Going on a trip

Some kids play with trucks or dolls. They may play dress-up or with spiderman. My kids? They play "going on a trip." Regularly, since Alex could walk at a wee 9 months of age, the boys will stuff backpacks and head out on an adventure. Of course, back then Alex had no idea what he was doing, really. But, he knew Max was doing it and seemed to enjoy it and so he wanted to be doing that, too. Now that Alex cannot only communicate, but has opinions, the game has gotten more interesting. Sometimes there are disagreements about where they are going to go on their trip. Once they have packed their bags and are boarding the plane (i.e., the couch) Max always asks Alex where he wants to go. Well, apparently this was just a courtesy question because Max has a destination in mind and unless you give the right answer, you won't actually get to board the plane. So today, the boys took parallel planes---Max to Africa to see lions and Alex back to Australia to see the "bah-bee ROOS." Interestingly, these planes flew in tandem so that the boys could share snacks through the windows. Convenient since Max had the cashews and Alex had the water!

Back in NC they used to pack their bags and go into the backyard for adventures. Sometimes they would go look for interesting bugs, other times they would go to rescue animals in the wilderness, and still other times they would come running back to me with flowers they got in Rome. I savour this game. Just watching them. I love the sense of adventure that shows on their face. And the creativity that emerges from their conversations (which used to be Max's monolouges but have become increasingly peppered with Alex now, too). Most of all, I love that they want to go and discover things together. I hope they remember this game and make it into a reality when they are older. I would love for the boys to travel together during college summers to swim the barrier reef or hike across the Andes. Maybe they would even take me with them.

Alex

I realize that I find it harder to write, or even to talk about Alex. With Max, I have so much to describe, and the vocabulary to describe it. He is so awesomely qwerky and says so many quotable things. I call my grandmother to tell her stories about what he said while we were driving to school or how he described a story he had read at the library with amazing candor. But, Alex? When people ask, I find myself usually just grinning stupidly, I am just so smitten with him, and, well, speechless. I don't really know how to describe him. He is so unlike Max, so completely his own person. I used to describe him as constantly happy. But, now that he is almost 2, he can have bursts of temper. But, it is not even a temper, it is like bursts of character, his character. For example, he now has strong opinions and when he does not want to do something he will mutter under his breath like this afternoon when we were done with our carriage ride and he wanted to ride the horses again. I told him they were going home to nap, that they needed a break. He stomped his foot, grabbed my hand, and we walked towards the playground with him muttering "no horseys need nap. no nap. alex want ride. no nap. no nap...."

He also makes up his own words. I think Max helps with this though. For the past 6 months, whenever he does not get his way, he will flick his wrist and say "maa br-uh." We have pretty much translated this to me "f**k you" and it is usually delivered with a protruding lower lip in a pout. Unfortuantly the recent reincarnation of "maa br-uh" has turned into "my butt" which is not quite as cute perhaps because it is getting closer to the profane.

At almost 2, with a growing vocabularly, he can pretty clearly pronounce a number of words and is even stringing together sentences, but he still signs please and more and thank you. And, I love it. I relish in this one aspect of him that still is somewhat baby-ish. Probably because it is all there is. He refused the high chair after about 11 months, hated to be spoon fed, and only wants open cups. He will follow Max to the steepest slides and will walk straight up a mountain (or into a pond, unfortunately). And then he will come up to me with his arms outstretched and plead "hold me, mommy, hugs please." He is a ball of delicious contradictions. And I am delighted to discover each and every one of them.

balance

Academic, part-time academic, research associate, post-doc, assistant professor, teacher, researcher... my definition of my "professional self" seems to be fairly fluid these days. Which? Is very weird. Since, I have felt fairly certain that I wanted to be in this career path since early days of undergrad. The days when people were unsure about what they wanted to do next week? Or even have for dinner that night? I knew (well, to be fair, the dinner thing was easy because I ate pretty much the exact same thing every night for dinner the entirety of my University Career). I really like research, and I think understanding how people think and behave in workplaces is facinating. But, the thing is, when I became a mother, my priorities shifted. I know, I know, it sounds so cliche, and, I guess it is. But, it was like the "mother" identity overshadowed my professional identity. In those early days, right after Max was born, when I was struggling with my dissertation, I remember thinking about work/life balance. It had always seemed a sort of boring topic for me in grad school, but it had suddenly become interesting. And, so, ever the student, I tried to take "tips" from the literature and balance my work and my family. I had decided I wanted to feel confident in both roles- and I did not want to "switch" from one identity to the other. I wanted to be an academic mother. I went on the job market with my 1 year old son in tow. I gave job talks with him in an adjacent room drinking a bottle of pumped breastmilk. I asked potential co-workers about daycare and babysitters. I completely blurred the lines between professional and personal in a strive for balance. I wore my motherhood like a badge in a way. Similar to the shirts stained with spit-up and the constant supply of diapers and wipes in ever possible bag (including my laptop bag) I owned. When we took the job at U of I, we got a great house right next to a great preschool/daycare. Max loved his teacher, Arran and I traded off drop-offs and pick-ups so that he was never in daycare for more than 6-7 hours a day (2 of which would be naptime). But still, it broke my heart. I felt as though I was only being half a parent. And, I felt like I was only being half and academic. Things were amplified when Alex came into the picture. Not only was I trying to balance teaching, research, and motherhood- but it was motherhood to two different boys who both needed me. I spent many, many days nursing a newborn while writing and revising manuscripts, dashing off to teach a seminar and needing to run to my office to pump during the break, and then rushing home to soak up the sweetness of my boys. Only to then stay up all night trying to stay afloat. At some point I became overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by the moments slipping away from me. By the realization that my toddler, Max, had turned into a boy who could read and write and was embarrased by me sometimes. Overwhelmed when I noticed that my baby, Alex, was walking, and although now he always wanted to walk towards me, I knew that one day soon he would be trying to walk away. And this broke my heart, and made me realize that being both a professional and a mom, having it all, is a privlidge for sure, but it is not always about balance, sometimes is is about needing to make a choice. And, so I chose to cut back, go off-tenure track. I though this would be an instant relief. That I would have more time to be an amazing mother without the pressure of feeling as though I was letting work down. But, I still found myself glued to my computer during naptime, and way into the night. And scheduling conference calls that I took while rocking a baby. I no longer was a full-time employee anywhere, but I was still working. It seemed ridiculous, but yet unavoidable. And what I realized is although motherhood is my central identity, I still have a professional identity. And, while it is mallable and changeable, it is part of me, and an important part of me. My children will ALWAYS be my priority, yet I am a better mother when I do have a validated work identity. When I can lose myself in a research project, write a paper that gets published, talk about an interesting finding.

