Honestly, I don't know whether to lay my head down on my desk and weep with relief, or continue the Bollywood-style dancing that spontaneously broke out in the middle school parking lot as my oldest disappeared from my sight.

I'm really bad at that sliding your head from side to side part, but I'm good at jumping around, I'm discovering.

Yesterday, the two younger kids went back to school - delighted to be in 2nd and 5th grade this year.

My oldest is starting her Junior High years today, and I'll admit that she and I are both equally nervous and excited about it. I remember starting sixth grade. At least I think I do. I had blue pants and a new top and was quite pleased with my "look." I also had my sister starting at the same time, and so I had a built-in friend.

My daughter said, just before we parted this morning, "In Kindergarten, you could just say "let's be friends!" and then you were. I don't think that's how it works in sixth grade."

Maybe not, but here's hoping.

When I wandered out to the kitchen this morning, she was already up and dressed, with her backpack by her side. Now, mind you, her school day starts at 9 am, and it was barely 6:15. I greeted her and started some oatmeal, got the other kids up and ready and then she walked along with us to drop the other kids at school for their second day.

After getting then to their classes and heading for home, she got a little antsy, and began throwing out random facts about animals and climate control. Did you know it is legal to own a Fennick Fox in Oregon? Now you do.

As we got closer to home she had descended into her time-honored keep your mind busy so you don't freak out dialog about The Future, in which she will be converting a swimming pool to a koi pond. She practiced introducing herself in Japanese. She brushed her hair and checked that her (clear) lip balm was applied evenly.

Finally, we headed out for the annual picture by the tree, and then drove to the school.

When we arrived, we were met by a big sign that says Students Enter Here. After introducing myself and my daughter to the principal, he asked who her first teacher was. We dug out the information from her backpack and he said "Follow me, I'll show you the way."

Here is where I had a moment of indecision. Do I go too? Am I ALLOWED to go? Do I just let her go? Does she want me to go? I grabbed her for a quick hug and kiss and watched as she trotted off after the principal.

And, exhale.

I ran into a mom I know from the elementary school (Hi, Toni!) and we chit-chatted for a few minutes about the school and the kids and the whole time I was trying to sneak a peek of where my daughter was standing, who she was talking to, if she looked like she was freaking out.

I didn't see her, and although I'm sure it was a little scary and awkward to be surrounded by a whole bunch of new faces, she only had a few minutes until the first class was to begin.

I said goodbye to my friend, and walked alone to my car, sliding my head from side to side and jumping around to a Bollywood beat that only I could hear. And then I sat in the car, quietly panicking. Should I run back up to the school and try to find her. Should I have stayed with her until the moment she needed to walk inside the classroom.

And then I remembered how it went down in Kindergarten. She squared her shoulders, entered the room and never looked back, leaving me and the hubs bouncing around outside the classroom windows, hoping to catch her eye. She made friends by simply announcing that she was open for new-friend-business. I cried my eyes out that day, not from sadness, but in reaction to the passing of time.

And here I am again, quietly wiping tears, unsure that I did a good enough job but trusting that she'll be fine.