I was excited to watch my big guy hit these marks because they were all so new, and I had no idea what it would ultimately mean. This time, I know. I know it is the end of an era. It means saying goodbye to a much simpler time.

Toddlerhood is a challenging stage. My daughter has the newfound ability to express her wants, needs and excessively irrational, endless, countless, infinite demands with words, yet lacks the decency to keep it to herself.

What if motherhood puts an even greater distance between an already estranged mother-daughter relationship? What if it makes you feel even less connected to your mother, makes your understanding of her motives and choices during your childhood that much more elusive?

My sons take their seats, the motor kicks on and the swings start turning to the right in a soft, careful circle. It is their spotlight. It is as wide as a slow dance and twice as wild. Their hearts beat accordingly. They pass me by again and again. The only thing that changes is the calendar.

I hope that when they are older and discuss among themselves how we went many places, and did many things, and that mom took a lot of photos of them, they will also remember how we say "I love you" so many times a day.

When I was growing up (half a century ago), life was different. Telephones had rotary dials and did not double as game consoles. Kids sat next to the TV because we didn't have remote controls to change to the other three channels and rabbit ears needed constant adjustments.

You caught me. All of our idealistic parenting philosophies have flown out the window. And the vow to never let our kids play up is one of them.

I have a twin... sort of. He's taller, blonder and better at math than me. He's also nine years my junior.