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hourglass-620397_960_720Last week I had what I refer to now as the “24 hours from hell”. It started from the moment a ceramic mug fell on my head while I was reading The Gruffalo to my children. One minute I was sharing some precious memories, the next I was assaulted by a rogue mug that toppled over when my son jumped onto the cupboard next to my head. (Long story). I screamed, the children cried, milk went everywhere, and milk was cleaned up and children sent to bed immediately while mummy nursed an egg on her head with some ice. That night both children wet the bed, which meant two changes of bedding in the middle of the night; the following morning my tram ride was cut short by a random strike in the city meaning I had to get off and walk three blocks to get another, and what followed was a frantic day trying to get both my thesis finished for the evening’s formatting session, and changes on a very important journal article finished by midday. It was on that day that I said to myself, “Clearly this is a sign that academia and motherhood do not mix”. The juggling, the lack of sleep, the competing priorities, the toddler-induced mug injury, the urgent article revisions with less than 48 hours notice. No, motherhood and academia do NOT mix, I thought to myself with gritted teeth.

Then I paused, because I realised that this was just one day, just one lot of 24 hours. To define my life and my status as academic working mother by these 24 hours is like making a conclusion based on an outlier. It’s simply not valid. I thought about all the mornings when things go (relatively) smoothly and I sail into the office and drink my tea while calmly writing an article, my favourite “Peaceful Piano” playlist filling my soul with serenity and sending my spirits soaring, as I think, “This is the life! I get paid to write and listen to music!” On those days, I do indeed feel wholeheartedly that academia and motherhood mix very well, thank you, and I wouldn’t give up the mix for anything.

I should apply this to all aspects of my life – I should choose to only remember the good moments, because there are so many good moments. It’s like the song goes, “Ac-centuate the positive…” In any given day, I experience an astoundingly wide range of emotions, from white hot irritation, contentment, tenderness, boredom and anxiety. My children are a bit of a barometer, with their behaviour ranging from adorable to expletive-inducing. I have made the decision to let go of the latter and hold on to the former. I try to let go of the cranky comments, the whingeing, the tantrums, and the inability to walk in a straight line. They are usually momentary (except the walking thing – when do they learn to do this?!?!) and shouldn’t define our day. I used to mentally write the day off the instant we had some bad behaviour or a tense moment – “Today is an awful day”. Now, I shrug it off, carry on, and try hard to hold on just a bit longer to the warm and fuzzy bits, which are never too far away as long as I keep my cool. My almost-three year old son grabbing my face and kissing it with gusto. Two small sleepy heads on my pillow in the morning. My daughter declaring that I’m the best and most perfect mummy in the world. The giggling and the patter of little feet in our house. The impromptu dancing. The naked toddler streaking through the house snorting with laughter. The pre-bed snuggles (minus the falling mugs).

It’s the same with my life – I am trying to remember the days that go right instead of the days when everything seems to go wrong, the days when I manage to fit most of it in – work, family, love, a nutritious meal (extra points if home-cooked), exercise, some me-time, some couple time. Not all, but most of it, and I fall into bed a very tired but happy woman. Life is made up of all of these moments, and I want mine to be mostly lovely moments with the very slightest sprinkling of the cranky, messy, sleep-deprived times just to keep me honest – and hopefully, very few falling mugs.

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teddy-bear-524251_1280I used to say, whenever someone expressed admiration for my ability to function coherently at work despite being a mum to small children, that coming to work kept me sane. And this was, and still is, certainly true. Work means order, quiet, predictability, intellectual stimulation, adult conversation and having lunch without needing to clean the floor afterwards. It most certainly helps my sanity.

Yet in these last few months of increasing pressure, with a PhD deadline looming, multiple new responsibilities, and the impending stress of an interstate move, heralded by frantic searches of real estate websites for the perfect home, something quite odd has been happening. It is my children that are keeping me sane.

It is my children who bring the immense relief from overthinking, from mental strain, from all this striving. It’s like taking a complete break from worrying, ruminating and hand-wringing of my life of late. My children bring me straight back to the most important place- the present moment – remind me what is most important – fun, love, silly jokes (and food) – and most of all, love me even if I havent written the perfect chapter or figured out what we are going to do next year. Regardless of how my day went and what challenges I have failed to master, they bound towards me at the end of the day with faith in my abilities as a mother. Just being there validates my worth to them – you’re here, mum! That’s fantastic! We love you. One warm hug, one set of tiny arms wrapped around my neck, and the workday melts away.

My children make me laugh, which is a powerful stress reliever. They make me realise that even the smallest things can matter, and this is beautiful. Stopping to pick a flower. Enjoying a sunset. Looking forward to icecream after dinner. Delighting in the bubbles in the bath. All of these things are exciting, magical experiences that are exquisite in their simplicity and accessibility. Happiness is right there within our reach. The look on my son’s face when he has a bowl of grapes all to himself is a reminder that there is so much to love and be thankful for. The moment when I am walking my children to daycare, completely absorbed in my worries about the day, and my son points to the sky and cries out “Look mummy! A helicopter!” And I suddenly come back to the present moment. The times when my daughter announces, from her bed, that she is coming to give me something that I really really need, and climbs out to plant a kiss on my cheek. “There,” she says. “There is all my love. Now everything is ok.” And tears well up in my eyes when I realise that, of all the people in the world, my children might be the wisest of them all.

