There is another working life I could have had, one in which I showered every morning and wore long pants. Instead, I rely on baseball hats and deodorant and shorts. In the winter, it's jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. I bought a new suit last year, for the first time in about a decade. In this other working life I could've had, I'd be wearing a gray suit on Monday, an olive one on Wednesday, and a blue one on Friday. I'd slide bowls of cereal at the kids instead of making them waffles, scrambled eggs, and cut-up mangoes (yes, that was this morning's breakfast). I'd drive myself to work instead of the kids to school. I'd be gone all day. Someone else would have to watch the kids after school. My wife and I would see who could get home that day before six-thirty. I couldn't be baking beet crisps in the oven (see photo above) and shrimp stir-fries and steaks on the grill; I'd be sitting down to eat what someone else had made, what I'd brought home from take-out, or maybe I would have already eaten at some meeting. By the time I'd get home, the kids would've already done their homework, maybe even had their piano lesson, their soccer practice, their dance class. The kids, in short, would have this movie in their heads about their lives, and in this movie of their lives, they would see their parents during morning previews, live the action/adventure/drama of their daily lives on their own, and then see us again during the evening rolling of the credits. They would see us in the morning, waking up, and at night, going to sleep. The rest of their days would be known most clearly only to them, and me, in this other working life I could've had, I would come home now and then and interrogate them about their days, tilting the glare of my inquisition at their pale mugs and, looming in the shadows, I would ask, "Where were you at nine a.m. this morning? Who did you sit next to in class? Did you talk to your friends at lunch? What did you do at recess? Did anyone accost you on the bus ride home? Have you done your homework? Yes or no, it's a simple question. Have you done your homework?" This other working life would have completely changed my home life. It is startling to consider how much my life would have been different, would continue to be different, if all that were changed were my job. That alone is enough to alter everything else. I would surrender nearly everything about my present life that I consider so natural, so valuable, so necessary. I would surrender the work I love, the relationships I love, the time I can't live without. I know exactly how other people do it, how families work two jobs or more, hire out all sorts of services, still go into debt, and I know for sure I'm totally fine with baseball hats and khakis, tshirts and a minivan, a little cellphone on my hip (in case the kids call from school because they're puking or I forgot to send in the permission slip) and an internet connection in the study. I'm alone most of the day, talking to the walls in my head and staring at the screen on my desk, but a touch of madness is a small price to pay for my kind of movie.