Sometimes, when I'm up late because I have to wash Daughter's costume for the opening of her play, I stroll around StatCounter and check out the who, the what, the where of people sitting in the rocker on my porch. There's no reason for checking, really, except it gives me something to do after I've exhausted my Bloglines and my brain is no longer functioning so writing anything of import is impossible. [Not to discourage you from reading this post, mind you.]
One keyword search took my breath away. It was a heart breaker to me. "Kindergarten Crying Everyday." [The searcher had really spelled it "kindergarden," but I thought I'd correct it here. 'Cause I'm bothered by typos or misspellings or poor grammar. I truly am a nut head, as my son calls me.]
It's that son of mine, Youngest, the one who calls me "nut head," who was the reason that mother -- or father -- who was searching for a way to help her child landed here. I had searched, too. I had sought advice. I had tried lots of different things. Nothing helped, really. Oh, the stress puking stopped relatively quickly. But the crying? That took just one thing to ease: time.
I hope her kindergartner reaches that point of tear-free drop-offs soon. I feel her pain as I saw my own son agonizing each day.