I ran into a friend at the park yesterday. We exchanged pleasantries and lamented the end of summer. She ran down her list of summer accomplishments -- meal planning for the entire school year, updating photo albums and finally finding the matches to all her kid's socks. The list went on and on. Afterwards, she turned to me and asked, "What did you accomplish this summer?" And the truth is, nothing. My house is no more organized than it was at the start of summer, and I've still not completed one darn project I have pinned, and yet I feel like we accomplished so much.

We made crafts at our local library, and we made friends at the Splash Pad down the road. And I left my dishes to soak for another day.

We took a trip down Route 66 and dusted off old albums for late night dance parties, while I let the dust settle on my shelves.

We dipped our toes into the cool, blue water of the swimming pool and ran barefoot through grass collecting lightening bugs at night. And I forgot to sweep and mop the floor.

We conquered the slide at the park and worked hard to master a cartwheel, while the laundry waited patiently in the dryer to be tossed and tumbled.

We painted rocks to hide and wrote stories to share, we ate funnel cakes at fairs and downed lemonades at festivals, we baked cakes together and we made mud pies. And I didn't rush to start another load of laundry.

We had balloon fights and we giggled and we snuggled at night. We made s'mores and blanket forts and we had epic pillow fights, while the beds sometimes went unmade.

So, when asked what I accomplished this summer, my answer may seem simple, but it is true: I spent time with my kids, and that was the best thing I could ever do.

And I hope, that when my kids grow up, they won't recall an unswept floor or dishes waiting in the sink. I hope they will remember a mom who loved them so much that she didn't want to waste a moment of her summer on anything other than making memories with them.