Think the grass is always greener? Maybe not.

Wishing for what will be? Be careful...you'll miss what is.

Are you a 'grass is always greener' person? I was, too, until a seemingly normal Thursday afternoon many, many years ago. Read on.

LOS ANGELES, CA - I used to watch moms with teenagers and feel pangs of jealousy.
'I can't wait until my kids are old enough to do things on their own,' I mumbled to myself over and over again.

I was never naďve enough to think that my kids would ever be problem-free adolescents. It was the freedom I was longing for. The freedom to attend an auction on weekends without hiring a baby-sitter, the freedom to wake up at 8 a.m. instead of 6:30 a.m. on Saturdays, knowing the kids could fend for themselves.

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And that Tuesday was the straw that broke the camel's back.
After playing on the playground (again.when will I learn this lesson?), I brought Samantha back to the baseball field so we could watch Christopher and Michael practice t-ball. She was only three, so sitting still just wasn't an option. Instead, Sam began to scale a 10-foot chain link fence that ran along the third base line.

'Sam, come on down, please,' I asked my very agile daughter.

'But Maaaaaaaaa-my,' she wined. 'I wanna see the boys betta.'

Arguing only gave Sam that much more time to climb higher, and as I opened my mouth to sternly tell her to come down, her little head was already above the top of the fence.

'Sam, come down right now. Someone could hit a foul ball that hits you on the.'

Too late. A foul ball found its way to my darling baby's head, like a needle finds its way to North on a compass.

'Why us?' I groaned to the lady sitting next to me. Luckily, the ball was hit by a 5 year-old, so there was no massive bump on the noggin.

'I'll be so glad when my kids can drive themselves to baseball practice,' I continued.

So what changed my tune from 'Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow.' to 'Yesterday?' A couple of things, actually.

The first was my son, Michael's, fifth birthday. Five years old! It was a big step for a kid and for a parent. For Michael, it meant using all four fingers and his thumb when answering the question, 'How old are you now?' It also meant taking the training wheels off the bicycle.

Michael 'graduated' on that Thursday, the day after his fifth birthday. Diploma, mortar board cap and all. O.K., so it was a preschool graduation. It was adorable. Parents and grandparents watched as 18 little 4 and 5 year-olds march into the room, chests all puffed up with pride, and grinning from ear to ear.

In a split second I realized what I had wished for was coming true right before my eyes. My sweet little boy would be in Kindergarten within a few months, and there would be two in school every day. It's what I had been dreaming of since each child began to walk.school five days a week!

School.five days a week. The thought that should have made my bottom-heavy body float in mid-air instead brought me to a very real and sad conclusion. Michael wasn't just graduating from preschool. He was graduating from an age of innocence. From here on out my blond-haired, wide-eyed guy would bring home more than just finger paintings and scraped knees. He would bring home words I would eventually have to explain, and questions I won't know how to answer.

Why was I so anxious to have them grow up? I can barely remember now. The grass in our yard was an unusually beautiful shade of green on that Thursday morning.

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