I was waiting for the back-to-school meltdown, a tantrum I’ve come to anticipate and plan for.

It can strike at any time so I have to be on guard starting one week prior to the first day of school.

It can involve the stiffness of a zipper on a new backpack, the difficulty when removing a reusable lunch container lid, or a has-been cartoon character that has lost their popularity in the past 24 hours.

I believe the phrase, “Dora is dead to me!” was shouted through tears for two straight days prior to the first day of school one year. “Imagine what Boots would say if he heard you?” was my only retort.

One year the computer headsets that required their own bag did me in because I pulled out a satchel I had in the cupboard with the gift bags and thought it would be on trend. If I had just had enough sense to refer to it as rockin’ rather than on trend, I wouldn’t be telling this story.

There were tears, the satchel was used to wipe a runny nose, the headset arrived at school inserted in my child’s eardrum as the only plausible way to transport it from home.

This year, the girls have been relatively quiet. Hanna had agreed to use a backpack we had around the house because it had a black background, just the right number of pockets and a place for her business cards. Score.

Ellie of course insisted we order her the same backpack which is actually a laptop travel case but if I hear someone spilling this to the girls, Dora won’t be the only one dead to me.

School shoes typically cause issues but this year I bought them in June and the girls have already worn them, shhhh.

I don’t have to worry about snow apparel until a little later so for now, aside from the usual; pencils, pencil crayons, highlighters, markers, erasers, chewing tobacco, I think we’re set.

Until last night.

Last night Hanna came down the hall wearing her nightgown staring straight through me and repeated the following sentence thirty-eight times while in a back-to-school induced trance.

“Mom, I need a binder. I need it for French. It has to be yellow.”

“Mom, I need a binder. I need it for French. It has to be yellow.”

“Mom……”

Me: Hanna, are you sure you need a binder?

“For French, a yellow one.”

She walked back to her room and began to sob into her pillow. (A pink one)

Something told me this one was going to trump the “THIS PENCIL CASE IS FOR DONKEYS!” fiasco that would define grade one and the “I AM SO WEARING MY FURRY VEST THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL!” I am anxiously awaiting given the temps are in the high thirties.

To say I was caught off guard would be an understatement. For starters, I didn’t know Hanna was taking French this year. Secondly, I did buy her a booklet to hold lined paper that she explained was her answer to the modern day binder so I went with it. I couldn’t afford to get caught up in a “Do these shoes have laces instead of Velcro?” drama, especially when I had a two year old who wouldn’t stop distracting me with things like, “Outta my way officer, Duh!” and “Word. Respect. Sucka!”

I explained to Hanna that I would purchase a binder, a yellow binder, for French, but it would have to be while she was already in school on the first day.

“It has to be yellow.”

“Yes, I will do my best to find yellow.”
“It can’t have other stuff on it.”
“What if there’s a yellow sun, or….”
“Nothing else, just yellow.”

“What if it’s really rockin’?”

I could see her thinking long and hard about my counter proposal.

“No, just yellow.”

“What if I let you use one of my old…”
“Please don’t tell me you’re going to make me use one of your old dirty binders.”

I won’t. But I’m pretty sure they’ll look yellow by now and how could having the lyrics to Manic Monday at your fingertips be a bad thing?

I don’t know if the yellow binder came to her in a vivid dream or if that twenty year old cell phone we gave her without the battery really does have texting capabilities and someone is feeding her a binder full of stress the day before school.

I was ready. We’ll get the binder and we’ll all get through the first day as a family.

I’ve been schooled.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her what she really meant to ask for was a cahier jaune.