The purple First Day of School pants. She can’t wear them.

On Saturday, the girls and I hit Target for back-to-school gear. I was so proud of myself — doing it two weeks ahead, instead of two days, or two hours. The three of us stood in the backpack aisle, debating. I’d decided Annabelle needed a rolling backpack this year, and she concurred, but reminded me wisely that it better be lightweight enough to make it up the stairs.

Those damn stairs. For the first time, this year, Sophie will have to negotiate them as well. So it took some searching to find her a REALLY lightweight backpack, since she insisted on having a rolling one like her sister (of course).

The outfits were easier. Annabelle chose very basic brown shorts and a light green tee shirt, informing me she doesn’t care for messages on her clothing. (Me either, come to think of it.) Sophie, too, was a Plain Jane, in purple, of course. She chose a tee and pants and will look like a grape.

In the shoe aisle, we searched long and hard til both girls decided on sporty slip-on sneakers with Velcro fasteners — easier for Sophie to negotiate, since she’s far from knowing how to tie a bow.

When we got home, I had to hide all the back to school stuff — I’m a firm believer in keeping it special. No one’s going to scuff her shoes or mess up her backpack. Not til the second day of school, anyway. Sophie talked non-stop about her outfit, her shoes, her striped purple rolling backpack with the little pink kitty cat applique for about an hour. Then we all forgot about it.

It was a full three days til I woke up and realized there’s no way she can wear those pants. They’re jeans — they button and zip. Sophie does not button and zip. We didn’t try the clothes on at the store, I already know the girls’ sizes and as always I was in a harried hurry. Crap. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking.

What am I going to do?

The past few weeks, I’ve been doing some organizing. I know I always say that, but this time I’ve been digging a little deeper, opening Rubbermaids I’d ignored for a while. Ditto for the scary piles that migrate to corners of my house.

It hasn’t been all bad. In fact, I’ve coined a new expression — “shopping in my house.”

I have found some great stuff, and since my memory keeps getting shorter, much of it has come as a surprise. Like the never-opened package of smelly markers (you know the ones – the pink smells like strawberry, the black like licorice; I think I hid it because I was worried it wasn’t safe when the kids were super-young, despite the non-toxic label) or the bags of sequins, individual containers of finger paint, kid scissors still in the package (several of those) — I could outfit a classroom. (And have, Sophie’s Miss Y was the beneficiary of a large bag of art supplies, with more on the way.)

But I was a little bummed to discover two tee shirts, ordered from etsy.com about a year ago — now obsolete, and more than a little crumpled – with rainbow rhinestones spelling “Kindergarten Rocks!” and “Second Grade Rocks!”. I think I put them in a safe place, waiting for just the right day to send the girls to school wearing them. Whoops.

True, the latter will be good for Sophie when she matriculates. But kindergarten’s over for good in our house — a fact that still makes me sad, a month into first grade. First grade rocks, too, don’t get me wrong. Still, I’m nostalgic.

And annoyed with myself. I fear TLC is going to come knocking for an episode of “It’s True, I’m a Hoarder” or whatever they call it. So I’m doing my best to clear stuff out, or at least put it in a Rubbermaid with a label.

That won’t work for those shirts, I’m not that crazy. In fact, I have just the right kindergartener in mind for the tee shirt, but he’s a boy, and way too big for a 4T. Leo starts kindergarten this week, which you already know if you follow his mom Maya’s blog. Maya’s got all the same fears that I had a year ago, when Sophie started kindergarten — I feel for her. There’s no way to get past the fear without plowing right through it. Cute accessories can help, though. Which is why I’m sending you the sentiment in spirit, Maya. I can’t wait to follow Leo — and you — this year.

What I really wish is that they made rainbow-rhinestoned “Kindergarten Rocks!” tee shirts in adult sizes.  We’re the ones who can use the reminder.

In any case, if you know a teeny tiny kindergarten girl who would look good in never-worn rhinestones, let me know. I’m sure we could shake out the crumples.

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.

Not unlike most school days, from our household’s perspective. Despite my best efforts to be in the car by 8:15, it was more like 8:35, and the first bell rings at 8:45. (Well, it’s not like I could skip writing the girls notes for their lunch boxes, or not take pictures, and I had this awful blue nail polish on that I just had to get off before I could leave the house. Plus, Annabelle needed to put on the outfit she made famous on YouTube — minus the skirt, which wound up being several sizes too big. And Sophie had to be dressed just so, in Elmo panties and her First Day of School Outfit — a polkadotted affair from Baby Gap. Size 2T, and at that, it was hanging on her. They both looked beautiful.)

