I worried about my middle child starting kindergarten. Emma has always been such a Momma's Baby. In my mind she will be three-years-old forever. I'm still surprised when I try to pick her up and can't easily sling her onto my hip.

Last year, while she was still in preschool, we would pull up to the school and occasionally she would whimper, "I don't wanna go to skoo today, Momma!" Tears threatened to spill out of her bright blue eyes and without even getting out of the car, I'd pull away from the school.

"You can stay home with me. We'll play hooky." I realized our days for staying home, chilling on the couch watching Elmo and sharing a PB&J were limited and I wanted to take advantage of it while I could. (And by sharing a PB&J I mean, she ate the sandwich and I ate the crusts. Obviously.)

While I will never regret letting Emma stay home whenever she felt like it, I did worry that it would bite me in the backside this year. I was afraid she wouldn't understand that she had to go to school everyday and I had vivid daydreams of her spindly arms and legs being pried out of the car at carpool everyday while she thrashed and screamed for me. I got a little choked up thinking about it.

We met her teachers on the first day of school, and on the second day, after we dropped her older sister off, I said, "Emma I can park and walk you in, if you want.…"

She held up her tiny hand, "Dat's okay, Momma. I know what I'm doing."

She hopped out of the car and walked into the school with her backpack bobbing on her narrow shoulders. She has yet to shed a tear about going to school and gets in the car in the afternoon talking nonstop about her day.

"Momma, I hung up my bag and took my folder to my teacher. Then I played with the babies, then I put the baby up and sat at my desk. And my friend told me she had a turkey sandwich for lunch and I just laughed and laughed because I had a turkey sandwich too. Isn't that funny, Momma?"

She doesn't pause to breathe. She speaks in rapid fire, like a tiny blonde machine gun, in quick bursts, trying to tell me everything that happened all day before her big sister gets in the car and steals part of her spotlight.

Emma loves school. She loves art, recess, coloring, sleeping on her plastic nap mat, seeing her sister in the lunchroom and her teachers. Oh my heavens, does she love her teachers.

Her favorite phrase since September has been, "My teacher says…" and it might as well be, "Thus saith the Lord God Almighty." If her teacher said it, it is a fact. Lucky for us we have such sweet teachers, because their power over Emma is complete.

Last week as I packed her lunch I felt a large lump in her backpack. Further investigation revealed a large, shiny, perfect Honeycrisp apple.

These apples are perfect, and at 2.99 per pound they had better be. I look forward to Honeycrisp season all year and I had noticed that recently my family seemed to be enjoying them as much as I do. Our fruit bowl was dwindling.

"Emma are you taking this for a snack?" I asked, wondering if I should cut it up for her.

"No. It's for my teacher." She explained.

I smiled at her thoughtfulness and tucked the apple back into her bag.

The following morning I was going through my daily backpack, lunch box ritual and felt the same familiar lump.

"Emma, I thought you gave your teacher her apple."

"I did. She loved it!" Emma beamed

"Well, why is it still in your bag?" I held the apple out, confused.

"Oh. That's for today."

"Honey, we can't send an apple every day. They are expensive. Money doesn't grow on trees, you know, I started to explain, but Emma interrupted me.

"Yeah, but apples do."

Smarty pants.

(Robin O'Bryant is a former Mount Pleasant resident and mother of three. Read her blog online at www.robinschicks.com or e-mail her at zebandrobin@hotmail.com)