I met the toddler son of one of my dearest friends.

I – badly – videoed my daughter participating in a street performance at Faneuil Hall, throwing balls to an acrobat at various distances like a boss, showing the crowd how it was done.

I stopped wearing the minimal makeup that I had been sporting.  And, for the most part, pants.

I floated in the pool.

I hit the small concrete bunker at the Dunkin Donuts drive through going fewer than 5 miles an hour, causing serious damage to my husband’s car.

I spent my birthday at parents’ night at camp, sweltering.

I took on a managerial role of my daughter’s soccer team, because I have nothing but free time.

I visited my son at his happiest of places, seven hours north.  About one hour into the drive, I realized I left my wallet at home.

I got a fancy blender and a new car.  I am still figuring out how to use both of them.

I have watched our old puppy struggle to take even a short walk and recognize his end is coming.

I read.  A lot. Even on the beach.

I left my children’s suitcase at home and had to improvise on our two weeks away.   My suitcase made it.  And a random beach towel, kid bathing suit and pair of pajamas.

I forced my family to participate in bi-annual beach photos. I gave up and let my daughter wear athletic shorts.

I found my family on the cover of a local magazine, from one of the previous beach shoots.

I drank a decent amount of vodka.

I was schooled in the art of skipping stones.

I looked for seaglass.

I outlet shopped.

I did a LOT of laundry.

I had a movie date with my son to escape the heat.

I almost always said yes, when my kids’ requested ice cream.

I saw my daughter rock the kayak and embrace tennis.

I trusted in my son as he participated in tween nights at a minor league baseball game and an amusement park.

I slowed down.

Wishing all you mommas a chance to reflect, reset, — before the craziness that is the school year gears up in just a few weeks.