For years, I have admired my neighbor's rotating displays on her front door and porch. In the fall, pumpkins appear. Winter may bring snowmen and frosted pinecones.

She is as timely as the changing seasons.

Last winter, I stumbled across a wreath I just had to buy: a striking collection of silver-painted berries. Christmas is not part of our religious tradition, so I called my impulse purchase our "holiday wreath" and proudly hung it next to our front door. I enjoyed driving up to it throughout December. It twinkled and glittered and welcomed me home every night.

By mid-January, I realized my neighbors had moved on. Their lights were packed away, with spring flowers in waiting.

I tried to find a wreath storage box at a nearby Target, but all the hyper-organized decorators already had cleared the shelves. Maybe it could become our "winter" wreath. February was cold and dreary enough to leave our sparkling symbol of the season alone.

In early March, however, my feelings began to change.

Instead of a friendly welcome, I felt the wreath's silvery sparkle mocking me. I started to glance away as I drove up the driveway. I was the only one on the block with a leftover winter wreath on her door. That wreath became a daily reminder of my inability to organize my life or complete a project. Every day, it reminded me of piles of clothes needing alterations, an unfinished master's thesis and all the items I would never cross off my to-do list.

The wreath was a judgment; it announced, "A failed Martha Stewart wannabe lives here."

I started to dread seeing the wreath.

Then one day, I noticed a small bunch of twigs and leaves gathering in the hollow of my holiday nemesis. A bird had started making her home there. It was clearly a sign. All of a sudden, the wreath took on a new role.

Our family checked the progress of our wildlife habitat every day. The nest grew bigger and bigger, and the bird didn't seem to mind showing off her craftsmanship.

Days later, an amazing discovery: six light blue eggs. My preschoolers were amazed. I was also awed, but those little eggs seemed so fragile. I doubted they could survive our unusually harsh winter weather.

Checking on our nest and the eggs became a daily ritual. After every car ride back from school or the grocery store, I'd lift both of my little ones high enough to peer inside the nest. Birdie always obliged us, flying off momentarily while we held our breath and peeked at her eggs.

Eventually, we stopped using the front door to avoid disturbing Birdie's nest.

Once, a dinner guest tried to look into the wreath without the proper protocol we'd established with Birdie. She blew out of the nest with incredible force and missed his head by inches.

You don't mess with mama bird.

My little ones had their own ideas about why Birdie had chosen our wreath for a home. Maybe she wanted to eat those shiny beads, my daughter suggested. Could be. One was pecked down to where the silver paint flaked off, revealing a red shell.

I've affectionately called my daughter "Bird" for years because of her delicate frame. A few years ago, she had an imaginary bird friend, Chirpy, with an extensive family and elaborate adventures. Now, we were watching a real-life Birdie guarding her future family. One afternoon, when Birdie flew away and let us take a look, we saw that the light blue eggs had been replaced with furry little balls.

"Baby birds! Baby birds!" my 3-year-old chanted. Birdie's family had been born.

We jumped up and down, and my daughter immediately started scouting for worms.

My wreath had turned from a symbol of procrastination to a symbol of renewal. Instead of rushing home frazzled and stressed, our wreath gave us a chance to slow down and watch a tiny miracle unfolding on our front porch.

I thought, "One day soon -- maybe too soon -- those little fuzzy balls will turn into birds strong enough to fly away from their mama's nest."

Instead, life, as it often does, took an unexpected turn. A big storm blew through our neighborhood, and the next morning, I noticed the wreath lying on the ground. My heart sank. I immediately called my husband to see if he had moved the wreath. He hadn't.

I feared the worst, but I was too scared to look.

A friend came by and broke the news: The babies did not survive the storm. I was beside myself. This was my fault for not moving the wreath earlier. The chirping outside felt like recriminations.

The next day, I spotted a bird, who looked an awful lot like Birdie, perched low in our front hedge. I think I saw a few extra twigs gathered near the bush.

One season was over; a new one was starting.

It was time to pack my wreath away.

Parents of soon-to-be college students may not realize that they need to take some time, between outfitting the dorm room and pricing used textbooks, to prepare themselves for the upcoming transition, too.

After all, sending a kid to college is a big shift for the whole family, not just the student.

Experienced parents can pass along plenty of common-sense, pragmatic suggestions: Don't call professors on your child's behalf. Clarify with your student who will be paying for what -- from the cellphone bill to incidentals like shampoo and toothpaste. Expect some tearful, homesick texts and calls.

Valuable advice also comes from those who have lived in the world of academia and who have witnessed the college scene evolve.

Karen Levin Coburn, senior consultant in residence at Washington University in St. Louis and co-author of "Letting Go: A Parent's Guide to Understanding the College Years," offered these keys tips that every parent of a new college student should know.

Before your child leaves for college:

-- Be prepared to see less of them -- even before they leave home. The closer it gets to departure time, the less you can expect to see of your child. He or she will probably be spending every waking hour with friends. Allow them this special time together before they all go their separate ways.

-- Recognize your child's conflicting emotions. Your child, like you, is being pulled between past, present and future. One day, it's "Leave me alone; I'm 18 years old," and the next day, it's "You're never around when I need you." Your child's ups and downs are a sign of the ambivalence of this transitional time.