My children have no fears or worries (yet). Problems can be solved incredibly easily in their innocent minds. There are no barriers in their minds – everything is possible. It’s breathtaking. I feel like such a downer whenever I say “That wouldn’t work” or “It just doesn’t happen that way“. Where did I learn these phrases? How did I become so rigid, seeing all the negatives, the things that get in our way, how something couldn’t possibly work out? Surely once I was that pure innocent and stunningly creative little soul. Somewhere along the years, I learned that “it’s not that easy”. I’ve stopped exploring options beyond my narrow scope of “what might work”. I became an adult. And it makes me weep to think of all the possibilities I gave up.

Yet I know what lies ahead for these children. I know the pain of rejection, of disappointment, of things not quite turning out the way you thought they would. Failure. Humiliation. Puberty. I know too that they will survive these, and will have vastly more wonderful, inspiring and triumphant experiences, but that as human beings they will eventually remember the things that go wrong before the things that go right. My job is to gently and persistently steer them towards the positive, towards resilience, towards making sense of adversity, and overcoming challenges.

But these months of rushing around, hustling and worrying, have undeniably been tempered and made sweet by these two beautiful human beings. As will the next few months. Somehow, very unexpectedly, I have come to realise that I cannot do it without my children – without their cheerful faces, their ready kisses and hugs, and even without their toilet humour (the “poo poo” jokes are currently all the rage). Because if one cannot laugh at a fart joke, one has lost all the spirit in life.

An example of a joke my daughter told me this morning: 

Zero plus zero equals zero! (Cue manic laughter)

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strawberries-660432_1280I was at the airport on my way to a conference, travelling solo for once, and visited the bookshop. I had brought along papers to read, but the thought of reading an actual book seemed so much more appealing. And I was intrigued by the title of Laura Vanderkam’s book. It seemed smug, as did the promise of finding me extra time in my busy week. Hah! I thought. The last time I read a time management article that promised the same, I found out it was written by a childless, single woman. I did a quick tally of what I did every day and found that on average I had twenty minutes to myself after work, commuting, the whole dinner and bedtime circus, and housework. I texted a friend saying that I felt like punching this woman in the face. Metaphorically, of course.

Then I turned the page and read Vanderkam’s bio. She has not one, but four children. Ok, kudos to you, lady. Then I read her compelling introduction, punctuated by the sweet line, “The berry season is short“. And read about joy. And bought the book.

Vanderkam’s book is no quick fix, no magic strategy repeated over and over again in different forms just to fill the book, unlike the offerings by many lesser beings out there who manage to wrangle a book deal. Vanderkam is the real deal. I love that her book is based on data (actual time diaries) not assumptions, and not anecdotes. Anecdotes are biased snippets that may not represent the whole truth. I know this deeply as a researcher. Cold hard data, however, tells the real truth. And we have been sold anecdotes for a long time – we only hear and remember the negative ones, of course. We have based the narrative in our heads on this hodge podge of cautionary tales from others. Namely: Having a career and raising a family at the same time is hard. Only exceptional and very rich people manage it. It’s not possible. You won’t sleep. You’ll have to work long hours. Your hair will fall out from stress. You might as well lean out now.

I’m ashamed to say I’ve bought into this narrative increasingly this year. I’ve read, and internalised, articles on how hard it is to “make it” as a postdoc, the gruelling hours that an academic must put in to build that CV and research output, the uncertainties with funding, the disappointment, the long hours you must put in in order to finish your PhD. At times, this has led me to stomp around the house feeling resentful as I put away dishes or laundry, fuming internally. I’m doing a PhD, dammit! I don’t have time for this! And I certainly don’t have time for myself! I’ve been operating on a a time scarcity model, never feeling like I have enough, and yet find myself frittering away bits of time (“time confetti” to use Brigid Schulze’s analogy) by endlessly rechecking email and Facebook. And increasingly worried about my workload as a postdoc – yes, no more PhD, but a return to clinical work, new responsibilities, and the ever-present “publish or perish” rhetoric  harping at me like some monkey on my back.

Vanderkam’s book is a game changer. Peppered with examples of how incredibly busy women “do it”, it’s a goldmine of practical and well-tested strategies together with a massive shift in the narrative. Yes you have time. Everyone has time, even these women. Most of all, we have a choice with what to do with it. It’s these choices that make the difference between being able to “do it” and feeling like you need to “lean out”.

The women in Vanderkam’s book are from a variety of backgrounds, and all command a salary of over $100,000. Clearly this offers them an advantage in terms of being able to outsource, and in particular use nannies or au pairs if needed. However, not all of them did, many choosing to work “split shifts” instead, and using flexibility to the utmost. I was pleased to see I already carried out quite a few of these “successful” habits with work, but chagrined when I got to the “Home” and “Self” chapters. Here is where I have fallen behind. Sure, I have wrought plenty of time with my children, I leave weekends free for family time, and I exercise regularly, but it has been with a sense of duty. The fun has gone from my life, replaced by an almost military sense of needing to keep everything in precise order, and again with the background excuse of “I don’t have time for that” when a fun activity is proposed. I have become a party pooper. I cannot recall the last time I read a book. Yet, I must have spent hours every week sinking into Buzzfeed browsing and Facebook re-checking.

