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.

I'm on vacation from work this week, and have been fortunate to spend some time volunteering at my child's school. That's where I was much of today. And I'm glad for it because, once again, I learned something from our kids.

About 15 minutes after the start of the school day, there was a fire drill. It was Friday. Early dismissal. The book fair shelves and displays were still adorning the main hallway, where they remained a tempting diversion for young eyes (and hands).

But when the alarm rang, those kids had a job to do and nothing got in their way. I'm talking 5-year-olds and those readying for middle school. They were up. Quiet. Out the door in orderly single file. They waited on and around the playground for instructions from their principal, and teachers, before reentering the building. It was a sight to behold. I remain impressed.

They take direction better than most adults, I said to the building secretary. And I wasn't kidding.

Just minutes earlier, and on most mornings (and afternoons), the dropoff and pickup lines at schools across Lancaster County are a traffic jam of SUVs and minivans. It can get hairy. And while parents, grandparents and other seemingly able adults have been told (and told and told) the rules, there are always those who can't (won't) follow them -- and in some cases put the safety of children at risk. Unlike their children who understand how their conduct and demeanor could affect their own welfare and that of others, adults can serve as pretty disappointing examples. 

So I'm suggesting that grownups take a cue from our kids. Maybe observe a fire drill or two. And put those lessons to use when we're behind the steering wheels in idling cars, and tempted to swerve around the two vehicles ahead of us because we want to get back home two minutes sooner. Probably not worth the risk, our wise kids would tell us.