I’ve talked to several parents, some in our own family, who are sending their kids off to college next week. In fact as I type this, I have a cousin crying in Michigan, saying her last goodbyes to her baby before Empty Nest officially begins. Of course it means opportunity, celebration and the beginning of a whole new world of independence–one we plan for and work toward from the moment we buckle babies in car seats on the ride home from the hospital. But the Kleenex! We still need the Kleenex!

There are some students packing their suitcases and plotting their dorm layout right now that I want you know about today. I want you to know about them because you helped get them here.

In March, we asked you to help us raise money for 21 scholarships for Ruby’s Rainbow, and a great big wave of love and support followed. Ruby’s Rainbow sent out 32 scholarships this year and is continuing to grow and expand their vision as more people see what can happen when you believe in a dream and work hard.

I told you I’d keep you updated, so here we are.

We’re sending these kids off to college–it takes a village, after all. Many of these students’ parents were told they’d never be able to read. But these parents believed in their kids, believed in opportunity. And these kids worked hard, showed up and held on to the truth that their dreams were just as valid as those of their friends.

They are.
…and we’re proving it.

I picked Nella up from preschool today, her first project this year–a collage of her and her daddy–tucked in her bag. I know she needed a little extra help making it and it took her longer to finish, but she did it with help from someone who believes in her.

And then I came home and finished sifting through the recipient videos Liz sent me, and I thought..this is it.

Thank you for believing. Look what you did!

If you’re not cleaning out your wallet to pay tuition or decorate a dorm or set up a meal plan for your own child this year, you can take this opportunity to support Ruby’s Rainbow–maybe the cost of a mini fridge ($40) or a comforter set ($50) or a stack of new notebooks ($15).

Let’s make more goodbye hugs, put more U-Hauls on the road, pack more suitcases, fill more lecture halls, fulfill more dreams.

I’ve watched this 12 times…cry every time.

Thank you, thank you.

Now hit the road, kids! The world awaits you. It needs you.

I was at Target by 9:30 yesterday morning, one folded laundry load, a mopped floor and a pot of coffee already behind me. I came alone despite requests for tagalongs because I had important business—The Back-to-School Packed Lunch List, one third the holy trinity of grocery shopping lists, ranking (let’s be honest, a huge lag) behind Thanksgiving Dinner and Christmas Day. We prepare for this week like a hurricane. Peanut Butter? Check. Sandwich Bags? Check. Pirate’s Bootie, Fresh Fruit, Pretzel Sticks? Check, check, check. Like always, I take advantage of my time alone in the car and call Heidi, continuing my conversation with her—phone awkwardly pinned between my chin and shoulder—as I find a parking spot, throw my keys in my purse and walk to the entrance.

I can’t help but immediately notice the long trail of shoppers in line at the adjoining Starbucks.

“Oh my God,” I tell Heidi, “So much for my latte, the line to the Starbucks counter is out the door.”

“Um, that’s because right now moms everywhere are EXHAUSTED.” She doesn’t even have to use the expletive I would have wedged in there, it’s woven into her tone.

She’s right. It’s a trail of moms wearing yoga pants and ponytails and all too familiar expressions of I’d-travel-to-the-ends-of-the-earth-for-my-kid, fetching espressos before they hunt down that last specific thing on their list—blasted yellow 2-inch binder, overpriced graphing calculator that’ll never be used again, composition notebook in the only color the store doesn’t carry.

I continue my conversation with Heidi at the deli counter until I realize I’m being rude and hang up so I can show the butcher how thin I want my salami without putting everyone on hold. He gives me the wrapped sliced salami—first item on my list—and I set it in the seat of my cart, the place where Nella would be sitting had I not been on a kids-free mission to make everything right with the world before school starts.

Salami, one notch in my belt. Followed by kiwi, a new fancy cereal, the bread Lainey likes, Lysol wipes off Dash’s classroom list and stickers for Nella’s teacher—the high-priced ones because once they caught my eye, all I can think about is how googly-eyed hamburgers are going to make those kids’ day.

I come home and put the groceries away. Organize the pantry. Iron clothes and pin related arts schedules on the cork board in the laundry room. Check to make sure the first day forms are all signed and in folders and then check one more time just in case I missed something. There’s not enough espresso in the world to fuel this job—not so much getting ready for school, but the underlining one this represents…getting them ready for life.

Later in the afternoon, I sit down to edit some pictures. Brett walks over to my desk, squeezes my shoulder and says, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For all that you’re doing getting ready for school. It’s a lot of work.”

I tear up because it feels so good to be validated by him for it and I tear up because I’m a mom and I’m doing that mom thing of holding up the dam—the one that’s always just a first day of school, another “Happy Birthday” chorus, a drive home from college drop-off away from breaking.

We won’t always be this prepared, of course, but there’s something about that first week. I just want to start the year on the right foot.

To make that first impression.
Momentum to set the tone.

It will add up, this thing we do year after year of finding the right gym shoes and writing love notes for the lunch box and waiting in line at Starbucks before heading to the jungle of the backpack aisle. All these years, all these first days, all these tears we wipe from the parking lot because the beast of time cannot be tamed—they’ll compress to form a tiny sliver. A small space in their lives, a great space in ours. Eighteen years to equal one step into all that the future holds.

And I just want to start them off on the right foot.

(First day of preschool, third grade…Dash starts tomorrow.)

Back to School Party pics coming tomorrow.

Happy First Day of the Week, friends. Here’s to starting on the right foot.

For more back-to-school ideas, I’m over at eHow this week sharing school lunch box love note ideas.