I have believed the anecdotes over the truth. Vanderkam’s book also surprised me with the level of involvement these women had in their children’s lives. We all hear and believe stories of parents being so out of touch that they don’t know their child’s teacher’s name, but Vanderkam’s book gives examples to contradict this stereotype – women who volunteer to go on school excursions, for example, something I had previously pooh-poohed with the familiar phrase “I don’t have time for that!”

Encouraged and somewhat embarassed by the fact that these enormously successful women work more hours than I do, shuttle their kids around to activities, have hobbies and exercise an average of 3 hours a week compared to my piddly 1.5 (and still appear somewhat sane and coherent), I have resolved to make changes. Firstly, making a list of fun things to do – for myself or with the family. A list of things to do with my time confetti – watch a TED talk, breathe deeply, go for a quick walk, listen to music. A plan for the exercise I could be doing. Most of all, renewed confidence that I can do it, even as a postdoc working fulltime with two children. I can lead the good life. Undoubtedly, my life is getting easier, whereas in the past it truly was difficult and I had significantly less time. My children are becoming more independent, so I have been left with pockets of time which I then spend “puttering around” or doing laundry. But I don’t want to die and have on my tombstone “Here lies she who did a lot of laundry“. I want to tick things off a bucket list, not a chore list. Most of all, I want to be free from the narrative of not having enough time and not being able to have it all.

Vanderkam’s book is not about promoting the image of an impossible supermum. She chronicles the lives of women who are ordinary women like you or me, no superpowers except for having more disposable income. A number were single mothers. Yet, these women were leading full and happy lives and importantly, they were working far fewer hours than expected. Granted, they worked more hours than the average person (44 hours) but this is much lower than the 70-80 hours that many successful people claim they work. Instead of trying desperately to reach some mythical “balance”, Vanderkam encourages thinking of our lives as a mosaic, with tiles of different colours and hues. It’s up to us how to fashion this mosaic, and decide which colours go where. Doing a time diary and logging your actual time spent on different activities can be illuminating.

Most of all, Vanderkam’s book validated my life while highlighting exciting areas where I could change. I already have and use flexibility. I fit self care in. I read to my children. I take breaks. But the berry season is short; and I could do more, while doing less of the useless stuff. I can turn the canvas of my life into something even more vibrant than ever before. It is possible, once I get rid of the narrative and use data instead. I will lead the good life. I invite you all to come along with me once more on this journey.

Some super strategies from the book:

Think about your life in terms of the 168 hours of a week rather than 24 hours in a day. You may not tick all the boxes in work, home and self every single day but over the course of a week it’s possible to fit in time for all of these.

Rethink the need to have meetings.

How to strategically use “face time” to your advantage, without spending hours at the office. (For example, being seen at the end of the day is valued more than coming in early. You can use the middle of the day for “self” care).

Ten secrets to happy parenting including making breakfast the family meal of the day, thinking through and planning your evenings, and playing with your children.

Apply the “Let It Go” technique to housework and emails. (Do not attempt Inbox Zero).

How to make the most of a commute.

Make time for a hobby. It’s so nice to create something by the end of the night instead of watching TV. (But watch TV if you find this enjoyable).

The berry season is short. Seize it and create a good life :)

Disclaimer: This is my first book review, and the links will take you to Amazon, providing me with a small commission off anything that you buy on the site. This will support my blogging work as I navigate my way through the last few months of my PhD and then into the glorious Post Doc period and beyond! If you buy the book, I’d love to hear your thoughts on it :)

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drawing-428383_1280My daughter goes to a sessional kindergarten. It’s gorgeous. She now paints like Picasso; she speaks three languages; she is thriving and has made beautiful friends. I love the teachers. But I didn’t love what I am about to write about.

Earlier this year we were sent an invitation to a Mother’s Day event. All mums were invited to attend an afternoon tea at 2pm on a Wednesday. (We couldn’t go as we were overseas). I helped the children mail their invites on the day I acted as Parent Helper.

A few weeks ago we were informed of the Father’s Day event – scheduled for a Sunday morning at 9:30am. To say I was disappointed at this discrepancy between mothers and fathers is an understatement. Some might think I am being a ranty mother at this stage, but allow me to be a ranty mother for a moment.

There are so many reasons why this decision could have been made differently. Clearly it was not made to deliberately disadvantage working mothers. It most probably happened as a result of unconscious bias. But let me summarise why a more equal approach to these events, especially in kindergarten, is vital.

Children take on social expectations at a very early age. We try our best to model these at home; going to a kindergarten is an additional, and very powerful, influence. Having a Mother’s day event in the middle of the day on a weekday sends a strong message to children. One: Your mother should be available at this time (and at relatively short notice). She should not be at work. Work is bad. Two: If your mother can’t make it (because of work) she is a bad mother. Look at all the other mothers who could make it. Three: Women shouldn’t work after they have children. Four: Your daddy can have a career. He is important enough to have a separate event on a weekend, so he doesn’t need to disrupt his working week.  

