Sometimes In the middle of the night when I’m awake and alone with my thoughts, or sometimes in the middle of the day when I’m driving and surrounded by chip bags, backpacks, and sweaty kids, I think, motherhood is a bit of a stretch for me.

Wait, maybe I should say, motherhood in today’s world is a bit of a stretch, especially with three children. Of course I love them, but occasionally the thought creeps in that it would have been so easy to parent just one child. Now that I have three–twins, age 10, and a son, almost 13–I’m constantly amazed at the amount of energy, generosity and altruism required for parenting. I think about my own mother, who had four kids, drove carpool, cooked dinner every night, even sewed clothes for me and my sister. She and my dad took us on trips, including the requisite pilgrimage to Disney World. We stayed at the exotic Polynesian hotel, went to the Mad Tea Party, and dined to the vocal stylings of Steve Lawrence and Eydie Gormé (live!). It was about perfect.

I took it for granted, all that my parents did for us, which I guess is the job of kids. Children are too busy growing up, living the movie, to catch on to the fact that their parents are helping to write and direct it.

I think about my homemaker-happy mother, whose day before the kids got home included bridge and tennis and garden club–and grocery shopping. She lived (and still does) a happy life, with little talk of stressing out, leaning in, and getting away. Yes, life was simpler. Those were the days of kids having fewer organized activities after school–I remember walking to the local drugstore many weekday afternoons with my best friend Allison and ordering ice cream sundaes at the counter (and putting on the pounds to show it!). I don’t recall if my mother even knew what we were doing. I just knew to be home by dinnertime.

Today, I talk to my mother from my command center behind the steering wheel. We catch up while I, like the operator of the local train, make various stops along the way. These are the snatched moments where I find out about her or Dad’s latest checkups (they are insanely healthy for the 70’s and 80s), who they dined with at the club last Saturday night, whose funeral they attended the other day. Then always, it’s “I gotta go, Mom. I’m at [insert destination] now.”

Once I pick up the kids from school, I’m off to a gymnastics class, a baseball practice, a dance lesson. Forget the stay-at-home mom–that would be fantastic. No, I’m a “stay-in-the-car” mom, and covet the rare day where I manage to avoid my car entirely (especially since it’s so damn dirty, with pretzels and Power Bars and god knows what ground into the synthetic carpet and seat crevices.)

I’m not a great dinner planner, (ugh, the routine) the way my mother was, and I often get home from these carpool laps around the track to open the fridge and simply stare. Then I turn to the cabinet and reach for the box of pasta. I silently give thanks that my husband will eat just about anything and at the same time curse him for needing to eat at all. Every fall, I vow to “figure out the dinner thing” just like I vow to “figure out the homework thing” and “the driving thing.”

The thing is, this is what parenting is, largely. It’s being there for your children’s lives, being there when they need you. We give our kids so much, it seems, this generation of parents. We sign them up, plug them in, buy them off. I’m just as guilty as anyone, yet I occasionally try to fight these tendencies. Hell, we haven’t even taken our kids to Disney World. But, as I’ve seen with friends whose kids are older, it does eventually taper off, and one day it’s over, this part of parenting.

I feel I’m just getting a glimpse of what life will be like once my role in the movie is reduced to, say, Executive Producer. My kids are starting to become more independent, making their own breakfast in the morning, running to the corner market, walking the dog, and doing chores (sort of). Now, as opposed to standing over them and tying their shoelaces, I’m glancing sideways and driving them to the shoe store. I’m supervising when needed, and of course, nagging often.

Oh, I know those teenage years are coming and things will keep shifting–too quickly–and suddenly, I will yearn for these “easy” years when they don’t mind hanging out with their parents (or have no choice). We’ll all get our independence soon enough.

But for now, Disney World is starting to look pretty good. Maybe we’ll even get there before they’re all in college.