Just when I got good at being mom to babies, they went and became toddlers.

Just when I got the hang of two pairs of grabby hands and irrational demands, they went and became boys.

It’s the wildest thing, but somehow I don’t see it coming, and then Whamo! it hits me like a sack of LEGO, they need me less and less; they’re closer to being the people they’re becoming.

Now, at 9 and 11, my boys are kids. Tweens. Big boys. Big enough for a lot of independence, young enough to need guidance. But they’re 5’4″ and built like battle ships. They don’t exactly look like little boys – so I don’t know why I didn’t see this coming.

They just don’t need me the way they used to.

It became apparent this weekend when we went to the Santa Claus parade. One of them kept using air quotes every time he used the word “Santa” – I’m glad he didn’t ruin it for the little kids around us, but it’s that year. After more than a decade of brunch followed by 2 hours in the cold watching the same floats go by, I think we may have watched our last parade.

The boys have made it clear that Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and all of the other childhood magic is a sham. And they’re okay with it – just so long as Mom and Dad keep on buying the Easter chocolate, the Christmas presents and pay up for the last few teeth the younger one still has to lose.

Actually, I knew it this past summer while on a road trip. I found myself asking why they no longer shouted MOOOOO! when we passed by a farm field full of cows and didn’t shriek CHOOOO CHOOOO when the train went by. Of course those are long gone – but dammit – I’m not ready to move on yet.

So that’s the rub. As soon as you feel comfortable and confident in your ability to parent, your children go and grow older.

How is that even fair?