I survived Plebe year at West Point. I earned my wings in Army flight school. I endured nine months in Desert Storm. Yet none of those experiences prepared me for the toughest job of all: being a stay-at-home father.

For the past eight years, I have enjoyed the chaotic world of stay-at-home parenthood. During this time, I have raised two of our children from birth. Each day, I experience firsthand the frustration and loneliness of being an at-home parent.

Life as a stay-at-home father is a constant challenge. I receive very little praise for my efforts. Did anyone walk up to me today and tell me that I did a great job of getting my children dressed this morning? No. Did I get recognized for my part in the recent family record of 157 consecutive days between visits to the children's emergency room? No. Did anybody shake my hand to acknowledge the hell that I went through to convince my 5-year-old to wear something besides his Power Ranger T-shirt and shorts during the 7-degree Fahrenheit day? No way. But go to the grocery store just once, just once when the baby is missing a sock, and it is a national disaster.

"Hey buddy, where's the kid's sock? Didn't your wife teach you about keeping his little tootsies warm?"

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