By John Johnston
The Cincinnati Enquirer

Alicia and Jordan Walls with Madeline, 3 1/2, and Max, 18 months. (Steven M. Herppich photo) | ZOOM |

Everyone has a story worth telling. That's the theory, anyway. To test it, Tempo is throwing darts at the phone book. When a dart hits a name, a reporter dials the phone number and asks if someone in the home will be interviewed. Stories appear on Fridays.

The outdoor deck has a plastic kiddie pool and a playhouse with a pink door and green shutters.

This is where Madeline, 3 1/2, and her 18-month-old brother Max, play. It's where their parents, Alicia and Jordan Walls of Pierce Township, both 33, are recalling a conversation from more than 10 years ago, before they were married.

Alicia: "I'm going to school to be a teacher. I want to work."

Jordan: "We're not having kids if you're not staying home with them."

Jordan, who was raised by his stay-at-home mother, now acknowledges that he was "being selfish, and a little bullheaded." But even if he'd admitted it then, it wouldn't have mattered. Both their perspectives changed after they married in 1993.

Back then, Alicia and Jordan thought nothing of hopping in the car and driving 15 hours to spend a long weekend with friends. On a whim, they might make last-minute vacation plans for Yellowstone. On days off, their schedule was their own. It was a carefree, pick-up-and-go lifestyle.

Dinks (double income, no kids) can do that. In the mid- to late-'90s, Alicia and Jordan were deep into Dinkdom. They were focused, too, on establishing their careers: Alicia was a grade-school teacher, and Jordan was using his criminal justice degree in the business world.

Kids? Kids were those little people they sometimes saw screaming in grocery stores. Alicia and Jordan would look at each other and wonder why the parent in charge didn't do something.

"We were happy the way our lives were," Alicia says.

Says Jordan: "We were talking about not even having kids." As in, ever.

But after seven years of such freedom - and some persistent nudging from their anxious parents - Alicia and Jordan decided to start a family. They were thrilled when Madeline was born in February 2000. And equally happy when Max arrived two years later.

Then last November, as Alicia prepared to return to teaching at Glen Este Middle School, Jordan got bad news: The children's publishing company he worked for was downsizing; he'd been laid off.

"It was shocking," he says.

Instead of going to day care, the children stayed home with Dad.

Fast forward almost a year: After Alicia leaves for school, Madeline and Max play on the outdoor deck while Jordan checks Internet job listings and makes follow-up calls to companies where he sent resumes.

The job search has been slow.

The kids are moving fast.

"Sometimes the days are very challenging," Jordan says. Ah, but this is no distraught Mr. Mom. He and the kids play in the sandbox and on the swing set. They explore their wooded back yard, with its frogs and turtles. They plant flowers, run errands, go to the grocery store. (Screaming child? Hey, sometimes it's unavoidable.) Jordan carefully limits their TV time. And when the kids go down for a nap, he does laundry and cleans the house.

"I've never left him a list of things to do," Alicia says. "He does a good job. He's more particular about what they eat and their routines than I am."

"You get 'em on a schedule," Jordan says, "and they're pretty easy."

Spontaneity has given way to schedules. The Walls are no longer Dinks. They're, uh, Sick (single income, cute kids).

Someday, Jordan's job search will pay off and the children likely will go to day care. For now, though, they're all making the most of each day, as in April, when Jordan watched Max take his first steps.

Jordan lost his job. He figures he gained something else.

"I've been able to spend some great time with my children and watch them grow. I look at it now and think of (the layoff) as a blessing. Most fathers don't get that time. To me, that's the greatest gift I could ever get."

E-mail jjohnston@enquirer.com