We have survived the first day of school (at least getting on the morning bus). There was much wringing of hands, nervous pacing, worried looks and a few tears. But mom’s fine now. We gave her a Zoloft and sent her to work.

Matilda was chomping at the bit, ready for second grade. Hell, I think she’s ready for fifth grade. I was standing in the classroom with Matilda’s Bio-Dad yesterday looking at the books the teacher had set out for the kids.

“She’s way past these,” he said.

“I know. What if she gets bored?”

“Well,” he wondered, “should we send her to school with her own copies of Proust? Or would that be too presumptuous?”

“Maybe we should go for Faulkner. I think the kids won’t tease her as much if she’s carrying a book called ‘As I Lay Dying.’”

Now I wait for the burly men to come and pick up my old Corolla, which we’ve donated to “Cars For Hope” which is a children’s cancer charity.

Goodbye old friend. You served me well. Remember all those times I called you a worthless piece of crap? I meant every single one.

But in a good way.