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I tried to think of anything I missed about spending all my daylight hours in a climate-controlled office tower, and the only thing I could really come up with were the free lunches. I remember a workday in San Francisco when I took the MUNI to a client's office in one of the neighborhoods and I remembered seeing people hanging out in coffee shops in the afternoon and wondering WHO ARE ALL THESE LUCKY JERKS? Now I am one of those lucky jerks! When I expressed some of the self-doubt that followed my moment of panic and lame bourgeois anxiety, she said, 'Why the hell would you want to return to a real job in an office somewhere? Don't you remember how much you hated it?' And of course she was right. But she has also been wonderfully supportive of me. My wife recently started her 'dream job' and is happier with her career than ever before, and having helped nurture that career by taking care of our kids, I can't help but feel great pride and happiness in her success. A man with a website documenting his jam-making endeavors.

Mothers have always found it hard to transition back into the workplace, but try to imagine explaining it as a man.

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When you've spent years of your life out of a conventional workplace devoted to a website that you still don't know quite how to explain to strangers, what do you do as your children move out the sphere of your story and into their own? As a man who's spent the last five years as a stay-at-home dad, resuming a traditional career is one of the very few areas where I am disadvantaged by convention.

This is sort of uncharted territory, and as with ads and almost everything else, Heather is out there with the machete taking on the brunt of the mosquitoes. What sent me into a panic the other day was the realization that though I've had the good fortune to spend years telling stories about my transition into parenthood, the narrative is naturally shifting to something else (something I don't quite understand yet). I kept doing this because I enjoyed writing, and later when the opportunity arose to do it professionally it was nothing more than a happy accident. That was back before blogs had advertisements and most of us didn't have anything close to the number of readers to justify them. We started this site back in 2005 because we didn't know anyone with kids and we were lonely. This isn't one of those tortured posts where the blogger snivels on and on about how I'm done with this while secretly hoping his readers will beg him to stay. He's so 2009.īut you know, there's still a bit of blood in this turnip. Maybe you can re-use the container to store granola or something, but how much longer can this dad go writing about the stuff he loves doing with his kids? Besides, it's only a matter of time before some younger dad with younger, cuter kids moves to downtown Gary, Indiana and builds a working model of the Space Shuttle Discovery out of dumped tires and smelly mattresses, training a dozen former prostitutes to be his ground control while he live tweets the inaugural launch with an HD webcam showing the kids hitting zero-gravity in their awesome flight suits that he sewed for them, and when I cough everyone's gonna be like, oh yeah, Griffioen, that guy.

Sure, it's yogurt: it smelled kind of weird the day you brought it home and it will probably be fine for a few more days or even weeks, but in the end the contents have to go. It occurred to me-as it has several times over the past year-that as fun as this blog has been to write and as awesome as it is to make a living from it, Sweet Juniper (at least in its current incarnation) is kind of like a tub of yogurt at the back of your fridge that has reached its expiration date. I was sitting on the couch the other day when a wave of panic rolled over me.