-- Make a financial plan. Develop a tentative budget and be clear about who will pay for what. For example, some parents pay for books and supplies, while their child is responsible for expenses such as snacks, movies and social activities. Other students are responsible for earning a percentage of their tuition. Teach your child about the responsible use of credit and debit cards.

-- Discuss academic goals and expectations. Remember, many first-year college students do not do as well academically the first semester as they did in high school, and many change their minds about their proposed course of study.

-- Talk to your child about how you'll communicate. A cellphone can be a great way to keep in touch, but it can also be, as one student described it, an "electronic leash." Both sides need to set and respect boundaries. Talk about Facebook communication and other social media. Set ground rules and expectations together.

After your child arrives at college:

-- Be a coach. You're likely to hear more than your share of problems. When you get those late-night phone calls -- and you will -- instead of jumping in to solve the problem yourself, encourage your child to use the appropriate campus resources, such as the health services or writing center.

-- Be an anchor. College students want their parents to accept all the changes they are making, but want everything at home to stay the same. So keep them informed about changes at home, whether it's a younger sibling moving into their room or a more serious issue, like an illness in the family.

-- Acknowledge that college today is different. Although century-old buildings may look untouched by time, college life today is very different from the campus scene 20 or 30 years ago. Think twice before beginning a sentence with, "When I was in college ..."

-- Don't tell your child, "These are the best years of your life." No one is happy all the time, even between the often-glorified ages of 18 and 22. When a student is homesick, overtired from studying all night, or hurting over a romantic relationship that has fallen apart, it's not reassuring to have parents imply that this is as good as it gets.

I thought it was a typo on the school supply list.

Did my child really need 60 Ticonderoga pencils for fifth grade? But it wasn't a mistake: The list did specify three packs of 20 No. 2 pencils, in that brand. I look forward to the "War and Peace"-length manuscript he must be bringing home after burning through nearly two pencils a week for nine months.

But five dozen pencils don't seem as excessive as the 24 glue sticks required per kindergartner in several districts across the country.

In a class of 20 students, that's 480 glue sticks. For historical perspective: It took children raised in the '80s a few squiggly lines of Elmer's glue to paste our construction paper projects together. And several children had leftovers to snack on.

So why are parents now expected to supply a metric ton of glue and an acre of forest's worth of pencils for elementary schools?

Lisa Goodgame, a communications associate with the Center for Public Policy Priorities in Austin, Texas, posed the sticky question about glue sticks on her Facebook page while researching the rising cost of school supplies and extracurricular fees in public schools. The response she heard most frequently was that children rarely replaced the caps after using a glue stick, which meant many dried out very quickly.

It runs counter to our mass-consumption, throw-away culture, but perhaps the better lesson to teach young children is to replace the cap.

The same can be said for pencils. By fifth grade, one should learn to get by on fewer than 60 pencils in a year.

Part of the explanation may also be the shift to communal supplies in younger grades. The excess by some families helps cover those unable to buy most of the items on the list.

The price of supplies is not insignificant. The costs of a "free" public education have risen every year since 2007. Huntington Bank's annual "Backpack Index" tracks the cost of school supplies and extracurricular activities in the six states it serves (Michigan, Ohio, Pennsylvania, Indiana, West Virginia and Kentucky). Since the bank began tracking these numbers eight years ago, elementary school costs have increased by 85 percent.

According to this year's Backpack Index, parents of an elementary student will pay an average of $649 this year. For high schoolers, the cost rose 9 percent from last year to $1,402.

School supply lists, and the reactions to them, speak to the rising income inequality and financial pressure on middle-class families in America. There is some parental resentment that crops up as costs continue to rise, along with the number of economically disadvantaged children in public schools.

Meanwhile, the amount that many states spend per pupil has either stayed steady or decreased since the 2008 recession. At least 35 states provided less funding per student for the 2013-14 school year than they did before the recession hit, according to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. This is despite the fact that many states have had modest increases in tax revenues.

So, the lists have gotten longer, more brand-specific and include more high-end items, such as flash drives and earbuds, even for grade schoolers.

Goodgame said she priced out all the items on the fourth-grade supply list in the Austin Independent School District. When a brand wasn't specified, she chose the cheapest option.

The total was $175.

"I was appalled," she said. "If you have two children, you're spending upwards of $300, and that doesn't include all the other school-related expenses, like uniforms for sports and music instrument rentals."

A study by Deloitte released last month found that 39 percent of responders plan to reuse some of last year's school items rather than purchasing everything new. That's a significant increase from 26 percent in 2011.

Other parents vented their supply list angst online.

"My kids' lists are front AND back of a paper!" one parent wrote. She says they are asked to bring three reams of white computer paper, three reams of colored paper, two boxes of Ziploc bags, paint shirts, hand sanitizer, baby wipes and hand soap for the classrooms.

Another supply list asked for 100 sharpened pencils from each student. I'm not sure if they were planning on having the students build a raft or fashion survival tools with all those writing utensils.

The stockpiles of glue sparked the most fury.

"Don't even get me started," one parent posted. "The kindergarten list called for 28, yes TWENTY-EIGHT, Elmer's glue sticks AND four large bottles of Elmer's school glue, white only." There's a mathematical proof of this paste burden: With approximately 20 children per kindergarten class, with six classes at their school, that's 3,360 glue sticks and 480 bottles of glue.

Someone pass the 200-count hypoallergenic Scotties, please.