I’m one of those fortunate souls who gets to work from home twice a week. I know. I’m very lucky. Seriously. No sarcasm inserted here. I’m especially lucky since when I don’t work from home, my commute is an hour and a half. One way. You may have blanched a bit at that. I do too sometimes. Here is the reality though. I live in the Bay Area. In order to survive this rat race of millennials with too much money, no real fiscal responsibility and pants that are far too tight, I drive this insane commute.
But do you want to know the dirty dirty little secret? I relish it. It is my alone time. I get to listen to whatever I want. I get to sit in silence. I get to listen to podcasts. I get to listen to audio books. I get to get my mind right and shed the cloak of responsibility and just relax.
After the commute I’m on conference calls almost all days. I’m in calls about upcoming calls. I’m on calls that discuss what we’ll have on our next call. I’m tired. I’m talked out. Then I get in my car and I sit in traffic for an hour and half listening to anything I want. Insert smug smile and butt wiggle here please.
I get to town, pick up my little man, talk to our childcare provider about bowel movements and what he had to eat then head on home to change into an all cotton outfit and play with toys. *Disclaimer. I’m a child in a grown-up body. If our family credo could be changed it would be “you have to grow old but never grow up”. So I actually really like playing with toys.
After we play, the hubby comes home, assumes child-play duty and I whip up something to eat/ or reheat something. I like to cook so its not a problem and if it is, the hubby can and will cook for us instead. I married a partner people, not a child. After that, we wrestle the the little beast (sometimes quite literally) into his pajamas, let him play for a little bit then put his butt to bed. Then what do we do? Enjoy conversation and a lovely glass of wine? No, I go to bed too. I’m freaking beat.