The Apology Letter: The Day I Learned to Stop Being Dr. Phil
There it was. The screaming. The wailing. The crying. Audible proof that my two girls had engaged in another battle of wills as they cleaned their room. I braced myself for the onslaught of “she said”s and “It’s all her faults”s as I climbed the stairs to their room. Sure enough, one was accused of pushing her work off on …