My older son is thirty-five years old today. Thirty-five! Where have those years gone? It seems such a short while ago he was a teen, a kid, a toddler, a baby, and now he is, in anyone’s definition, a man heading toward middle age. Yikes!

Our time as parents of little ones is so short. It can seem as though the kids are taking forever to get over one obnoxious phase or another, or learning to walk without damage, or drive with confidence, or earn their own pocket money. We think we’re going to remember all the little things, but so often they’re gone before we get around to snapping the photo or jotting down the funny in a life book, and the memory is soon crowded out of reach by the next cute retort or amazing accomplishment.

As a young parent, I had no appreciation for how little time I’d actually have with my kids being kids. It seemed then that years would drag out, slowly ticking by as a great gear of life chugged around and around and my children aged one year at a time …first grade, second grade, third grade and on … never suspecting that it really goes by in an eye-blink. Wasn’t it Einstein who theorized that E (being the end of childhood) = My kids’ development times the speed of light … squared.

Forever grateful that I’ve had the chance to do it again, I’m in no hurry for Sam to head off to school or Cj to walk, talk and chew. Diapers are a joy. Mixing formula makes me happy. Grubby fingers and sticky mouths are the definition of beauty.

Someday these little darlings will be celebrating thirty-fifth birthdays, just like their big brother is today, and I would have had no control over how fast that happened. It will be too darned fast, though. Of that, there is no doubt.