Today, my oldest child begins first grade. I can't tell you how sad and happy this makes me. I'm sad because I realize my first baby boy is truly on his way to growing up. School has him now; I don't. I can't help but predict he will need me less and less as he takes on the world in his own independent way. This makes me happy too. I am eager to see how he fares on his own, how he develops, grows, and soars. And I must admit, I am pretty thrilled about having five mornings per week all to myself -- my youngest little boy begins school today too.

On Friday, we went to six-year-old Joey's elementary school for a meet-the-teacher event. Joey was right at home. He sat at his assigned desk, did a little drawing, and snuggled up in a pile of pillows in the reading corner. I felt right at home too, after reading a parent memo about public school physical education.

Fitness has become an everyday ritual for me. Along with eating right, it's my weapon for staying healthy and keeping cancer far away. I want this same ritual for my boys. It looks like Joey will get to embrace this way of life not only at home but while in the care of his teacher too.

I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted.

My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.

Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.