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Since late summer, I have been a virtual vagabond, roaming the region with my laptop, looking for free Wi-Fi, an outlet and the bathroom key.

My exile into this... fascinating world began during the renovation of our newsroom, when reporters were offered the option of working from home during construction.

I pounced at the chance. What working mom wouldn't? A very smart one, I would learn. I fantasized that I'd throw in a load of laundry while writing and finally go to the gym near my house every day with the time I'd save telecommuting.

The mornings would be less frenetic because I wasn't fighting to get to an office. We'd chat on the walks to school. And, occasionally, I'd take a break, go downstairs and visit with my children.

"Working" from home didn't last a week.

On the first day, I learned not to come downstairs. Ever.

On the second day, I learned that doing laundry and flushing the toilet were not an option.

On the third day, I learned that the teeniest creak of a floorboard gave away my location and that my children would mutiny against the babysitter, storm the home office with the kitchen utensils they had repurposed as weapons and make work impossible.

It is clear that I'm not alone in coming full circle on the home office fantasy.

Millions of Americans are telecommuting at least part time. Professors at the University of Connecticut's School of Business recently completed a study of job satisfaction among telecommuters. Using complex regression analysis, they confirmed the conclusion that my little Sir Colander and his sidekick, the Fearsome Whisk, helped me reach.

"Although the telecommuters' work interfered less with their family demands, family demands interfered more heavily with work. In fact, the more individuals worked from home, the greater the demands of family became.