What is even more frustrating is that this is an artificially created way for working mothers to fail. And it is not restricted to my kindergarten – I have heard similar stories from other mothers. Mothers day morning tea – 11am Wednesday. Fathers day breakfast: 8:30am Friday. 

The very reason I am sending my daughter to kindergarten is the very reason these persistent social expectations need to change. I want her to reach her full potential, whatever that may be. For many women, this will be outside of the home as well as within the home.

Below is an unedited email I sent to our kindergarten (name removed). I meant what I said about appreciating the kindergarten. But gender equality starts now, at kindergarten. It is my firm belief that we should not hold our daughters back in this way, by modelling a 1950s version of family life and perpetuating unconscious bias. To all mothers who can make it to 2pm afternoon teas, I applaud you. I am one of those mothers who has that flexibility. Not all do. I want all working mothers to feel a little less guilty. Especially when the guilt is artificially induced.

“Dear Kindergarten Committee

Thank you for the opportunity to provide feedback – it was very welcome. Thank you also for the hard work this year, the children are thriving as a result and our daughter, new to the kindergarten this year, is extremely happy. 
I did provide some feedback about the events requiring parental involvement, but I hope you don’t mind me sending another email about this as I filled out the survey before we received an invitation to the Father’s day event. Both fathers and mothers clearly enjoy sharing special days with their children at kindergarten, but the planning this year seems to have disadvantaged working mothers in particular. The Mother’s day afternoon tea was planned for 2pm on a Wednesday, which can be a difficult time for working mothers who do not enjoy a lot of flexibility, whereas the Father’s day event is planned for a weekend, which allows all fathers to attend. 
I think this creates an extraordinarilly difficult situation for certain working mothers, and a very artificial one, as if they cannot attend a midday event on a workday it immediately sets them up to fail as “bad mothers”, and this is entirely out of their control. Moreover, their child does not care if they do not attend at 2pm on Wednesdays, usually – it is only that the mothers who cannot come are the ones who stand out, as their children end up feeling left out. 
I happen to have a very flexible work week currently, and can make daytime events if given enough notice – one week is insufficient for most, and many would appreciate at least 2-3 weeks, or as long as possible. However, some mothers cannot do this (leave work with short notice). It creates an artificial situation in which the mother “fails” her child, and damages their relationship. 
I realise that this may only affect a small number of mothers, but I feel that in the interests of supporting all parents, and working towards embracing a diversity of home situations, as well as championing gender equality, it would be wise to consider changing the time for next year’s Mother’s day event. A time that is similar to what is offered to dads would be very welcome by all working mothers I am sure – if not, then adequate notice, and an event that is first thing in the morning (like 9am) would be easier to fit into the workday. 
Next year there will be a new group of mothers, and it may be quite different to the group this year – there might very well be a lot of working mothers, and I encourage and urge you to make them feel welcome, and appreciated, by considering what would make the “juggle” easier. 
Furthermore, in the interests of treating both genders equally, it would be a marvellous gesture for the kindergarten to plan the Mother’s and Father’s day events in a similar fashion rather than assuming that all mothers are available (and at home) at 2pm on a Wednesday. 
Thanks once again for all the hard work and all the best for the rest of the year. 
Carolyn”
I’d love to hear from you. How has your child’s school or kindergarten accommodated the schedules of working parents? 
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baby-84626_1280How do you do it? I am often asked, as though I am standing on my head right at that very moment. The question is about how I am managing to do a PhD and raise two small and very cheeky children. Actually, I am convinced that the question should be rephrased as “How is it that you have pants on today and are speaking coherently while you spend time on both your PhD and your kids?” Well dear reader, while I fear I that sometimes I am not really doing “it” at all, most days I do manage to get said pants on and have reasonably coherent conversations that indicate I am retaining a modicum of my sanity. So I decided to procrastinate instead of writing my thesis share some tips with you. This series of posts is to encourage parents to follow their dreams, with a major focus on how to complete a PhD.

There are a few caveats I must state here:

1. I have not yet finished my PhD but I have written more than half of my thesis, have a key findings paper under review, and am putting slides together for my completion seminar, so I’m on the home stretch. I am about to start on my Discussion chapter. I know, where did the time go?!

2. I have a supportive partner who works from home. We do not have any immediate family in town, apart from dear mum who spends a few weeks several times a year with us to let us have a break.

3. My children are pre-schoolers and I do not yet know the joys of primary school, extracurricular activities and the like. We have also been too busy to take them to a multitude of violin and karate lessons decided to let them have unstructured play during their time at home.

4. I write as a mum, GP, and PhD student. But I am not an expert on any of this; think of it as letters from a soldier at the trenches rather than an essay by a military specialist. What works for me certainly won’t work for all. Which is why I’d love to hear how you’ve managed to make it work too.

The other parts of this series include “Getting Organised”, “Taking Breaks”, Self-Care”, “Embracing Imperfection”, “Nurturing Relationships” and “Managing Energy”. But let’s get started on the biggest challenge – Time Management.

Let’s face it now – time is one of the most difficult things to juggle here. Raising kids takes time. So does a PhD. It can often feel like a desperate give-and-take situation, trying to slice off minutes from one to spend on the other, and never feeling like there is enough for either let alone sanity-saving activities like having a shower, and then there are the pesky details of keeping the house in a non-destitute state. And one generally likes to graduate from a PhD with both a floppy hat and an intact relationship with the spouse. All these take an investment of time.

