My youngest son said the cutest thing today. This kid is . . . ah, I don't have the words. I love him. He's a piece of work. We were listening to the radio and "The Climb" came on, a song by Miley Cyrus. Andrew loves Hannah Montana so we listened and sang together and I asked him "How's a person gonna move a mountain?" just to be goofy with him. He looks up at me and says, without any trace of doubt, "Wheels." I felt a little squeeze in my heart. He's so adorable.

Then there is the other side of my little one. The side of him that won't take no for an answer and instigates trouble with his brothers. The one who is not afraid to try the most dangerous things, take the biggest risks. He's the kind of kid who would get under the cabinets and drink household cleansers. He's why I have poison control's number on my fridge and a bottle of Ipecac in the cupboard. Allow me to present this example: Andrew was playing in the garage and I went inside the house for a moment and I heard the garage door begin to open. When I sprinted back outside Andrew was holding on to the rim of the garage door and riding up. Just as I was about to scream he let go and landed safely on his feet. Big ass grin on his face as he started back to the garage door button. "That's fun!" He was four. I cannot tell you the number of times things would be quiet and I'd go looking only to find him holding either something very sharp or flammable. He's the one who says, "I can do it by myself!"

He's in turns obnoxious and adorable. Sweet and mean. Hard and soft. He's a an absolute joy to me. My relationship with my son will change this fall. He's five now and will start kindergarten in the fall. He won't be my constant companion anymore. In the afternoons when it's quiet and we're both sleepy I won't feel his little warm body right up against mine, his heartbeat on my arm. "Come sit with me." He always says that.

He is my baby. The last child at home with me. I have been a stay-at-home mom for 14 years. It's what I do; it's who I am. I wonder what's in store for me now. This is definitely a 40's issue. The children are growing up; we're now faced with the inevitable transition from dependent to independent. My oldest son will be starting high school; the middle boy, middle school.

When my five year old doesn't want to go to pre-school, I let him stay home. It's not good parenting--I should make him go, teach him about responsibility, but I can't. I just like hanging out with him at home. After all these years it's comfortable, we have our routines, our little rituals. I like talking with him, listening to his ideas. He makes me laugh every day. He's my baby. He'll be in real school soon enough, the kind I can't just blow off whenever we feel like staying in bed late.

Being a parent, is an all-of-you kind of job. Funny, all those days when I felt I couldn't spend another minute with my children, that I would lose my mind. Those hours I spent watching the clock wishing my hubby home so I could go away. Those days when I snapped and lost my temper, pushed to my limit. Even then I knew that someday I would feel just as I do right now. Sentimental and sad. Wishing to turn back the clock just a little bit. Maybe just a year. I'd like to keep them younger for a while. Just for the hugs, and the innocence, and the wonder.

It's not a bad feeling. It stings a little, like a paper cut. You can feel it there and every once in a while it sends you zinger. I know that time marches on, always; isn't that what all those poets were talking about? But now I still have PB&J sandwiches to make, and boo-boos to kiss, and PTO meetings to attend. I'll just reapply a band aid and wait for another zinger to remind me to enjoy these moments just a little bit more.