Mom Guilt - or - How I Didn't Waste The Good Shoes

When I was a kid, my dad was not what you'd call a pushover, but it was unquestionably our mom who delineated with lines of fire exactly the limits and consequences available to me and my brother for general behavior.  Her expectations were entirely *reasonable* - but infractions were not dealt with by a variable nor lenient hand.  In my case, this has been all to the good; it took me thirty years to grow an ambition gland, even with a motivated mom behind me.  I'm not what anyone would consider an *over*achiever, even if now I'm at least a responsible quasi-grownup.

So today, after two days of feeling like I was cheating at my job by doing it from home (I actually did accomplish plenty; but I also did laundry and got to pet the furbabies, and I was working in sneaks and dog-walking pants), and though there was a storm asserting itself starting in the wee, I got up, confirmed on email that we had no late-report-in nor work-from-home policy in place for the day, and went in to work.  I put on my best dress shoes, picked an unobtrusive warm sweater to top things off, and sashayed off, laptop bag, shoe-carrying bag (I wear flats for the commute, kids - heels hold up better, as do my feet, without outdoors wear-and-tear), purse, and umbrella, and got on the road.  The rain had some snow in it for about half the trip, but at the point I topped the highest elevation in our area (an intersection on the non-interstate route I take in), the storm tipped its hand in earnest.  Literally in the space of the yards it took to crest that hill and cross the intersection, the roads went bad.  And kept getting worse the whole way in.

It never occurred to me to turn around (taking my laptop with me) and go home to work there once again.  Even once I got here, through access streets clearly in a pretty dangerous state, the idea of getting back ON those streets hardly seemed logical nor attractive.  And there still was no notice of any altered operations schedule, once I logged on and got to email.

It was 7:46 before that came out.  And still later they policy was broadcast that WFH (work from home) and liberal PTO were in place.  And what nice timing for all the parents we have, employer entity.  It's not like any of them might have had daycare or school closures before these announcements, nor any inconvenience from the realization that prediction - "one to two inches/minimal accumulation" - and reality - 3/4 of an inch of treacherously heavy slop drivers around here by and large refuse to manage properly in - were at odds.  I didn't strongly care, really - but it can be said one of our other employees came in long enough to pick up their laptop and go, and only one other non-manager came in at all.  He left shortly after the manager said we probably should.

I wanted to get some things tied down, kept tying them down, and ended up deciding, to heck with it, I'll stay.

And then my upper management decided they were going to come out to our location after all (having had meetings at another location for the morning).  With a pretty slender population out here overall, in our own group, only the manager and I have been here to play welcoming committee to our execs.  Thank goodness mom instilled in me that sense that not being at work is really not working.  Even though I still get a lot done - the fact that I can snuggle with kittens and do laundry in between calls and tasks makes WFH just feel like cheating in my obsolete and geriatric heart of hearts.  The world has changed, but sneakers and dog-walking pants still don't feel like professional attire, even when nobody sees them.

And so it was that my vintage style Circa Joan and David's tuxedo-bow pumps did not go to waste.  My bosses in no way whatever actually care WHAT is on my feet.  It's not like they want anything but that everyone on their team do the work and look presentably professional - as long as nobody's sporting wildly inappropriate skank clothing nor embarrassingly torn things, they aren't looking twice is my presumption.  But as with most clothing - the pumps are for me.  They have a look I care to present in this context, and they're comfortable as can be.

And so a snow storm didn't let an arbitrary effort go to "waste" nobody would know about nor worry about, even me.  Not the worst score of my day, actually!