Um, hi. I am just looking for a cool new bumper sticker.

I want it to say, “My child is an honor student pulled a stick today.”

How many other parents would be interested in purchasing one?

It was inevitable. I knew it would happen sooner or later. No child is perfect, and my years in the classroom taught me that even the best and brightest will slip up and “pull a stick,” “flip a card,” “clip a strip,” “clip down,” “lose a star,” or any other cute way to say, “You slipped up.”

When my eyes met Noelle’s after school today, she was already fighting back the tears.

“I pulled a stick today,” she sputtered.

I threw my arms around her and pressed her cheek into my heart. My first thought was not anger or frustration or defensiveness.

I honestly felt relief.

You see, on the first night of school, when I was reviewing the classroom procedures packet that her teacher sent home, I felt a twinge of anxiety. It’s not that I disagree with the idea. I used a similar system with both my 4th graders and my preschoolers. I just knew that my sweet, perfectionist, sensitive 6 year old would want to “end on green” each day of this school year, which is a pretty steep  goal. When, not if, she would fall short, she would surely be devastated.

So, I was relieved that we hadn’t built a 174 day streak that would be broken by an ill-timed giggle or forgotten end-of-year assignment. Just shy of two weeks into 1st grade, and we are starting over tomorrow.

Of course, my heart broke for Noelle. I didn’t delight in her pain, and a part of me had to fight back the Mama Bear that was trying to come out. This is uncharted territory for us. Noelle provides a lot of challenges to us as her parents, but in school she is typically 100% golden. I didn’t exactly know the best way to handle this situation, and with Luke on a camping trip in Canada until next week, I was left to handle it on my own.

The offense — talking to a friend when she wasn’t supposed to be — was minor. And not surprising. Girlfriend loves to talk! In fact, she has been struggling with passing her 1-minute math fact quizzes because she likes to stop after every problem and chat with herself about how she got the answer or admire the way she writes each digit. Getting dinged for talking was bound to happen sooner or later.

Just because I wasn’t surprised doesn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed. Was I thrilled that she wasn’t being a model student? No. Was I annoyed that she allowed something so easy to control to interrupt an otherwise fantastic start to the new school year? You bet. On the drive home, I lost myself somewhere between wanting to bring on additional consequences at home or buy her a puppy to make her feel better.

I settled on having her write a letter of apology to her teacher with a promise to do better, and a strong warning that if she pulls a stick again, she will lose TV privileges.

We went about our night the same we always do. I helped her with her homework, which included studying her spelling words and reading to me. I made dinner while the girls damn near killed each other played sweetly together. I got them to bed at a decent time (and by decent, I mean an hour earlier than normal because the Law of Mondays and Out-of-Town Husbands prevailed).

After the house was quiet, I reflected on the day’s events and truly began to understand my role in all of this. As my children continue to learn and grow, they will continue to make mistakes. They will talk when they shouldn’t. They will laugh when it’s inappropriate. They will say bad words, tell a mean joke, and realize that many times it is simply easier to do “the wrong thing.” And it will cost them. Cost them sticks. Cost them recess. Cost them TV and iPads.

It is not my job as their mama to protect them from these mistakes. It is not my job to fight their battles or question their teachers’ every move, either. It is, however, my job to be there. To steadfastly be there. In all weather. In all seasons. In all triumphs and tragedies. To be consistent. To be predictable. To be firm when necessary, tough when it’s called for, and maybe just a little bit rough in spots. To be cool when they run a little too hot and to be warm in the palm of their hands.

Like a stone.

Some days I am granite, all pulled-together and polished, and other days I am gravel, just a shitstorm of clutter on someone’s driveway, but I am always their stone. And it will always be that way, no matter how many sticks they pull.

Another school year is upon us, and I am pinching myself as I realize that it was one year ago when I was dropping my oldest child off for her first day of Kindergarten. I remember trying to swallow down the lump in my throat to the point that it physically hurt. Tears burned my eyes as I put on a brave face and smiled and waved and blew kisses and wished her well.

An entire school year, and an entire summer later, and here we are….about to do this whole thing again. We have spent the past few weeks preparing for this day. Shopping for school supplies, picking out to new shoes, ordering new uniforms, and filling out paperwork…the process has been mostly enjoyable as I see how excited Noelle is to return to her beloved school.

But tonight, as I was packing the first of many, many lunches for this year, I thought to myself, “I should put a note in her lunchbox.”

I didn’t do this last year because…well…she couldn’t read. Every now and then I might slip a post-it with a smiley face or an I Love you, but I never did a note because I knew she couldn’t read.

But now she can. Now she reads.

So, with tears in my eyes, I folded up a card and tucked into her pink and purple leopard print lunch box with a sequined tie-dye heart (as you might imagine this was not the one I wanted her to pick, but I’m rollin’ with it…).

It struck me just how much she couldn’t do last school year, but now she can.

She couldn’t write her last name, but now she’s got all 11 letters of that sucker down pat.

She couldn’t tie her shoes, but now she’s a pro.

She couldn’t remember her address or her phone number (and by that I mean my cell phone number because…home line? what’s that?)…but now she recites them to a peppy little tune she created herself.

She couldn’t put her head (or chin for that matter) under water in the swimming pool, and now she jumps off the diving board.

The list could just go on and on and on and on.

Children are just amazing. They learn despite the circumstances. They succeed despite the failures. They run despite the fatigue. They smile despite the fear.

We have so much to learn from our children if we would just let them teach us.

And honestly? It scares me a little to think of what she can’t do right now, but will be able to do by the end of this year.

But it’s a happy kind of scared. A proud kind of scared. An excited kind of scared.

I have always said that we aren’t raising children, but we are raising adults, and heading off to school is just one step in that process.

So here’s to Noelle, and to your child, too….and all their couldn’ts.