As usual, all of the posed First Day of School shots I took of the girls failed to do them justice – partly because Sophie won’t look at the camera, and also because Annabelle tends to insist on wearing a white shirt and pulling her hair back, making  her image look a lot like a mug shot. I considered it a victory that I got her to wear the silver ballet slippers she had chosen for the occasion at Old Navy. I don’t know why I care –  somehow, I felt, the day needed to be festive.

Sophie was festive from head to toe. Unlike Annabelle (who, come to think of it, is a lot like my sister — never wants an outfit that stands out too much, but wants to look nice) Sophie let it rip.

She popped out of bed this morning, grabbed her outfit off the table that I (control freak that I am) thought was beyond her reach and dressed herself perfectly in a pink tulle skirt and polka-dotted top. She chose socks that coordinated nicely with her polka-dotted ballet slippers, and even accessorized with a pink rubber band on her wrist and a rhinestoned barrette in her hair.

Both girls looked beautiful — and nervous — standing in line with their backpacks on (adjusted by Ray, at the last minute), sweating in the obscenely hot/humid August sunshine.  In fact, just about all of the students and some of the teachers looked like they might puke, and when the final bell rang I felt my own stomach jerk reflexively.

Big third-grader Annabelle disappeared quickly, surrounded by friends. Sophie looked a little dazed as I guided her over to her pal Sarah (of summer playdate fame). The two held hands, waiting to enter the school.

“Bye, Sophie!” I called one last time, figuring she’d bolt from the line for a hug, but selfishly willing to risk a small commotion.

Instead she turned around, smiled, and blew me a kiss. Then she turned back and walked to class with the rest of the kids.

Suddenly, it was quiet. Overhead, clouds gathered and the glare of the sun narrowed just a bit. The loudspeaker came on with the principal’s morning announcements.

“Parents, if you are still here at school,” she began, and Ray and I finished for her in unison: “Get the hell out!”

So we did. As we walked to the car, I reached up and felt something in my hair. Sophie’s rhinestoned barrette. Somehow, in the commotion, it had wound up on me.