There's been a little grumbling, but Sam has happily hopped on the bus three days in a row.

She's gotten herself into a routine, which for Sam is a requisite for functioning without tears. She likes repetition. She likes knowing what will happen today, and tomorrow, and the day after -- even if she still hasn't grasped those time concepts yet.

Like now, every morning, while we wait at the bus stop, she and her two newest best friends in the world pick flowers for their mommies and their teachers. One morning, Jaylen sent her daddy home with a veritable bouquet of wildflowers.

And then I got a note from school saying our whole happy routine could change.

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Many thanks to Beth, who provided this link to a story on The Onion for a slightly sadistic but nonetheless funny look at kids starting school.

Day No. 4, by the way, was a hodge-podge of Days No. 1, 2 and 3.

Sam didn't want to go to school, we talked about it, and I discovered she doesn't like the fact that she doesn't know exactly what they'll be doing each day. She didn't want to talk to her teacher about it, so I offered to do that.

Her eyes got really wide when I offered, and she said, "You would do that?"

So I drove her to school, talked to the teacher for, like, 20 seconds, and left without kissing Sam good-bye because she was already having a great time sitting with one of her new friends.

The best thing she said this morning in trying to weasel her way out of school? "But Mom, I'm just going to school too much!"

Nice try, sweetie pie.

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Sam was the first one on the bus at her bus stop this morning.

She tried to pull the "Mom, I just don't wanna go to school cuz I'm afraid I'm going to miss you" (here comes my favorite part) "very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY, very, very much."

So I pulled her against me, held her as tightly as should would allow, and told her I would miss her very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY much, too. "But," I said, "if you're at school and realize you miss me, all you have to do is tell Mrs. Bangert, and she will help you. She knows how to help kids who miss their mommies."

And then I said, "Hey -- aren't you missing 'The Little Mermaid'?" (which I put on this morning to help distract her) And her eyes lit up and she sprinted off.

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Today, she screamed.

And cried. And flailed herself around. And cried some more.

She begged me not to make her go to school again. She told me she would miss me too much and she just wanted to stay home with me all the time.

And I dragged her butt there.

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Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

It's 1:15 p.m., and my peanut made it. Her first-ever day of school is done, and she is safely at the sitter's house.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

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It's 12:13. That means Sam's probably riding the bus right now, on her way to the new sitter's house.

Oh man, I hope I filled out the form to have her dropped off there correctly. The postcard they sent me last week did list the sitter's address as her drop-off point, right? Why can't I picture that clearly in my head? I should have quintuple-checked it.

And did I talk to Sam enough times about the fact that the bus will take her to the sitter's house and not our house?

What if her teacher didn't notice that she will take a different bus home and she was accidentally put on the bus to go back to our house? I just now realized that I forgot to put a tag in her bookbag identifying her and her address and my daytime phone number. Obviously, she knows her name and her address and our home phone number, but she doesn't have my work or cell numbers memorized.

*deep breath*

I already made sure I could call the sitter's house around 1 o'clock to talk to Sam and see how everything went.

Only 45 more minutes.

I can do this.

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It's 10:14 a.m.

Sam has officially been in kindergarten for an hour and 14 minutes now.

I've officially been at work for about a half hour, and I can't concentrate.

What's she doing? Is she behaving? Is the having a blast? Is she crying her eyes out?

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I found some film lurking in my kitchen (don't ask me how long it's been since I cleaned that corner), and I got it developed.

And what did I find? Adorable little 2-year-old Sammy pictures.

Here's a baby Sammy standing in front of the tree at Christmas. (For the record, we still have that heinous pink carpet. Every day, I contemplate ways to maim it in some severe way so that we have a good reason to get rid of it.)

And here's a wee Sammy at her grammy's birthday party about a week after the Christmas picture.

Makes me realize how much she's grown. Don't really want to think about it. Makes me feel a little old, too.

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If I had to grade how Sam and I did during last week's kindergarten orientation, I'd give us a B-.

Sam did a pretty good job of listening to and following directions. She raised her hand to answer questions -- all of them, even if the adult wasn't done with the question yet -- and she sat quietly on the carpet and paid attention as her teacher read the class a book about Leo, the late-blooming tiger.

Then, of course, there was the part when she was standing up and yelling, "Hey Bus, I love you! I love you!" to the mini remote-control bus trying to teach them about bus safety.

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Sam and I are off to kindergarten orientation today.

She's been telling everybody who asks if she's excited to start school, "Yeah, I am, but I'm a little nervous, too."

Join the club, kid.

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