“Is this one-inch or half-inch?” Annabelle just asked me, holding up a black binder.

“One-inch,” I said, not looking up. Until last week, I didn’t even know that binders had sizes. Now, thanks to Annabelle’s new school, I am intimately aware.

She hid behind the binder and groaned.

“Really?” I asked in my most cheerful voice. “You need half-inch? Okay! No problem! We’ll get it tonight!”

What I really wanted to say was, “Jesus Christ, you have you got to be fucking kidding me. There is no way I’m going to any more flipping stores to buy any more goddamn binders!”

Last week — days before school was to start, feeling very early-birdish, and having been warned by other parents – I got out the two page list of school supplies the school requires, and we bought them all. I thought. I ran all over town gathering composition books with graph paper and lined paper, the right number of pens and pencils, a ruler, a stapler, a three-hole punch and several binders in the required sizes. The night before school started, I put the supplies designated to come to school in Annabelle’s backpack — even labeling them all with her name. The home supplies went in a Rubbermaid. Ballet clothes were all ready, including performance outfits and hair nets. I felt so organized, so prepared.

Not. Annabelle came home Monday night and tearfully announced she was short two 1-inch binders.

No problem! Off to Office Max I went. And then Walgreen’s, when it turned out that one of the binders needed to be black and I had bought orange. That was nothing compared to the following night, when I learned that a. Annabelle had to have her ballet text book for class the next day and b. although I’d ordered it in (what I thought was) plenty of time from amazon.com, it had yet to arrive.

No problem! I called five bookstores til I found a copy at the Bookman’s at 19th Avenue and Northern. “Hey, at least I don’t have to drive to Tucson,” I half-joked to Ray.

“Wow, are you lucky,” the clerk said. “We only have a half-shelf of dance books. I’ll hold this for you, it’s $2.50.”

$2.50 plus the $10 in gas it took to get there, plus what I spent on the now-useless first copy. No problem! Not a big deal. All part of the adventure.

“This is like a Hanukkah miracle!” I announced to the girls as I piled them into the car.

On the way to Bookman’s I learned that Annabelle couldn’t find one of the two books she was required to read over the summer and was now required to bring to school — the next day. Bookman’s didn’t have a copy (of course) so that’s how we wound up at Changing Hands. No worries! No problem! Happy to support independent bookstores.

We dragged home long past 9 — the new official bedtime in our house. 5:30 came awfully quick this morning. I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee, which would have been great except we have a French press that no one had yet pressed. Ick. I was on my second Diet Coke of the day by 10.

And now I’ll be hitting Office Max again. That’s okay. Despite what you might think after reading this rant (and despite the fact that I’ve announced to anyone who will listen that Annabelle’s school is kicking my ass) I couldn’t be happier with her new gig. For as much as they talk about the emphasis on the arts at this school, I’ve already learned by Day 3 that it’s as much about personal responsibility as anything else.

Funny, it turns out I spent much of last spring finding a place that will push Annabelle to be more responsible at the same time I was pushing Sophie’s school to help her succeed by making her less responsible.

Let me explain.

My job with this first-week (oh how I hope it’s only the first week, though somehow I doubt that) runaround is to make sure Annabelle has the tools to succeed. The right-sized binders — that’s easy. Harder is the edict we parents received at a meeting last week: We are not, under any circumstances, to help our kids with their homework. They are to fail or succeed on their own. I love that, and not just because I can’t do fifth grade math. It makes so much sense and though I know she’s nervous, I also know Annabelle’s up to the task.

Not so much with Sophie. The tools are in place — she now has a classroom aide — and I’ve heard wonderful things about the woman. Sophie loves her. But clearly there’s some need for runaround on behalf of Sophie, too. For the last several days, she’s come home without her red “take home” folder. That means no spelling words, among other things. For me, it’s a huge red flag — it happened so much last year in second grade it became a serious hindrance, and part of my motivation to fight for extra help for Sophie. (It’s impossible to expect a teacher with dozens of kids to chase to stop everything and help Sophie pack up at day’s end — but it’s not something Sophie is responsible enough to do on her own.)

After an email to the teacher this morning, the red folder did appear this afternoon — so I’m hopeful that’s been straightened out. Meantime, I’ve consulted some experts, and got some good advice about ways for Sophie to keep track, and when her “team” meets early next month, we’ll talk about an “End of the Day” check list as well as some other tools that should help Sophie be more responsible — in her own way.

And I’m going to get more organized — for both girls.

Tonight Sophie will spend extra time on spelling to make up for lost days, while Annabelle fixes her science notebook. The class was asked to number the pages of their composition books to 200 — then to check one another’s work. Annabelle wrote 42 twice, so she is in the process as I write this (kid you not) of Liquid-Paper-ing all the numbers up to 42 and redo-ing them on the right page.

Bet she won’t make that mistake again.

She just blew on a page, looked up, and announced, “Sometimes I wish I was a dog or a cat.”

I know how she feels. As for me, I think I’ll buy one of everything at Office Max. Maybe two.