The pencils were sharpened and packed securely. Breakfast was a hurried affair. Then off they went: my oldest and my youngest. Their excited smiles and cheerful hearts burdened only by cumbersome backpacks filled with delicious lunchtime promises.
Yes, the school year has begun anew again. And I, as always, am rejuvenated as Summer wanes.
Whether as student, parent, or bystander, in my heart, the New Year does not begin in January. The countdown to midnight, the song for forgotten friends, and the dropping of lit apples do not herald for me anything other than a great excuse to have fun.
My homage to the passage of time rings in harmony with the first chime of the schoolyard bell.
Each August, I find joy perusing the brightly colored stacks of school supplies that sprout up in the stores. Like seeds in a freshly planted field, the rows of lined paper pads, pens, and highlighter markers speak of patience: waiting to yield their harvest in creativity, not fruit.
Not one to be swayed by seasonal marketing, I cringe aghast at the premature display of Valentine's candy the first week in January and the springtime sandals and swimsuits in chilly December. Surely the worst offense is found each Autumn, when the fake firs of Christmas share aisle space with clearance sales of leftover sand pails and beach towels.
However, back-to-school shopping is a retail ritual that I do enjoy. I see inspiration and boundless potential in those unblemished pages of paper - each sheet, a perfect representation of the proverbial clean slate.
At no point ever again within a lifetime will one's slate be as clean as the one upon which we write our first day of school memories. Every turn and class is another beginning; a new teacher, a new book, a new friend, a new experience.
I find, as an adult, were it not for the natural rhythm of the school calendar, my year would simply dissolve from one into the next. As for new experiences, these days this would include benign forays into cookbooks looking for something extra zesty, or taking a different street home while out walking.
On occasion I will find myself blessed by a truly novel experience, however, nothing compares to a first day at a new school. And as a military brat, I endured more than a fair share of those.
As children, we are under a near constant assault of new ideas and experiences and possess a unique perspective of time. I suppose when a few short months represent such a tremendous portion of a young life, it is not profound to view each year as an enormous epoch. Juvenile years then being even further broken down into eras, halves and quarters, especially when it comes to declaring an exact chronological age.
My daughter is not five, I assure you. Indeed she is five and a half years old. A very important distinction within the Kindergarten set.
And so it was as my no longer five, but not yet six-year old, princess stood proudly on her first day of school this week. With notebook and pencil at the ready and lunch sack stowed neatly in a cubby, she grasped her new teacher with one hand - and waved goodbye to me with the other.
As if it were midnight on a late December eve, when we gather those we love in an embrace, I gave her a hug and a kiss, and thought, "Happy New Year, honey."
Laura Douglass writes for the Seven Lakes Times, where this column originally appeared.
As a Realtor in the area, I routinely show properties to families. They always want to know about our schools, and I always say we have great ones. 
