The other night while out at dinner, I told the kids that I was leaving my job.

Leah, 5, threw her hands up in the air and said, “yay, Daddy will be home more!” and went back to coloring the kids menu. Good enough for my bee.

Danny, 8, furrowed his brow in his characteristic way and became quiet. After some gentle prodding, he told me he was worried we would run out of money and lose our house. (Seriously? At 8 you have this in your head? Oh, child.) So I told him the plan was for me to start a new company, and if that didn’t work out, I was pretty sure I could find a job kinda like the one I have now. I also told him that we had some money in the bank, and that he didn’t need to worry about it. I promised I would always make sure he has what he needs, and he should spend his time thinking about soccer and school and friends and fun, leaving the grownup worries to the grownups. I didn’t tell him he was wrong, though. Because he’s not. There is risk in this plan.

We went back and forth for a while, having a very sensible conversation about saving and budgeting and planning, drawing parallels to how he saves his own allowance so he can buy things later, etc.  He seemed to be coming around, the furrows slowly relaxing. And I found myself thinking, again, that there is something about the dichotomy of this boy, smart beyond his years, yet still a very young 8 in many ways. Almost on cue, he asks, “so are you gonna buy a big building for your company?”

No, sweetie. I’m going to use the building we already have—the one we live in—at least for starters, and I look forward to having you along to keep me inspired.