Despite this insight, and my journey, I don't have the balance yet. In fact, I think that the notion of "balance" is misleading. I still struggle to do things that are professionally fufilling and personally satisfying. I still juggle my conference calls around preschool drop-off. But, I realize that there is a way to optimize the work/life relationship. It requires mental flexibility, the willingness to compose a life. And, to be willing to revise that path at a moment notice.

Lovely moments in time

Posts from my computer never posted...

Scene: Bayswater playground. Max has just run up the slide after I asked him not to because there were too many small children on the playground who would try to copy him and get hurt.
Me: Max, come take a 2 minute break on the bench. I just asked you not to run up the slide again.
Max: Fine. (runs over, plops onto the bench and pulls out a pocket notebook and a pencil out of his jeans, and smiles up at me) Well, at least I am prepared!

Scene: At Devonport rental, to be latter named “the ant house.” Alex is sitting on the livingroom floor eating raisins. Max and I are at the table working on his math.
Alex: MAMA!! MAMA!! MAH-MAAAAA
Me: (rushing over looking for blood) What? What is wrong?
Alex: LOOOOK! A-Zin Walk! A-Zin Walk! (translation: look, the raisin is walking)
Max: He is right! The raisin is moving!
I look down to see a dropped raisin (dropped not a 2 min earlier) being carried away by the ants. We moved the next day.

Arran keeps joking that our kids have taught him that the “nature” beats out “nurture” by a long shot. The fact is that Max and Alex just came out different. I was reminded of this again today when we were in the downtown section of Brisbane. It is winter break here and they had a little stage set up with someone in a koala suit and fake snow. Alex was thrilled; we could not unbuckle him from the stroller fast enough. And, when he was free he bounded up to the koala, hugged him and posed for a picture. I looked down at Max, before I could even ask, he replied, “Nope, there is no way I am going to touch that fake koala. Do you know how many germs are on that suit? Besides, it is just a man dressed up as a koala anyways.”

It is a funny phenomenon—as soon as my kids are in bed, and I am lying in my own, I miss them. The reason I find this strange is not that my kids are un-missable beings, in fact they are amazing little creatures that anyone would miss, but because on most days I have spent the entire day with them. And, to be honest, by about 1 hour before bedtime, I am ready to be by myself for a bit. Every night, after dinner is done and the kids are running manically through the playroom, I begin to feel itchy- itchy for the day to be done and for me to be in the comfort of my warm bed. But then, an hour and fifteen minutes later, I find myself wishing I could re-do the entire hour. I replay the scene in my head. And, most times, it is inevitable that I would have lost my patience- just a bit-at some point. When Max refused to stop running through the hallway and accidently knocks Alex over. Or, when Alex insists he needs to put all of his pajama parts on all by himself despite the tricky zipper in the back. I want to undue the irritation in my voice, or my sigh. I want to give each of them another hug, tell another story, or, at least not cut short the lame story I came up with. I think about how my mom will read endless books to Max at night, and I wish I would have done the same. I wonder if he sleeps better on those nights, if he goes to bed feeling more loved, more comforted. I vow to do better the next day.

It is in that hour, just after bedtime, when I remember that these days won’t last forever. If I am already missing the previous hour that slipped through my hands, how am I going to feel about months or years that seem to evaporate in an instant? I try to remember to not be so itchy the next day. To spend more time on the floor working on puzzles, or answering endless “why” questions that bring back memories of my dissertation defense. To walk outside and just look at the grass, and the bugs, and to notice that the crack in the sidewalk is in the shape of an “M”. Basically, to spend the time to soak up every last ounce of their sweetness, their innocence, their curiosity- them.

The next morning, I hear soft padding footsteps in my room and feel the cold feet of a preschooler on my calves. I turn over and Max whispers, “can I tell you about my dream? I dreamed about the horse from your story last night and I know what happens next.” And, as he proceeds to fill me in on the second part of the story, I realize that sometimes, despite the critic in my head at 7:15 pm, sometimes I may do things just right.