I went to my last little kid class picnic at school yesterday.

You get an end of the year picnic in kindergarten and in first grade, and after that it's not special anymore, you just end school as the rest of the masses do.

But, there was a time that I never dreamed I'd be at this particular event.

You see, the little kid picnic was how I got Busy D. in the first place.

Oh, please. Stop that, eeeew! No, ya perv, it went like this:

At Busy Girl's kindergarten picnic some nine years ago, I recall standing with a group of other mothers, all of whom had kindergarteners as well as kids in high school.

I laughed.

Oh, how I laughed.

I laughed loud and long because I smugly had my girl and my boy conveniently spaced 22 months and 2 grades apart.

And, well, you know the rest of the story.

Busy D. came along 2 years after that conversation, and I've become the mother that used to puzzle me so when Busy Girl and Busy Boy were little.

(Poor Busy D., no telling how often this scenario plays out: "Oh, you know which one Busy D. is, he's the one with the older parents.")

Back then, I had no idea how some of these other parents couldn't see the WONDER of it ALL at EVERY school event. They seemed so very cynical, "How could people be like that?" I wondered to myself.

OK, OK, I wondered to myself and possibly to every other new parent in earshot around me as they murmured in agreement.

But, now I get it, and I'm sure to other folks, I've become "that" mother.

Since he's just in first grade, most of my fellow parents are doing this whole school thing with their First Precious Snowflake, and I have to watch myself, sometimes.

For example, Busy D. (who, in this case, plays the game very well and knows precisely what he is doing) has a bad habit of splaying himself on the floor during basketball, especially after an intense play.

It drives me insane, and yes, I'm that parent yelling, "Busy D., get up already!" while the other parents around me are all, "Ohhh, that poor, poor baby", all the while shooting me dagger eyes.

So, I'll give it the ol', "I mean, um, 'Honey, are you OK?'" to keep the peace since I have 7 more years with these folks.

It's not that I'm mean (You in the back? Shut up.), it's just that I've been doing the whole parenting thing longer than some around me, and I know how it comes out, at least up to the early teens.

I'm also sure there are parents of older teens rolling their eyes at me right this very minute as I wrestle with things like who is she allowed to ride with as her peers get driver's licenses, since they know how it all turns out.

It's all just the circle of parenting life, or something like that, I suppose.

But, back to the picnic, as I said, it was my last one.

As I sat in the row of "retirees" (not retired from parenting, just those of us at an "advanced" age), enjoying our "caboose" kids (there's a lot of cabooses "cabeese"? in this class), I watched as some parents inserted themselves into the boys' baseball game, making rules and ensuring turns were taken fairly.

(That last paragraph was totally a 10 yard penalty for excessive quotation and parenthesis use.)

Appreciating their efforts, but knowing that things would turn our just fine with or without them, I chose to just take in all the picnic sights and sounds, commit this group to memory while they're little, and be grateful for that chance to do it one more time.