Interesting realization today, driving home from work after 11 hours, trying to get through traffic, late again: I might be stuck in the 50’s. With some new responsibilities at work, it’s getting tougher to get everything done in a 9 hour day and I’ll be working later than I used to (while still working earlier, stretching the day on both ends). She’s trying to be patient with it, but it always seems like we’ve got mismatched expectations for “work” side of the “work/life” balance and I’m the one that needs to recalibrate the scale. I guess, in my Ward Cleaver mode, I always had it figured that working hard meant sometimes working late and working hard was desirable but it’s clear, after a couple years, that’s not the case. So, I’ll never get a “pass” from Andrea for working late. In her mind, working late does not equal working hard and working late is always working too much. It makes sense to me now, finally, that I’ll always have to explain my hours, always have to come home with my hat in my hand, never get the pipe-and-slippers treatment, always be ready to apologize. I’ll get used to it.
Kris forwarded me this post – strikes home for both of us. With a baby and her working more, we’ve been flipping a coin about baby pickup and dropoff responsibilities. I haven’t been holding up me end of the bargain, though – out until 11 last night, out until about the same tonight . . .