As I drive through my neighborhood, a toddler is “driving” his feet-operated car along the street. His mom walks next to him, but she’s focused on her phone. A little further along, a dad is pushing a stroller but staring at his phone.

I drive on by, thinking “If only.” If only I had one more day with my child as a toddler or riding in a stroller. I want to stop and tell that mom to put down the phone and relish her toddler’s laugh as he pedals his little car. I want to tell that dad to stop and talk to his baby about all the sights they see on their walk. One day, they will miss these times with their children.

Those days of having babies and toddlers are long gone for me. In those years, I’ll admit I sometimes had work distractions, and I did occasionally check emails on vacations, but we didn’t have all-consuming cell phones. I enjoyed the play times and most especially, the snuggly times of reading together. Still, I’d love to have one more day to savor that sweetness. (I’ve always had a sweet tooth, but that would be better than the finest chocolates.)

Not to say I don’t adore the wonderful, successful adults they’ve become or the perks of empty nesting. (Less cooking and laundry.) I’m not a cell phone hater; they are wonderful for safety and convenience. I’m guilty of being distracted sometimes. But we all should know when it’s important and when it’s not.

I’m also that gray-haired lady who waves and plays peek-a-boo with strangers’ babies in random places. I think I look harmless enough, and no parent has snatched their child away yet. There’s a young AAPI family we sometimes see at a coffee shop. The little boy looks to be around 5, with Down’s syndrome. The strong-willed girl is about 3, marching around in her over-sized sunglasses. The parents talk to them and to each other. The kids are adorable; I smile and wave at them and tell the mom how I enjoy seeing them. When the little girl is ready to go, they go. Mom sends them over to say goodbye, with waves and little hugs that I cherish.

Be present. It all passes quickly. As Gretchen Rubin said, “The days are long, but the years are short.”  And just try to listen to "Slipping Through My Fingers" without your heart catching a little bit.