As I shuffled down our cobblestone walkway to get the paper this morning, my pajama pants grazing the cool bricks, I felt a soft breeze and something slightly different in the air. I took a deep breath in.

And there it was…a tiny hint of fall.

I’m sure that subconsciously it was this 7am moment that prompted me to later spend two hours buying back-to-school stuff for the kids. Striped shirts, flowered tops, backpacks. And I may not have set foot in a classroom for many, many years (unless you count that expensive year in ‘99 that I thought getting my MBA at night was a good idea), but I had to add some new jeans for myself to the mix. I should either be quite proud or slightly embarrassed that I bought jeans from a store that targets the high school/college crowd.

Anyhoo, after my online spree, I sat in the front yard with the kids as they unleashed a new jumbo box of sidewalk chalk and chased dragonflies, and I started to feel that tinge of anticipation in my stomach that used to come with the start of fall. I’ve always loved September. The crunch of the leaves under my feet…buying a brand new Disco Fever Trapper Keeper…wondering if dreamy Craig Wilson would be in my study hall…packing away the flip-flops on Labor Day weekend and heading to the mall for new sweaters. Ahhh…those were the days.

When I walked up to the mailbox to get today’s assortment of catalogs, flyers and bills, I realized my mom instincts had been telling me something this morning. There, on the top of the pile, was a letter from my son’s kindergarten teacher, “Mrs. Mario.” Her letter was typed on cute teacher-ish stationery with apples at the bottom. She introduced herself, told us all the fun things our son would do this year…math, reading, painting, and meeting new friends, and she wished us a happy rest of summer.

It’s just one more month before my baby boy stands on the corner across from our house and boards that gigantic yellow bus with his blue iguana backpack in tow. And one month before his sister will put on her new mary janes and sparkly barrettes and walk down the steps, her small hand in mine, to her new preschool.

So today, as I sat on the stoop amidst the chalk art and bug chasing, I found my emotions toggling between the excitement of a new chapter, and the idea that other people will soon be filling a big part of my childrens’ days. I am, admittedly, giddy over the idea of having quiet hours to sit alone at my computer while sipping multiple mugs of coffee, or cleaning out a closet if I want to. But while I do, my little boy will be sitting in Room 127, two miles away soaking up basic math and the history of dinosaurs. Without me.

“Mom! Look! A wing!!!”

His elated voice snapped me out of my deep thoughts. He ran over with the discovery cupped in his hand. I took the delicate, lacy wing and gently set it down on the envelope that had housed the teacher’s letter. We sat, hunched over, examining it. He compared the wing to that of his big rubber fly toy from the sandbox. He asked if we could keep it. I said yes.

So right now, sitting on my kitchen counter, on a white envelope, is a single dragonfly’s wing.

And down the hall, sound asleep in his Diego pajamas, is a boy who will soon start to grow wings of his very own.