My husband is able to work just a few days a week during a good week. We’ve managed to arrange our schedules so well that we don’t have to take our son or my older two children to a babysitter. I have just recently went back to college and continue to work 3 or 4 days a week. On the days we both work, I go in at 5 a.m and am home in time to for him to say goodbye and head to his job.
Rarely has it happened, and by rarely I can count on one hand the number of times in 4 years, that I’ve been stuck at work long enough to make him a few minutes late. Today was a rare exception. We had a manager get sick at and I had to help cover her today and put away the shipments that came in today. My husband had to bring our four year old to me and he was 30 mins late for work. No reprimand. His boss was understanding. And other than the panic attack he gave himself, it wasn’t a huge deal for him.
I, on the other hand, was stuck at work for over two hours. I had to put a truck away while chasing a four year old and the while trying to finish prep work for tomorrow, again while wrangling a four year old. Not fun. Not fun at all. I left with only a few minutes to pick up my older two from the bus stop before the school was notified that I wasn’t there to get them. Again, not cool.
Since then, I’ve been yelled at. I’ve been warned that he will be at my place of employment tomorrow to tell that *expletive* of a boss exactly what he thinks of her. The whole situation has been twisted and the blame now lays with me as I knew when I called him asking him to drop our son with me that I was going to have to stay late.
The entire situation has become about him and the way it’s made him feel and the way it’s screwed up his day. Never about how my boss used me again to put the truck away. Not about how my boss showed no empathy to the fact that my kids would be dropped off at the bus stop along a major highway without me there. It’s been entirely about him.
Now, I sit here alone after he’s resigned to bed after this “mentally exhausting day”, never being asked how I feel about today. Never letting my frustrations be vented. Never given a chance to say anything. It’s nights like this that I want to scream, “Can it please be about me? Just for one night?’.