So let’s say you are staring down the long bleak road of three (or more) years of a PhD, with a toddler clinging to your leg and a heavy feeling in your heart. Here are some tips on how to start managing your time. Clearly what works for me may not apply to everyone and I would encourage you to try a few different things to see what does make the days tick over a bit more smoothly.

1. One word. Childcare.

If you have preschool-aged children at home, you need childcare. It doesn’t matter if it’s your spouse, a grandparent, a friend, a nanny, daycare, whatever. You need reliable, loving, nurturing, responsible adults to be you when you can’t be there. Because you simply cannot be there and do your PhD. At times, when you are doing tedious tasks that do not take a lot of brain space (like ethics applications) you can work from home with your children around and nobody else to help you. You can also work at night when they are sleeping, but this can take its toll (see self-care later). But for large parts of your PhD, you will need to be physically removed from your children, in a space where you can work without endless interruptions, pooey nappies needing to be changed, children to be fed, food to be cleaned off the floor, the incessant chatter of a very adorable but increasingly annoying three-year-old, etc etc. Put it this way. You can parent well and do a PhD but not at the same time. As well as this, it’s decidedly unfair for children to spend three years staring at the top of mama’s (or papa’s) head peeking over the laptop. This is especially so in those precious last months “writing up” the beast. In fact, I’m fond of writing retreats, if you can get away to one. Our student group organises a yearly three-night break to write without distraction. It’s become my yearly treat to myself!

2. Divide and conquer.

Your day will be divided into three distinct segments. Time with family. PhD time. Other time. When you are with your family, forget about your PhD. Roll on the floor with your kids, tickle their little toes, sing them to sleep, embrace the freedom of not being a PhD student just for a few hours. They’re only little once. When you return to your PhD, sit your butt down and get the work done. I like to spend the first four hours of my day on the “business” of my PhD. Lately this means writing, and a lot of it, so I set myself a goal of writing 2000 words a day, first thing in the morning. In the afternoon I will do those other bits things like write an unrelated paper, reply emails, write a conference abstract etc. But the work. Gets. Done. No. Matter. What. If you are disciplined with this, it will balance out those inevitable days when you can’t seem to get anything done except drink coffee and wring hands, and you will also feel 100% engaged when you return home. It also creates a valuable “buffer” for those inevitable sick days that you have to take off. In my “other” time I schedule the “daily life” things like balancing our bank accounts, booking doctor’s appointments, and some nice things just for me (the hairdresser, a lunch date with a friend – see self care later). This strict and discrete division of my time helps me cope with the “juggling”. Mum at home. PhD student at the Department. Trying to be a coherent (and coiffed) adult at all times.

3. Batch your tasks.

This is a simple and effective technique that can be used at home or at the office. Write a list of little tasks you have to get done – get reimbursed for conference registration, (other examples). Then, when you have finished with the main business of your PhD for the day, spend an hour or so going through these tasks in a batch. If you can, batch meetings as well, although PhD students tend not to have as much control over this area. It’s also a great way to feel productive when you’ve lost motivation temporarily.

4. Be efficient.

The Pomodoro technique is an excellent way of avoiding having the day disintegrate into a useless mess of procaffeination with naught to show except palpitations and frown lines. Many universities will also run a “Shut Up And Write” session using the Pomodoro technique, and you can run your own sessions with your student group.

5. Outsource.

So you’ve had a productive day and you arrive home with two starving children, and then the reality hits you – laundry, cooking, cleaning, bedtime awaits. It can bring the strongest person to their knees. I am here to tell you you can outsource. Sure, outsourcing to a paid professional like an au pair or housekeeper is a dream come true but not within the reach of too many students. But did you know you could outsource to your (gasp) spouse, or even your kids? And that you can outsource to machines? Those machines include tumble dryers, slow cookers (or Thermomixes if you can afford one!!!), and ovens. You can even outsource to supermarkets by getting a few ready-made meals here and there (vegie pizza and lasagne are some favourites in this household).

6. Embrace imperfection.

I will elaborate on this in another post, but first of all you must accept that “good enough” will be your mantra for the PhD and at home. “It’s a PhD not a Nobel Prize” as the saying goes; a completed journal paper or thesis that is “good enough” is better than aiming for a flawless thesis that never gets finished. Ditto for the home – ditch Pinterest or anything that makes you feel like you should be baking organic muffins for your little one, while lovingly creating exquisite art and craft activities within your sparkling home with its perfectly organised kitchen cabinets (ahem). You are not that parent. You cannot afford to be, time-wise. There are more important things to do with your time including self care and bonding with your children. Also, nobody can be that perfect parent – it’s a myth. The same can be applied with relish to almost everything in your life. Have a list of “nice thought but not right now” things, like running a marathon this year. But do have minimum standards (like never leaving the house without pants on, feeding your children nutritious food, and avoiding vermin infestation of your kitchen). Just kidding. It is entirely possible to have things in relative order at home and with the PhD, and you will have moments of perfection, but they will not last.

Part-time or full-time?

