I told my husband the name I came up with for my column. "Trenches?" He looked a bit hurt. "Is this combat?" Hmmm, no. But it is sometimes a battle -- to keep the wonder from slowly leaking out of our union, our own identities afloat, and our feet firmly planted on the ground, all at the same time. Hopefully, though, we'll never be bored if we are in the foxhole together. * * * * * I must admit that I was never a great fan of Mr. Rogers. I could never get into the trolley or the revolving museum, for starters.
You just have this expectation that when you return home from work, you'll find comfort, space, a little quiet and maybe a wife waiting to embrace you. A few minutes to yourself. A chance to unwind. I suppose I should be completely honest. Yes, to a certain extent, as accused by my wife, my brain does kind of tune out when I come home. When I come home, it is as if I am entering into someone else's work domain.
Raquel (29) is a senior account manager at a large PR firm. Her work hours are 8:00 - 5:00, at which time she picks her kids up from the afternoon babysitter. She often continues working after the children are in bed. Before she had children, her hours were 9:00 - 8:00. Her husband of nearly five years, Josh (33), is an up and coming journalist for a major newspaper. His work hours are unpredictable, and basically, always. A year ago, he was usually home by 7:00. They moved to the suburbs last year after the birth of their second child, Stevie, now aged 14 months.
Join the Austen-Kutchinskys as they struggle to make their new blended family work.
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