Here I sit, on the eve of yet another school year. It should feel familiar to me by now. My daughter's room has been thinned of old books and paper trash and clothes that are too small -- all to make way for that which will be exciting and new on Monday. At least, for her.

But nothing about this year feels comfortable for me. I am struggling this time around, even more than the morning I put her on the bus bound for her first day of kindergarten. I still remember her warning as she climbed the bus steps: "Remember what the principal said, Mommy. Don't follow the bus. The driver calls the police when she sees someone behind her who shouldn't be there.'' I obeyed -- kind of -- hurrying instead to meet the bus at school to make sure she and her Dora the Explorer backpack arrived safely and happily. Which, of course, they did.

Every first day of school since I wait for her bus outside the front door, near the flagpole, and take a picture. This will be the seventh round for our tradition, which she has grown to tolerate with a smile. And I love her for that! But this is the last year of elementary school, which reminds me yet again that my daughter is growing up.

As I drive myself to school on Monday I'll wonder, once again, where the time has gone. Why the tick of the clock seems to quicken with each passing year. And hopefully remembering, as I reluctantly let her go, that the present is indeed a gift worth savoring.