Househusband

Our lawn was glistening with spring dew. "Have a great day!" I called after my wife, Tonya, from our front door and gave her a quick wave.

Then I went in to see if Lauren and Jared were finished with breakfast and ready to head for school. "Time's wasting. Lauren, don't forget your art project. Jared! Get some shoes on. We don't want to be late like yesterday."

I ducked into my study. Had to check my e-mail one last time before I dropped Lauren and Jared off. I needed to give myself the feeling that I was somehow still connected to the working world. I clicked the mouse. My mailbox was empty. As usual.

My job had been an important part of my life. I'd been a partner in a small technology firm when the economy tanked. Business dried up, and I was out of work.

I wasted no time. I sent out résumés, pored over want ads, searched the internet. I called every contact I could think of. Not a nibble. Time just nibbled away at our savings.

One night, Tonya and I stared at a stack of overdue bills, feeling like we were staring up at the Matterhorn. "This is serious," I told her. "We're in real trouble."

"You know, Patrick," my wife said, "I could go back to teaching in January."

The suggestion struck me as perfectly logical—and perfectly strange. Tonya and I had always agreed one of us would stay home with the kids. I just never thought it would be me.

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