My husband works so hard. He commutes to his full time job every day, an hour and 15 minutes each way (that's when traffic is good), through the burdened urban spectacle we call the Wasatch Front. Yicky. His commute in Maryland was somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes each way, and it took him through not only a forest but also rolling green hills that were speckled with gorgeous mansions and the occasional mounted hunting ensemble, complete with hounds, in pursuit of some poor little fox. Seriously, they still do that in MD. (poor things must get tired of golf and yachting)
When he gets home, 65% of the time he has freelance illustrations waiting for him. Which means he spends about two more hours at work in his basement. If that isn't enough, we have a rental property, which makes the occasional demand on his time as well.
So...when he comes downstairs to our "den", where I am trying to blog or read or whatever, and turns on Spyro Gyra so loud that I can't hear myself think........ that's ok. That's really ok. What did Julie Beck say last conference? Something like "the Lord needs women to be women, not babies". Yeah...something like that. So, I'll just turn off my computer, give him a kiss on the forehead, and go find something I can do for him...like iron his shirts or wash his car.
(but really...Spyro Gyra????)