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.

Not so many days ago, I wrote about the conversation all America became privy to when a dad asked his young daughter, on NPR, if she had ever been disappointed in him. She told him that yes, she had, and explained that his absence from her life for a period of years was inexplicable and hurtful.

I was moved by this idea of a parent seeking such information from a child. Typically, it is we parents who routinely, perhaps sometimes mindlessly, dish out our approval or disapproval of youngsters' behavior. Perhaps the roles should be reversed once in a while.

I posed the question to my daughter: Had she, I asked, ever been disappointed in me? Her response was painful -- initially because it didn't take her long at all to come up with an instance when I had, indeed, let her down. About two years ago on a weekday morning, she recalled, our puppy had caused major havoc in the house. We were running late for school and work. There were lunches to be made. I'd not quite gotten through a pile of papers I'd brought home from the office. I couldn't find my shoes. I'd had enough. I lashed out, promising her the dog would have to go because she was causing too much work. Of course, I didn't mean it. I love our little Sophie. But angry, tired and frustrated, I let a small matter get the best of me and succeeded in sending a fourth-grader to school in tears. I apologized to my daughter that very morning and reassured her that our pup was a beloved member of the family who would remain so. Yet the damage was done, and an impression made. My daughter remembers the pain, fear and worry I laid on her that day. And so do I.

Just a few days ago, USA Today published an interview with actress Emma Thompson, who wrote the script for the new "Nanny McPhee'' movie, in which she also plays the title role. In the interview. she talked about parenting and how hard it is to get it right all the time. She confided that she tells her own young daughter when she gets it wrong, and promises to learn from her mistakes and try to do better the next time around. Not a bad approach to parenting.

Listening to a piece on NPR en route to work this morning, I almost stopped the car to be sure I would not miss a single word. An 8-year-old girl, Kioni "Popcorn'' Marshall, was talking with her dad as part of the StoryCorps series, which is designed to celebrate lives through listening.

Listen I did.

Kioni's parents were separated for five years of her young life. Now reconciled, they and their family were the subject for this brief but extraordinarily touching exchange between dad and daughter. The father, Beau Harris, asked his daughter if either of her parents had ever disappointed her. Each had, she told him. Her mother because she waited until Kioni was 5 to broach the idea of meeting Harris. Her dad had been a disappointment, she said, because he had been absent for so many years of Kioni's life. But he made her proud when, as she put it, he "came to my life.''

Hearing a grown man ask his little girl whether he'd been a source of pride and disappointment was deeply moving. In many ways, it was almost a revelation. And it got me to thinking. I've never asked my daughter how I've made her proud, or in what ways I might have made her sad. The roles in this whole child/parent thing are typically in reverse. We parents easily share prideful moments with our children, but just as quickly express our disapproval or sadness when they come up short -- in homework, on the soccer field, in relationships with friends.

I think I'll broach the topic with my daughter this weekend, and see what she has to say. Her response might make me feel ashamed, or joy-filled. Either way, it's a conversation we should have had long before this. 

As I was finally making my way upstairs last night, my daughter called out, "Mom. Did you fold the laundry?" I wasted no time in launching into a lecture about my hard life. A full day at the office. Then running around to pick up and drop off kids and pets. Dinner to make; a kitchen to clean up. Some time for office work at home, then bill paying. I didn't even get around to dusting and vacuuming the downstairs hallway. I only have two hands ... and I went on and on ad nauseum. (You should have heard me!)

My daughter said nothing.

I walked directly into the laundry room, and atop the washer and dryer was that clean load of laundry. All neatly folded. Only those items that were too high for my daughter to reach were left out for me to put away.

Foot, with high heel, went directly into mouth. Finally, I was at a loss for words. And it was a good thing. I was thrilled with her, and disappointed in myself. There were lots of hugs and endless thanks that continued this morning. My daughter's growing up. Maybe I should follow suit.

My daughter and I just finished watching Kevin Sullivan's "Anne of Green Gables'' movies, a Canadian made-for-television series. We loved them, and HIGHLY recommend them. The first of the three movies was made in the mid-1980s. They're absolutely great family viewing, but keep in mind that each movie is 3 to 4 hours, so you might want to pace yourself. The characters are rich, and the scenery beautiful. My daughter has read all but the last two of the "Anne'' book series. She gave lower marks to the final movie adaptation, "The Continuing Story,'' because it strayed too far from the book plot. It was also the darkest of the three. The first two movies get a cumulative four thumbs up from us! The movies are great for a rain day, and, according to my daughter, the books are wonderful fare rain or shine. Although I haven't read them, I will now.  

June 10 marked our last day of rushed mornings and evening homework -- at least until August. When I picked up my daughter, I couldn't help but smile as I saw her rush through the school doors and step into the sun. She was happy, and it showed. The kids could wear flip-flops for these final few hours ending at 11:30. That -- the footwear and the shortened school time -- got rave reviews! Her report card was stellar. And there was time for pictures and hugs with this year's beloved teacher.

