This morning, Harry wept as I dropped him off at kindergarten. These were not just garden variety, “Mommy, I want to stay with you, but I’ll try to be brave” tears, but “Mommy, how can you abandon me here?” wails. Normally he loves school — maybe he’s coming down with a cold. Then his little sister Molly repeated the theme at her drop-off. Same wailing, same clinging, same wrung-out mama trying to get to the parking lot without dissolving into a weepy mess of my own. As I climbed into my car, I counted myself lucky. I don’t have to go into a classroom and teach five periods of English, followed by a faculty meeting or, worse yet, a workshop during which I would hear