As we pulled up to the first crosswalk, several drops of rain appeared on the windshield. It had been unusually overcast. I don’t know why that was the trigger, but I took one look at that rain and started to cry.

There was little time for sentimentality. We zoomed in just before the bell rang, and a small disaster struck, but not the kid I expected. From the corner of my eye, i saw Mrs. Z on the playground, so I sent Annabelle to her, grabbed Sophie’s hand and went in search of Ms. X. After depositing Sophie in the classroom, I had a bad feeling, so I went looking for Annabelle. I crashed into her classroom, despite the fact that announcements were underway, to give her a hug. She was sniffling a little.

I wanted to say, “Oh, shit, sweetie, I’m terrified that this is the rest of your life — me chasing Sophie, you getting left in the dust.”

Instead, I kissed her and got out of there, amidst profuse apologies to Mrs. Z. Went back to Sophie’s room one more time, kissed her, and got out of there.

It was your typical first day of kindergarten bedlam. Every parent was freaked. Ms. X was zen. Been there, done that. I was happy to hear there were extra adults in the classroom, since Sophie was not the only one who needed, as it was later kindly explained to me, “a little redirection”.

Knowing Sophie wouldn’t behave with me in the vicinity, I retreated to the courtyard — and The Momfia.

I promise an entry devoted solely to this group (if you’ve got a school age kid, you’ve got your own) later. Today, we moms talked about summer vacations and the weather and which kid got which teacher. We inched closer and closer to the edge of campus, intent on leaving but unable to do it, finally hiding behind a wall to peer out and see the younger grades head into the cafeteria for assembly.

I felt like Harriet the Spy (more on her later, too). I caught glimpses of both girls — Sophie was holding a grown up’s hand, Annabelle was smiling – and finally, I was able to pull myself away. It felt like a big magnet was holding me there.

I won’t typically pick the girls up from school — that pesky fulltime job gets in the way, and today was the worst of days, I have a cover story coming out this week — but today was not negotiable. Late again (I swear I left on time, it was that damn construction that’s everywhere in metropolitan Phoenix these days) I skidded to a stop in front of Ms. X’s classroom.

Sophie was inside, with one of our favorite kids, a fourth grade girl. (The village thing worked perfectly — for day one, at least. So many kids already knew Sophie at school, she was a little rock star, finally arrived. Sat in the lap of a favorite second grader during assembly, I later heard.)

She looked up and smiled hugely and made me carry her back pack and lunch box. And then her, for most of the way to the car.

Later, Ms. X called, just to fill me in on the day. I love her. She must have been beyond exhausted, but she called. And get this: She was at WalMart, buying step stools. “Some of the kids can’t reach the sink in my classroom,” she said. Later I realized it’s probably Sophie who can’t reach; I bet the rest do just fine.

Ms. X told me about a little girl in the class who took an instant liking to Sophie, instigating play with her and looking out for her. Ms. X had a hunch, and she checked and was right — it was a child whose parents had written on their teacher-information form that she has an older brother with Down syndrome. This little girl took to Sophie instinctively.

My heart sang.

Ms. X also talked about taking Sophie to the bathroom. (Usually she’ll go to the nurse, but Ms. X wanted to see what would happen, I think.)

Sophie was okay til the end, when she insisted on wetting paper towels and rubbing her face.

“Time to go, Sophie,” Ms. X recalled telling her.

“No!”

“Yes, Sophie, it’s time to put that away and go back to the classroom.”

“No!”

Finally, Ms. X channeled her Inner Kindergarten Teacher — the one I’ve seen on a few occasions, the one that scares me a just a little in a good way — and said, “SOPHIE! TIME TO GO!”

Sophie looked up, put the paper towel down, and complied.

“There’s a new sheriff in town,” I told Ms. X, and we both had a good laugh.

While Sophie and I were at Trader Joe’s yesterday, Annabelle made a movie. She had a little help from Ray, but he swears she filmed the whole thing herself. You might not find that hard to believe. My favorite part is where her thumb makes an appearance.

I think the title should be “Who Says A Trip to Target Can’t Buy Happiness?” but Annabelle called it “Annabelle’s Schoolstuff 2008″. Here’s the youtube link:

http://youtube.com/watch?v=G5QP8dp1cbs