I am a 32 year old mother. And until two weeks ago, I thought the worst thing that could happen in December was running out of time to buy gifts or my daughter getting the flu right before her holiday play.
I was wrong.
I am a 32 year old mother.
It all started on a gray Tuesday morning. My cell phone rang. She was Ruby’s teacher. Mrs. Allen.
“Hello, Erica”, she began. “Would you have a few minutes to give me today? It’s nothing urgent, but I think a little discussion might be helpful. “
I told him I would come by after work.
She was Ruby’s teacher. Mrs. Allen.
When I arrived, the classroom looked like a Pinterest board dedicated to parties. There were paper snowflakes, little gloves hanging from a clothesline, and gingerbread men with bulging eyes. That should have made me smile.
Instead, Ms. Allen’s expression indicated something was wrong.
