I can't believe I have a fifth grader

People, my kids are back in school.  With a vengeance.  Turns out, here in Roosevelt, 5th grade is the last elementary grade.  And then my beautiful Olivia is going to be subjected to junior high.  (And not only do I vaguely remember being in junior high, I CLEARLY remember teaching junior high students.  The awkwardness and angst float around those halls like a nearly-visible fog.)  So we're celebrating our last all-elementary year.  

 Bella is going to kindergarten this year, but that doesn't start until Monday, so she didn't want to hold her sign yet.  She also wanted to wear school clothes, but not her favorite school clothes.

 Those skinny-legged girls don't quite realize that my heart is in their backpacks that they carry along to school so casually.  They blithely say goodbye and walk off with their dad to their new classrooms, while I sort of die inside.  (However, last week, I might have told you, in a weak moment, that school could not start a moment too soon.  Turns out I'm a sentimental fool with the kind patience of a grumpy old gnat.)

 Mimi has some good buddies in her new classroom (and she got the teacher we wanted, Yay!).

 Olivia also got the teacher we wanted, plus it turns out that she got creamed by some enormous fifth grade boy on the way back in from recess.  We had some fears of a concussion, but the only real casualty was her favorite new school dress, which suffered some holes from the wood chips on the playground.

 And just when I fear that she's getting too old and mature. . .