This decision needs to be made after a lot of discussion with your supervisors and your family. It needs to take into account the unique demands of your research and your financial situation as well as your personal preferences. There are pros and cons to both.

Advantages of being part-time, and disadvantages of being full-time.

1. You get to spend time with your kids when they’re little. This is arguably the most compelling reason to be part-time. Your time with your children at this age can never be replaced. Your PhD, on the other hand, almost always can wait. You can balance 2-3 days of PhD work with days at the park, playdates, babycinos, swimming lessons, and just hours and hours of soaking in your babies. I have such precious memories of cooing babies, sitting on the couch with them sleeping on my shoulder, spending cold winter mornings watching Sesame St in our pyjamas, making home-made play dough, and other delightful things. Just delicious.

2. You get to claim this time as a career disruption. Oh so important when you are applying for fellowships, grants and promotions. Your research output will be assessed according to the years you spent on research, and will not include the years you spent rocking babies to sleep, pureeing baby food, and pushing them on a swing. When you are full-time, you do not get this luxury.

3. Childcare will cost less.

4. You have twice as long to finish your PhD. (This can be a con for some people).

5. You can catch up on household tasks on your days off, making the PhD days a bit less hectic (think cooking double batches of food to freeze, etc).

Advantages of being full-time and disadvantages of being part-time.

1. It can get tricky holding on to your “train of thought” in between PhD days. I find that a break of more than three days means I fiddle around for hours trying to figure out where I left off. This is more of a problem at some times than others e.g. during data analysis and writing up, I would have found it challenging to be part-time.

2. You take twice as long to finish your PhD if you are part-time. Which means – living on a scholarship for twice as long, and a “real job” is further away. Also the risk that you are so incredibly sick and tired of your PhD at the end of six years.

3. In Australia, part-time scholarships are taxed but full-time scholarships are not. I know! Makes no sense at all.

4. You have to watch out for the time creep – when you end up spending almost as much time on your part-time PhD as you would if you were full-time. As a friend of mine said “Part time is never part time, and full time is never full time”.

My pearls of wisdom here are to keep it flexible. Do what works for you at that particular time, and you can always change if it’s not working out. Do what you will not regret – I held off from making the decision to go full-time until I worked out a way to spend one day a fortnight with my kids. I couldn’t quite let go of those precious days at home with them just yet.

Some time hacks you might like to try

The tag team

One parent leaves first thing in the morning and comes home earlier to pick the kids up, or one person does the morning shift and gets to come home a bit later. This can work really well, but the stress of getting two kids ready on your own in the morning can negate the advantages of this technique.

The early riser

Wake up at 5am and get a couple of hours of work done before the kids wake (if you’re lucky). Clearly requires discipline to go to bed early, and the strength to get out of bed in the middle of the night. Also leads to crankiness in the evening due to being very tired. Many parents swear by this though.

The night owl

Getting a chunk of a few hours of work done in the evenings once the kids are in bed, instead of watching Netflix or cat videos on Youtube (ahem). Can work well if one gets “on a roll”. I don’t find that I have enough brain energy in the evening to do this but have resorted to it at times of intense grant writing for example.

The weekend warrior

One of the parents works on the weekend so that they can take care of the little ones during the week. This reduces your childcare costs and allows both parents to enjoy time with their children, but it also means you do not have days off together as a family.

When to return from maternity leave?

Again you need to check what the rules are with your institution and with your particular scholarhips and balance this with your personal preferences and your family situation. There is absolutely no “right” or “wrong” answers here but there are a few simple facts that might make your decision easier. Firstly, if you are breastfeeding, exclusive breastfeeding is recommended for the first 4-6 months. Once your baby is well-established on solids, it gets easier to sneak away without having to pull out the old breast-pump or hurry home for a feed. Your baby is also ready at 6 months and onwards to learn how to self-settle at night (if this is important to you) which will make it a little easier to manage the night-time wakings, if teaching them to sleep is what you would like to do. With both my babies I returned to very part-time work/study at 7 months and found this a great time to do so, but it is also such a delightful time in your baby’s life and can be hard to slip away and leave them with grandma, daycare or whatever. So there just isn’t a perfect time but you have to do what works for your family and your PhD.

In the later posts, I will also write about managing guilt, energy, the importance of taking breaks, refreshing yourself, and nurturing relationships.

All in all, your kids need you to be around for a good part of their young lives, and you will want to be there as well, as you simply cannot go back in time. Yet, opportunities will arise regardless of where you are on your parenting journey, and it is not impossible to make the most of these even while staying engaged with your children. To me, there can be few things as satisfying as having two outcomes at the end of a PhD: happy, bright, resilient children as well as a completed PhD  (and for those who are partnered, an intact and thriving relationship with your spouse). To all the PhD/academic parents out there who are enjoying the juggle, here’s to you!

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I took some time off recently, just a week, but it was a much-needed week of reflection and a break from the usual routine and from my computer screen. I spent time with good friends and family, and with my children. I had a child-free weekend doing adult things like only having to feed, dress and toilet one person – me. My best friend and I talked about a lot of things, including how and where our careers were going.

