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.