Next Monday heralds my 19th first day of school as a parent. It never gets old. It's always a morning that crackles with promise and anticipation.

The decision of what to wear will have been given more consideration than the seating plan at a White House dinner.

The back pack or tote bag or whatever has been deemed de rigueur for textbook transport this year will be stuffed full of pristine notebooks, sealed packs of index cards and a year's supply of unsharpened pencils. And what holds more promise than an unsharpened pencil?

From that little nickel stick of wood and graphite can come a love poem, a cry for help, a story that shapes ideas and changes minds or a scribble that becomes a sketch that takes the viewer's breath away.

A pencil can draw a line 35 miles long, write about 45,000 words and delete its own errors. It's all there just waiting to be released. Not bad for a 5-cent investment.

This is my next-to-last first day of school as a parent. Rachel is a high school junior. In 24 months, we'll deliver her to a dorm somewhere and the only way I'll know what she chose to wear on her first day of college will be if she posts a picture on Facebook.

Until I wrote this, I hadn't given the matter much thought. Now that's all I can think about. It's time to practice some Scarlett O'Hara-style denial: "I can't think about that right now. ... I'll think about that tomorrow."

Today, I'll think about what I've learned from my 19 first days of school.

First, parents, be prepared to be exhausted. The switch from relaxed, summer schedule to early-to-bed, early-to-rise school schedule is never easy. No matter how sincerely you vow to get to bed earlier in preparation for the big day, it probably won't happen. Just double up on the caffeine for a few days. You'll survive, I promise.

Be prepared to be miserable. When my older daughter, Molly, entered kindergarten back in 1991, I thought I was ready to send my first born off to school. She was excited to the 10th power and I was excited for her.

Then, around the third day or so, I decided I had the flu. I was tired but couldn't rest. I was achy but no over-the-counter preparation offered relief.

Finally by the end of the first week, I came to the realization that I didn't have the flu; I was experiencing a minor functional depression.

I missed having my little girl with me every day. She'd grown up beside me in my shop. She could count back change before she could write her name. She was a constant chattering presence in my workday and suddenly she was gone. It took me about a month to adjust.

As far as I could tell, Molly didn't experience any equivalent sadness. So it goes.

Parents, be prepared to be amazed. Suddenly my children were learning things I didn't teach them. Indeed, they were learning things I didn't know. That's how I found out Pluto was no longer considered a planet. I'm still not sure how I feel about that.

I loved when the girls were younger and I was able to introduce them to books I had read at their age: "The Hobbit," "A Wrinkle In Time," "To Kill a Mockingbird" and all of the Ramona and Beezus books. A few years ago, they turned the tables and started introducing me to new authors. Because of Molly I read "The Lovely Bones." Because of Rachel I read "In the Time of Butterflies."

Gradually, inexorably, inevitably, our girls have grown up. I shuffle through those first day of school pictures. There's Molly posing in front of the dinosaur topiary at Jack P. Nix Elementary School in Cleveland. There's Rachel on our front porch waiting for the bus, hoisting a backpack that almost topples her over. There's Molly driving off to her first day of student teaching.

Two more pictures and the set will be complete.

But, fiddle dee dee. I won't think about that today.

Teressa Glazer is a Gainesville businesswoman. Her column appears biweekly on Fridays and on gainesvilletimes.com.