Career is one of those dirty words in a mother’s vocabulary. Almost as terrifying to say as “formula-feeding”, “born by Caesarian section”, or “crying-it-out”. And yet, career is not just a dirty word to mothers – when I was a young doctor starting out on an academic path, enrolling in a Masters, a clinical supervisor referred to me as a “career possum”. I always wondered if he would say the same thing to a male doctor, but I never got to ask him.

Let’s get this straight. My family is the number one priority in my life. Unequivocally my most profound and tender priority. My family is the blood running through my veins, the beat of my heart, the love of my life. Most of all, what I know in my deepest heart of hearts is that my family is made up of people, of fellow human beings, two of whom carry half my genetic information, who have my eyes, my smile, my hair. My family needs me, and I cannot be outsourced, replaced by someone else. I can outsource daily care for a number of hours a day, I can outsource cleaning and cooking, but I cannot outsource what I mean to them. I also need my family. We are a mutually connected and loving unit, often chaotic, mostly imperfect, but they are as inseparable to me as my breath is to my lungs and circulation.

My career is a different thing – I can certainly be replaced. Another GP, another researcher, another academic. Someone with exactly the same skills can slip into my seat and carry on where I left off. If circumstances ever meant I needed to throw it all in – a serious illness, for example – I would have no hesitation in leaving my laptop and handing over to someone else. My career is a thing, not a beautiful breathing living person with a heart, a mind, hands that need to be held, a soul that needs to be nourished.

So what does it mean to me then? Why do my children go to daycare, why am I not there at every 3pm kindy pickup?

To put it simply, my career represents my hopes and dreams. So I am disappointed, no, furious, when parts of “modern” society continue to insist that a woman cannot have a career and be a mother (or be a good mother) at the same time. I got these messages (along with other supportive ones) when I wrote a post about working and stay-at-home mothers. Some comments were: “Children should be brought up by their mothers”. “Childcare is simply barbaric”. “Mothers should be at home with their children”. “What do you think happens when you go off to have your career?” And recently I read a curious blog post about why daycare is bad for children and why working mums are the scum of the Earth. I was infuriated. Apparently if I am not there whenever my precious little ones fall over, I have failed as a mother because I am sending them a message that they are not worthy. Never mind that they run to the arms of their loving carers who are trained in first aid and hugs and who act as my “village”. I. Just. Can’t. Even. I have gone to great lengths to promote tolerance and mutual respect between mothers who choose to work at home or outside the home. I get worked up when I see women deliberately try to tear this down and inflame some kind of ridiculous “mummy war”. But I should stop ranting. And acknowledge others out there who are trying to do the same thing as I am – repair relationships, build tolerance, like this lovely blog post “We Are Not Rivals”.

Consider this. If a little girl says she dreams of becoming a scientist, or an astronaut, or a successful business owner, or whatever it is little girls want to be nowadays, who would dare take that dream away from her? Do we say to our daughters, that’s all well and good darling, but you know you wouldn’t be able to be a good mother at the same time, so you would have to stop once you have children, so why even try? And I am quite certain that we would never say that to little boys.

Is it because of the enduring image of the selfish career woman, daring to put her hopes and dreams above the needs of her family (which is clearly, to be slavishly present in their lives 24/7)? How dare a mother have her own aspirations beyond the family, to have needs of her own! Selfish woman!

Is it also the incredible demands of some professions, requiring long hours of “face time”, travelling, shift work, and inflexible hours?

I have heard, also, of parents putting their career aside for the preschool years and then aiming to revive it once the children are in school. While the 0-3 age is certainly an important time developmentally, childcare becomes a given (from 9-3) once kids are in school, and children are less physically demanding once they are in school, I get the feeling that the demands of parenting schoolchildren can be even greater, in some ways, than those of parenting pre-schoolers.

Let’s get another thing straight. I enjoy my work. It brings me meaning, purpose, direction. I enjoy having goals to shoot for. I also enjoy providing for my family. I do not see why this has to be a dirty thing. Why can’t a woman find satisfaction outside of the home? There is mounting evidence that spending time in daycare is generally not detrimental to children’s emotional and academic development, and having a working mother may confer some benefits to children, especially for their daughters. I take pains to ensure that my children attend a high-quality centre. I am offended at the suggestion that they may develop behavioural problems because of daycare. They most certainly do not.

I do not spend my time attacking stay-at-home mums. I admire and love them as my dearest friends. They are simply mums just like I am. Why do some SAHMs, however, feel they must defend their decisions, the way I am having to defend mine?

But I am clear on this now. I won’t ever let anyone make me feel as though I should give up my hopes and dreams.

I will, however, make a pledge to make this work. Somehow, I will walk that tightrope of being engaged and present for my children and family, while striving for excellence in my career. There will need to be give and take from both – I cannot be at every assembly, I will not be able to be at the tuck shop once a week, my children will have to go to after-school care some days every week. In the same vein, I will not be at every conference, I will turn down some committee memberships, and some papers will have to wait while I have a holiday with my children. But I will be there, morning and night. I will be present on weekends with no covert emailing or working on the laptop unless it is an extraordinary situation. I also want workplaces and schools to buy into family and work-friendly practices. I will lobby for schools to give parents adequate notice before scheduling a Mother’s Day morning tea at the god-awful time of 11am with only a week’s notice, setting working parents up to fail immediately. I will encourage my colleagues and students to strive for work-life balance, not endless hours at the desk. And every night, bar unusual circumstances, I will sit down with my family to dinner, and kiss my children goodnight. Each day I hope to make my children understand that their mother loves them and values them above all else in the world, but that does not mean she has no responsibilities and no joy outside of the home as well. I will also somehow find it in me to demonstrate to my children that a woman, dare I say a parent, can work and raise a family with joy and presence. And if I can do this, I will be able to leave each morning and chase those hopes and dreams with a clear conscience and clean heart.