My daughter was also thrilled at spending time with classmates and her new teacher in what we'll be next year's classroom. The one that will be her headquarters for sixth grade and the final year of elementary school. Many students don't know who next year's teacher will be until the new year is about to start. We like the way our school does it. A lot. It gives students an opportunity to meet their new teacher and get a feel for their surroundings-to-be. (Thanks Penn Manor!) It's the perfect way to tie up a great year, and prepare for what's to come. But first, we'll enjoy our summer!

I don't know where I've been the last couple of months, but it became apparent this weekend that I've been ignoring one of the biggest fads to hit in, well, the past couple of months.

If your kids, or your kids' friends, aren't sporting thin, rubbery bracelets crafted into colorful shapes -- butterflies, kites, hearts, guitars, drums, giraffes ... well, you get the picture -- they're still being rocked to sleep or have children of their own.

Boys and girls are donning these bands by the dozens. A package of 24, depending on the brand, is under $5 or $6. They are one hot trade, and stores can't keep them in stock. While my daughter and I were standing in line at Centerville Cardtique on Saturday -- Silly Bandz in hand, of course -- we learned from a teacher that they're becoming a distraction in some classrooms. They've also caused some fights and, thus, are morphing into contraband. Still other teachers, realizing their allure, are giving them as rewards for jobs well done.

As I resist the urge to use a couple of them to tie up the celery and keep the egg carton closed, I wonder what my daughter would say if I forced her to wear rubber bands as a fashion statement. Gotta believe I know the answer to that one!

As I'm helping the Easter Bunny put the finishing touches on a basket for my daughter, I came across some interesting numbers:

The Associated Press reports that we Americans will spend $14 billion on everything from candy to eggs to Sunday-dinner trimmings this weekend as Easter typically ranks fourth behind Christmas, Valentine's Day and Mother's Day for spending. And next to Halloween, Easter is the sweetest holiday as each person will spend $17.29 on candy alone.

I've done my part to help the E.B. and the economy, filling several baskets with treats, though mixing it up a bit this year with sweets as well as other small gifts that will be inedible, but unexpected. Tonight we'll color the eggs in anticipation of Sunday's festivities. And, by the way, if you don't know what to do with all those hard-boiled eggs, keep in mind that April 5 is the beginning of National Egg Salad Week. We should all have plenty with which to celebrate! 

There's nothing April Foolsy for my daughter and the fifth-grade classmates at her school today. This morning was the long-awaited "health movie'' that she and her friends have been whispering about for weeks. It all began, to be precise, at 9:05 a.m. While she and her female friends stayed in one classroom, the boys gathered in another.

So far, my daughter has been reluctant to allow me to engage her in conversations about the topic of the day. "Ewwwww, Mom,'' she says. We'll see how it goes post-movie.

The day has long-been anticipated. Weeks ago the school mailed letters advising parents about the movie. We needed to return a slip giving permission for our children's inclusion in the event, facilitated by the school nurse. And adults were invited to view the movie in advance.

Roll it back to my own fifth-grade "movie'' experience. To my knowledge, no letters went home. No permission was sought. No movie previews were offered.  And the boys got an extra recess while we girls remained in a darkened room with the teacher, no nurse. (Am I the only one of a certain age who remembers it that way?)

As far as I know, however, the changes brought on by adolescence are unaltered. And the facts of life remain the same.

As I quickly flossed my teeth at a red light just a few days ago -- I did have the wherewithall to be sure no one was watching -- I realized how acute my time crunch has become. Practicing good dental hygiene at an intersection isn't a great idea, but it exemplifies my desperate need for MORE time. I have not a single milli-second to be squandered. And the multitasking must keep pace.

What am I doing wrong? I make lists. I've given up procrastinating. I try to plan ahead with meals. I'm part of multiple car pools staffed by other frazzled moms so as to minimize our time as chauffeurs. If I could, I'd get a jump on the next work day while I sleep.

But I've come to realize that no matter how organized I am, life happens. Grandparents become ill. The dog chews up the electric bill. The bathtub won't drain. The ballerina is at the dance studio, but the pointe shoes are at home. The job runs late. The roast planned for today's supper isn't in the freezer; then I remember it was Sunday dinner two weeks ago.

I'm still in a book club, and we meet this Friday -- one of the last luxuries of leisure time I've allowed myself. I've read approximately 11 pages of Amy Tan's "Saving Fish From Drowning.'' Perhaps the title could apply to my own life as it is now. Yet I'll go, even if I haven't finished the first chapter and don't really have the time, and hope that the other female compatriots at the table will throw me a lifesaver. I need one.