MONSTA started going to school three years ago, most of which she has enjoyed. Last year, she didn't cry once, and that was at a Catholic school. So now, she's going to a charter school, where it's illegal to stress the "fires of hell" and other horrible things, but still, every morning, she's Blanch DuBois. Tugging on pants, death gripping to our legs, furiously waving a white handkerchief as the Kindergarten train pulls out of the station. Because of her experience, we didn't think she'd have any problem with the big K. But we were wrong. She's cried every single day except for the first, which I assume means she thought she was on a really long play date. She had no clue that for the next 13 YEARS, this is her life.
But this morning, finally, a breakthrough. Though not "jazzed" or "psyched," - her look was, according to WIFE, "melancholy," - MONSTA'S cute lil' face was DRY. I hope this is a trend, but I doubt it. She's a dramatic kid, and what's a better show-stopper than a big weep as her mother and I walk out of the drop-off zone, perhaps never to return again. But as dads and moms know, even one day without tears is a welcomed gift from the gods.