My work and my life are not balanced, but they co-exist in semi-overlapping spheres.
Saturday, I needed to do some work, but I didn't want to go in to the plant. I needed to meet one of the traveling guys and get some samples of failed material, but he lived closer to me than either of us lived to the plant, so we met at McDonald's. And I brought CHuckles and Mr. Long-Suffering with me (we were right next door doing some shopping and it seemed silly to go all the way home when this was only going to take 20 minutes).
Chuckles sat at the counter on a stool and drank milk through a straw (which was the highlight of his week based on the number of times I have heard this story) while I sat at the next table and talked business. All went well until Chuckles needed to potty and only mommy was allowed to take him. Excuse self from table, take child potty, enter back into the work conversation. My husband and the guy chatted while I was gone, they knew some people in common. All was well. The men in my industry tend to be a little older than my own father and so often have working mom daughters and usually feel sorry for me and think I'm doing OK. And I am.