Adam* cries. A lot. A LOT.

Adam is 6. A very young six. He really seems to be more on the level of a four year old emotionally. Poor little guy, everything is just huge to him and causes him to melt down several times a day.

He cries loudly. Unashamedly. Huge, sorrowful tears.
All. The. Time.

He's cried this week for the following reasons...

Rob* stepped on his shoelace when they were getting up from the floor after our presentation from the local recycling place. His shoe came untied. He cried. I tied his shoe, but he still cried. Takes him awhile to run down.

He didn't get the blue beanbag chair during reading time. Someone else chose it before his name was called.
He cried.
I said, "I'm sorry you didn't get the beanbag you wanted. Sometimes that happens." He eventually ran down. But it upset him.

He cried during the worms and composting demonstration because his plate of worms etc did not have any worm eggs. He wasn't able to find all the POSSIBLE things on his plate. So he cried a lot.

He built a tower from some wooden blocks. When it was time to clean up, he didn't want to tear it down. But all the toys need to be put away so we can vacuum the rugs each evening. So one of the other boys 'helpfully' knocked Adam's tower down. He cried. Buckets.

One of the other younger boys was swinging sideways on the swing. We make them swing straight because of that old safety/collision factor. I was on my way over to the swings to explain to Garrett* (I am not a 'shout across the playground-don't do that' person unless the kid in question has broken the same rule multiple times, then I might say it that way...) when Adam collapsed to the ground by the swings, crying his heart out. When I helped him up and brushed the bark chips off his back, I asked him what was wrong.

"That k-k-id. The one with the green shirt. He's doing it wrong! HE'S BREAKING THE RULES!!!"
Oh good grief, Adam was crying because Garrett broke the rules.

When we came in from outside, and stopped to wash our hands at the sinks, he got water on his shirt.

Bet you can't guess what he did then.

Oh, you're too smart for me.
He cried.
Yep.

The poor kid just is on an emotional overload all the time.

How do you respond to that?
If you're Brashley, you say in a mean voice, "Stop whining."

But we've established that I am not Brashley.

I've tried briskly assuring him that things are okay, you can come sit over here for a few minutes with me until you feel better.
I've tried distracting him.
Letting him just.. run down seems to work best.

But the water on the shirt incident? You'd have thought someone dunked him in pee or something. He was very, very upset. I told him it would dry. That it was just water. That things were going to be okay. He said he needed to go home because he couldn't have a wet shirt on.

So in a burst of inspiration, I grabbed a little paper cup from the cart, filled it about halfway and splashed it on the front of my shirt.

"Race ya," I said. "Whoever dries first wins."

He stopped crying. Looked at me, shocked. A little smile came to the corner of his mouth.

And he dried first. Brat. Must be warmer than I am.