Lounging on the couch with a cold drink in hand while TV adds proclaim 'new', and 'improved'. The ceiling fan whines with a dull drone as a fly buzzes lazily around the room. I doze ever so slightly, waiting for the afternoon soaps to start. My child is somewhere, doing something, and probably covered in dirt, but I am busy relaxing.

     That seems to be the image that a lot of people have of stay-at-home parents, be they father or mother. We think somehow these people have it easier than the poor working sods that drive to and fro working their busy-bee life. I know that at one time I thought the same way; at one time.

     A little bit of anger would enter into my mind any time I saw a stay-at-home mom whose appearance was not maintained, who wasn't in-shape, whose kids were running amok. I thought to myself, "You don't do anything, how could you be that way?" Looking back, I know by how far I missed the mark. And, of course, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a stay-at-home father. That idea seemed somewhat like a Sasquatch emerging from the forest to offer me a perfectly made club-sandwich complete with home-style fries.

    I've been a stay-at-home father for approximately nine months, and I can tell you a few of my attitudes and beliefs have changed. I spend a great deal of time dealing with the daily rigors of Routine. A word which stopped being just a word and became an entity. Just as in the Poltergeist films, it hovers somewhere just beyond visual recognition and lives in the static filled space between channels. Routine if a fierce foe that eviscerates willpower and decimates progress.

    Routine isn't the only monster that bares its teeth and attempts to wound. Along with Routine a gibbering horde lurks about. Boredom stands tall and ever present, a vampire waiting to suck away the lifeblood of determination. Isolation stands off to one side attempting to lure one from the trail with an apple only to be trapped by oneself. Depression, a hulking beast that can pummel with giant fists and reduce enjoyment to unrecognizable granules. These foes and more are accounted in the land of Stay-at-Home.

    When I was in the working world accomplishments occurred though they were sometimes rare. I, at least had the chance to complete some task and move-on, never to return again. This is not the case with stay-at-home life. I cook, I clean, I do what needs to be done. Unfortunately, that is pretty much a rubber stamp for everyday. It is hard to revel in an accomplishment when I know that tomorrow I must make the same one, and the day after that, and the day after that, ad infinitum.

    It also doesn't help that for all of the work and repetition I don't see a paycheck. I do receive a paycheck of sorts that more than compensates for all my work. When my wife comes home and is able to take peace in her home I am elated. Her praise, her smile, her comfort, and her love all give far grater returns than I can express. On a day like that all accounts are paid in full and the toil worth the salt.

    I do not wish to say that the land of Stay-at-Home is not without merit. That would be the furthest from the truth. Nearly every day is filled with the warm glowing light of love, of caring, and of parenting. I vanquish the foes as they step forward, and together my son and I slay monsters. We giggle, we laugh, we run around the house and backyard. He learns, he grows, he changes. Together we make progress.

    Not all of the concepts I had have been discarded. I still believe that a stay-at-home parent should keep their appearances up, and should try to be in shape. I make it a point to get to the gym at least 2-3 times a week. Most gyms now offer child care for a reasonably low rate, which provides time to work-out and time to space-out. I no longer have the image of a leisurely day awaiting a stay-at-home parent when their spouse leaves to work. My day does not consist of lounging under a fan, drinking an icy beverage, and watching soaps. Rather, my day consists of fighting rampaging monsters while finding the time to give my son the attention he deserves. One thing, however, I have definitely learned to accept: amok those kids will run.