There was a day a few months ago when some city workers came into our subdivision to repair the street.  It was a warm day and my children had been outside playing all morning.  As I was making beds, picking up toys, sorting dirty laundry and doing my other "mom" chores, I listened to the grind and scrape of the diesel machines working in front of my home.
     Nearing lunchtime, I went to call my six children in.  They weren't in the backyard playing on all the gym equipment we had purchased for their entertainment.  They weren't in the side yard playing kickball or soccer.  They were in the front yard with awed expressions on their faces watching the machines on the street dig and dump and fill.
     I watched them for awhile - my grubby little throng - amazed they could stand so still for longer than a minute, but unlike them, I soon became bored and called them in.  I could see they were reluctant to come inside.
     "We was watching the tractors!" my three-year-old exclaimed, pointing as if I hadn't seen the enormous machines.
     "Why?" I asked.
     They all traded glances and shrugged their shoulders, and my nine-year-old answered for them all, "Because they're neat."
     Later I thought about how enthralled they were with those big machines, as so many children are, and I myself had been when I was young.  It made me sad to think that I have become so busy trying to keep up with everyday life that I've forgotten how to enjoy the everyday things.  That while we as adults are so busy chasing the almighty dollar, we've forgotten that the simple pleasures we enjoyed as children are free, right in our own backyards, there for the taking.
     One lazy afternoon while watching my children play, I started thinking about how differently the world looks through the eyes of an adult with so many responsibilities.  All at once I realized that while I was trying to raise them to be perfect mini-adults who would then become perfect full-grown adults, my oldest child at eleven was essentially still that - a child! I felt my stomach drop as I recalled reprimanding them over and over about this and that and giving lectures on appropriate behavior.  I cringed inwardly as I realized with clarity that I've essentially been telling them that it's wrong to behave as the children they are.
     My five-year-old chose that moment to look over and give me a wave. She yelled, "Mom, watch!" and jumped off the swing seat in mid-swing and flew through the air.  I held my breath until she landed in the sandbox without a major injury.
     My first response was to let loose a barrage of admonishments about how she could have broken a leg or landed on one of her younger sisters, but just as I started to yell, I shocked myself by responding with, "Wow!" And I gave her a thumbs-up.
     Suddenly I felt a pang of longing for the days of my own youth.  The days when I, too, could romp and play without a care for cost-of-living increases and budgets and mortgages.  The days when all that seemed to matter was that day, that moment.
     Remembering the day with the machines working in the street, I walked across the yard to my children and asked if I, too, could join in the fun.  For a moment, six pairs of eyes just stared at me in astonishment.  Even though I spend all day - every day - with them, it had been a long time since I'd taken off my "Mom" hat and just enjoyed the day - the moment - as if it would last forever.
     I let my children re-teach me that afternoon, for I'd forgotten that a whole world of fun could exist in a child's backyard.  I'd forgotten how much fun it is to squish and squeeze fresh mud into patties and lay them on rocks to dry in the sun.  Or how plucking the stem from a honeysuckle will reward you with a single sweet drop of "honey."  Or how forbidden it feels to make a mud puddle with the garden hose and stomp in it just for the sheer fun of getting dirty.  And how thrilling it is to climb just one branch higher in a tree and then from your perch in the sky, gaze over your tiny kingdom through innocent eyes and yell, "I'm the king of the world!"
     I'd forgotten how your stomach does that flip-flop tickle when you swing so high that the seat practically falls out of the sky and at the last moment catches, pulling you back to do it again.  Or how relaxing it is to lie on your back in the grass watching the dandelion fluff float by on a lazy summer breeze.  Or how, when you use your imagination, the clouds can really look like bunnies and horses.  And I'd forgotten what it was like to be dirty and sweaty and itchy and not even care, because there was still an hour to play before dinner.
     There was once a time when a day seemed to last forever and yet now I feel there aren't enough hours in a day to do all that needs to be done.  I now know that the days slip by all too quickly and so does a child's youth.  Once it is gone, it can never be reclaimed no matter how badly we wish for it.
     As for myself, I can only hope to capture a few stolen moments from my children's youth to remind me how precious these carefree days are for them.  And I try not to question why they will go through the trouble to rake all the leaves in the yard into a big pile just to run and jump and stomp and kick them all over the yard again.  Instead, I go outside and join them.  Enjoy the moment with them.  Because even though they don't, I know the moment won't last forever.

Reprinted by permission of Stacey Granger (c) 2000 from Chicken Soup for the Soul Life Lessons for Women by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Stephanie Marston.  In order to protect the rights of the copyright holder, no portion of this publication may be reproduced without prior written consent.  All rights reserved.