For the most part, my mom friends and I are typical Long Island suburbanites. Most of us grew up here and chose to remain here. Some of us are stay-at-home moms, but more of us are working outside the home. We are executives, nurses, hair stylists, physicians, teachers, cashiers and engineers. Our generation of multi-dimensional moms redefines the concept of time management -- literally and figuratively.

We enter the realm of motherhood not really knowing what to expect and emerge at the other end, having tackled the toughest job on Earth.

Whether it's sending the last of our brood to kindergarten or sending our oldest to college, we feel the sadness of separation and the haunting realization that time has elapsed, our children have matured, and we have indeed aged.

This awareness of time intensifies when you manage multiple children and their different stages of need and development. I think back to the spring of 2007. I can't remember if it was rainy or warm, but I can recall spending countless hours teaching my oldest son to drive a car and my 6-year-old daughter to ride a two-wheeler. At the time, the situation didn't strike me as particularly significant, because I was, like so many friends, caught up in the frenzy and fraught of daily mothering.

As I moved from passenger seat to bicycle seat, I was intent on assuring that my children achieved these milestones. It didn't matter that one would wait at the curb for the other's lesson to end, that I was exhausted, or that my running behind a bicycle was becoming increasingly difficult. I wanted them to succeed.

Five years have passed since this "riding" experience. Since then each child has encountered situations in which they have been humbled, humiliated and honored. My heart broke and rejoiced with them, and I offered my advice as best I could and my love in overabundance. We, and time with it, moved on.

So much happens in a day's time. Sometimes I find a minute to reflect on this phenomenon. That's when I vow to make more "mental memories" of as many moments with my children as possible. It's not easy. There is always so much to do and so little time.

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Not long ago my second son took his road test. All I remember about his driver training is the day he bent a dead-end sign. It occurred while we were hurrying to get his younger sister to lacrosse practice. It's not my best memory, but I can say it is uniquely of him.

It's time to hit the road again -- this time for a softball game. Maybe my daughter will finally get a hit. If not, at least I'll be sure to imprint in my mind how cute her freckled face looks beneath her baseball cap. Time, after all, will move on and yield another chance for a hit, but my daughter's adorable face at this moment will never be exactly the same again.

Reader Janine Logan lives in the Village of Babylon.