Make Peace with Your Shame Triggers (to Soothe Your Soul)

I vaguely remember signing the permission slip—a paper and pen shoved into my hands amid the morning hustle. A couple of weeks later, my preteen son woke up at 7 am, just like my kids do every weekday, and told me with a smile in his eyes that he was staying home—he was job-shadowing me.

The memory of a permission slip flashed in front of my eyes. I had agreed to this? Oh. RIGHT. I HAD agreed to this.

My son was staying home to watch me work.