There are things that I'm certainly enjoying about my children getting older. I'm not looking forward to deoderant and armpit hair, but there are little things.
I can ask my nine year old to return the cart, rather than schlepping three kids to and from the cart return, usually holding at least two of them, and praying the third doesn't run in traffic.
I can let the nine year old out at practice, then find a parking place if I'm late.
I don't cringe at the thought of getting ice cream cones anymore. I didn't used to get one of my own, because I spent so much time cleaning up theirs (by that I mean licking the sides...) usually with some horrible combination of bubblegum ice cream and gummi bears. Now I can get what I want, and not have to bring an entire container of wipes and a bib and a bath towel. I recall one time finding a hose at the ice cream store and being so happy, because it was the appropriate tool.
I can shower without an audience. I can pee without an audience.
I am enjoying my children getting older, I am. Or at least I need to keep reminding myself of the good things, because along with the good comes the sassing. And armpit hair.