Janet Konttinen IT'S CRYING TIME AGAIN I'm not the type who cries when our stock portfolio crashes. I don't shed a tear when the dog sits on my best aazalea, smashing it into a lifeless pancake, and I hardly flinch at the hair salon when my golden highlights come out purple. And, quite honestly, I couldn't care less when we're not invited to a party -- especially when the person hosting the event is so damned boring she might as well be having a slumber party, because as soon as she opens her mouth, she's going to put everybody to sleep. Whether I bang an elbow or twist an ankle, I don't bat an eye. Take the time I mistakenly erased a whole computter file -- hours of work, never to be retrieved -- I didn't bawl, though I'll always know it was the best work I'd ever done. Even when our van was brand-new, I did no more than cringe when it got its first dent. The same holds true for the first time it got permanent stains on the upholstery, the dog pooped in it, I found old food conducting its own science experiment under the back seat, and all my friends got cool SUVs. In fact, if a wrecking crane dropped an iron ball on that vehicle, I'd laugh -- the hard laughter of a woman who's sick and tired of driving a big, green, smelly, dented, stained van. For me, tears come at unexpected times, like during the knight parade at our son's preschool. His class had beeen working on it for weeks -- making shields, helmets and stick horses. As we parents waited in the play yard, knight music came over the P.A. system, and a man dressed like a real knight led a procession of enchanted 4-year-olds. When they marched past, my eyes overflowed with unexplained tears, which I hid behind my camera, lest my son reconsider my invitation to the spring sing. I'm not sure if anyone could tell I was crying, but certainly they questioned why I held a camera in front of my face the whole time we all talked afterward about the new flower garden, walked together to the parking lot and said goodbye. One day at our elementary school, I watched a little girl running across the playground to class. She was late.. Her dress was too big for her, as was her tote bag. Something about the combination of her innocence and determination got me all choked up. Luckily I was alone, since once you get a reputation for walking around in the middle of the day caterwauling, you get asked to switch carpools. I remember watching an old TV game show called "Let's Make A Deal." When the final contestant chose tthe right curtain and found out she'd won a car, she was so happy, she bowled over Monte Hall, jumped onto the stage, climbed on top of her car and rolled back and forth on the hood. I wept. At a school meeting, the principal began her opening comments by saying, "Welcome, parents. We're sure havving a great year with your wonderful kids"; I had to fight the urge not to jump up and bawl, "Oh god, and you should have seen the little girl with the big tote bag!" Movies? Forget it. I cried in "Honey I Shrank the Kids" when they made friends with the ant. And in &"Babe" when the pig herded the sheep into the pen. As far as commercials go, I can't take anything in slow motion. Recently my kids and I visited a retirement home offering some of the children's artwork as decorations for thee dining room. An old toothless woman sat alone, and the kids silently moved in beside her. What an unexpected surprise it must have been for her to look up from her quiet meal into the faces of my four beauties. She smiled a big, big smile, and a tear rolled down her cheek. I knew just how she felt. (Janet Konttinen is the mother of a son, 8, and triplet daughters, 5. You can reach her at notes2Janet@yahoo.com.)