotional support. Instead, she found everything she needed in Mark’s presence, and although nervous, she nailed the interview. Later that evening, as our crew sat glued to the screen impatiently awaiting Alora’s segment, I looked around in awe of what was clearly unfolding between us.

The morning of our Rolling Stone Magazine office tour was also check-out day at the hotel. Mark was busy confirming our transportation and luggage storage with the front desk. Tired but excited, us girls juggled outfit changes and checked for misplaced items underneath beds and tables. Alora, a budding singer/song writer, simultaneously battled feelings of exhilaration and anxiety around the tour opportunity.

It felt surreal to be headed to the headquarters of such a legendary magazine. All I could think of, however, was not vomiting on the way. This was the second ride with our driver and my motion sickness was out of control due to frequent braking and sudden movements. Car rides on New York roads almost proved to be my nemesis. Luckily, I made it without incident.

There was no mistaking where we were when the elevator door opened. The renowned Rolling Stone logo appeared front and center on the wall in front of us. And accompanying that grand welcome was the friendly voice of one of Marks' colleagues, Christian Hoard, a long-time magazine senior editor and writer.

He, along with editor Sean Woods and others led us down hallways and into offices where many greats have stood. They shared stories surrounding photos and the magazine’s legendary wall of covers. One of my favorite moments was sitting in the editorial conference room watching my daughters take in the magnitude of the moment, and laughing as Mark and Christian swapped celebrity tales and discussed the nuances of entertainment journalism. Seeing Mark seated at the head of that table was like getting a glimpse into his past as senior editor. He looked comfortable, authoritative, and even more handsome. I felt honored to be in the room.

The four of us beamed as we left the headquarters. Alora tightly cradled the multiple copies of the latest magazine editions we were gifted. It was a phenomenal experience. Battling mixed emotions around the days' reality — ecstatic because of the tour, but sad to leave New York — we walked intently towards Grand Central Station, our taste buds dead-set on experiencing the clam chowder at Grand Central Oyster Bar Mark had raved about.

Our getaway ended the same way it started—the four of us together, eating something delicious, and creating memories—an already existing cornerstone of our friendship back in North Carolina. Experiencing New York together, however, gave our relationship depth and layers like those Brooklyn bagels we enjoyed so much. Instead of bacon, eggs, and cheese, we are the ingredients. A diverse quartet of creativity, love, and trust whose bond only deepens daily. And moving forward, whether we’re seated on a sidewalk bench silently experiencing something new or laughing loudly together around our kitchen table, we’ll do it as a family.

See video footage of our trip in our Youtube vlogs. And if you’d like to support us there, be sure to subscribe to our channel (it’s free!).