We were living in a tiny apartment. My oldest daughter was starting full day kindergarten at a new school and my son was starting pre-school. They were both miserable. Mae would bury her sadness inside and walk, dejectedly, to the bus stop. Lalo would cry a dramatic, drooly, red-faced cry every afternoon when I would drop him off, and I had a restless baby waiting at home for me. Of course, my husband was working a lot and I was doing the meals, the house, the clothes–you know, everything else. All of which I was happy to do, but I just couldn’t listen to everyone cry all the time. Sadness is a heavy burden.
This high-wire act starts with me toppling.
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