We were three days into our annual summer trip to Newport, RI, when it happened. I had been expecting it for years.

In the midst of enjoying non-stop family fun, I completely ran out of energy. Exhausted and sun scorched, I could hardly move. We did too much.

Rest, relax, and take it easy. That's what a vacation is supposed to be, right? 

In a few short days with three energetic kids, we had snorkeled and boogie boarded, driven bumper boats and played mini golf, shopped on Thames Street and flown kites at Brenton Point State Park, overlooking the ocean. We watched sail boats glide by, visited the kids' favorite joke shop for goofy pranks and my favorite spot — Sweet Berry Farm — for ice cream (the best in Newport County according to their sign), coffee and home baked treats.

The Adventurer (age 10) and I had been enjoying morning runs by the harbor, stopping only to say hello to cute dogs and to read the inscription beneath the Pointing Man, the statue that serves as our half way point. Turns out he's really General Rochambeau, ready to head out to fight the British, but we still prefer our nick name for him.  And in case you are wondering, I am only slightly faster than a fifth grader.

We loved every minute of it, but it proved to be too much for this mom. After go-cart driving and ice cream eating I had to drag myself inside, to collapse. Stranded on the couch, unable to move I came to the realization that they (the kids) had officially beaten me.  Running, swimming, playing, they had sucked every bit of energy I had right out of me.  And there I was, unable to move a muscle, barely able to speak, sure I would vomit if I tried to get up. They continued to bounce around me, as they always do.

I recovered, of course, and have resolved that we will slow down the pace just a bit for the remaining five days so I don't keel over again, but I may need a vacation after this week.

School starts in two short weeks, in case you are wondering.  I'm not keeping track.