My daughter Savannah admired the stately brick buildings on the campus of UNC-Chapel Hill this summer and said something both heartening and frightening: "I want to go this year."

I don't know if she's reaching too high. I don't know if she knows if she's reaching too high. But at least her perspective is pointing in the right direction: "I bet this would be harder than kindergarten," she added matter-of-factly.

Savannah entered first grade last week. And as she heads into the big-girl grades, I'm having some growing pains, too. Ambitious as her goals are, her words stoked a battle between alma mater pride and a mother's fear.

She is my baby, and as the years fly by, I know she'll one day want to fly away.

I want to teach my children to be fiercely independent and to take care of things in my absence. But sometimes I err on side of the lovey, cuddly, don't-want-to-let-go mom.

My parents made it look easy. Or maybe I just didn't notice any of their hardships as I blithely skipped into school each year.

By my college years, my dad pushed me to follow my dream of attending Chapel Hill. My mom admitted recently that he cried as they drove away from my dorm that first year.

The paperwork and juggling of schedules is one thing. But the unquantifiable, unpredictable balancing act of knowing when to hold your children's hands and when to let go is another.

Last year, both my daughter and I had a rough transition into kindergarten. Her teacher, an experienced diplomat, had to hold both of our hands and reminded me that I had my own work to do during the day and that school was now my daughter's work.

After that, we both settled down, but recess was still her favorite subject.

This year, about 40,000 year-round students have already started the 2009-10 school year in Wake County, and about 100,000 more had their first day last week, my children among them.

Add in one active, quick-as-a-flash summer, and we were back at their elementary school's open house, signing up for carpool and PTA, greeting families we knew and teachers we didn't. My children were mostly silent, a rare event, but I knew their heads were spinning with questions, excitement and possibilities.

My son Benjamin, entering third grade, is ready to start multiplication tables, and my daughter looks forward to first grade's challenges and "real homework."

As quickly as the years fly by these days, I know the end of a summer not too far in the future will see us carrying suitcases to their dorm rooms.

Our visit to UNC could have been a sentimental journey for me; the great writing classes, the horrible calculus one, the jaunts to Franklin Street, the wild walks home.

But instead, my regard for those brick buildings had me wondering: Would I offer to do their laundry once a week or try to catch my daughter on her cell phone (gasp) to remind her that "recess" activities should take a back seat to studying?

Maybe by the time they leave for college, my children and their teachers will have trained me so I get the balance just right.