 

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About a year or so ago I wrote a little post on working and stay-at-home mothers. I had few followers on my blog at the time; blogging was something I did for “fun” and to practise my writing skills. I sat down one evening to pen some thoughts in response to blog posts I had read that attacked both stay-at-home and working mothers. What bs! I thought. There’s two sides to every story. So I wrote a letter, from one mum to another, addressing it to dear friends of mine on both sides of the fence, but also addressing it to myself. I remember getting a tingly feeling after I posted it. Perhaps I had a premonition of what was to come. But never did I expect that it would be viewed by almost 2 million people, that our server would crash because at one stage it was getting 2,000 views an hour, and that my inbox would be flooded with emails from emotional mums and eager magazine editors.

Social media can be brutal as well as enormously supportive and rewarding, and I bore the brunt of some very negative commentary, which only seemed to validate the importance of my message. Some said I was out of touch with real working mothers, such as those without a profession, and those who did NOT want to work. Point taken. Another major criticism of what I wrote was that I was perpetuating the myth of the “good mother”, of the need to put the family needs first (for example, getting up early to exercise).  And that was a very very bad thing.

Since then, I have been thinking about this A LOT, and I have also blogged about the damaging “cult of motherhood” which exhorts self-sacrifice with the promise that it is “all worth it”. And I have to say that I am no longer that mother in those “Letters”. Here’s a post I wrote a while ago that I entitled “The One Thing I Want Mothers To Stop Saying” which explains it.

I’ve heard this too many times. I hear it from patients, from friends, and colleagues. I have said it myself. But even though there is truth in it, I really want mothers to stop repeating this phrase.  Enough is enough.

“It makes me a better mother”.

“It” is usually something the said mother thinks she shouldn’t be doing, or feels guilty about doing. “It” refers to time away from her family, often enjoyable, usually self-care, and is somehow regarded by many people as selfish, unnecessary, or indulgent in some way. “It” is often –

  • time at the gym
  • going to work
  • going for a walk
  • going out for a meal without the children
  • yoga
  • any activity that implies the mother has some protected time away from her children.

Yes, in most cases, mums do come home refreshed and a better mother, better able to engage with her children, happier, and less stressed. And this is a wonderful thing, a positively reinforcing cycle. Health care workers often use this phrase to somehow entice mothers away from their profound responsibilities of caring for their families. The oxygen mask analogy is trotted out – put your oxygen mask on first so you can then attend to your children and family. You can’t care for them if you’re not well. Etc etc. I’m guilty of using this to encourage my patients to take better care of themselves.

But it has to stop.

Why? Because we are human beings first and mothers second, or third, or however we choose to see it. Why is it that once a woman becomes a mother she is expected to put her needs at the very last? We know that working mothers feel so guilty about not being with their children 24/7 that they will sacrifice their own sleep and leisure time to see to their “responsibilities” when at home. Stay-at-home mothers have to justify every minute that their children might spend outside of their care, for example in childcare. But why is it that we must always reference our roles as mothers when justifying time “off”? At the risk of grossly over-generalising, how often do we hear fathers saying “Oh man that was a good night out with the boys. It really makes me a better father”. While I am not suggesting that this phenomenon affects all women, nor that fathers do not ever put their families’ needs above their own, I base this post on what I have heard over and over again in the past few years as a mother, a doctor, and a friend. Why, just in the last week, I have heard it four times from different mothers.

When we lose the ability to consider that we have needs too, that we are human beings, when we start believing that our needs for sleep, relaxation, social interaction (with adults!) and physical activity are only important in the context of our ability to perform the role of mothering, we fall into very dangerous territory. We martyr ourselves. We put conditions on ourselves – when you do this, will you come back a better mother? Will your children benefit? We send a message to ourselves that we have no intrinsic worth as human beings beyond the work we do as mothers.  

I want all mothers to look after themselves, and to proudly say that their self care makes them a better person. It makes them a healthier, happier, more relaxed person. It enhances their quality of life. It gives them energy, brings a smile to their face. I want mothers to say that they go to the gym because they freaking like to go to the gym, not because they come back a better mother. They are going to see their girlfriends because they miss them and want to have a laugh with them. I want mothers to assert their needs for self-care irrespective of the fact that they have children.

And that, my dear followers, is why I am no longer the Mother in those “Letters” any more. I am slowly putting myself back in the picture. I am systematically exterminating guilt while continuing to think about the combined needs of my family – which includes me.

Amen.  

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By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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I hate to jinx it, but very recently my children have become easier, for want of a better word. They are five and two now, and are the best of friends. They play adorable games together which allows me to have cups of tea in peace. My five-year-old can wipe her own bottom (yay!), shower herself, and get her own snacks. My two-year-old is talking well now, and can tell us what he wants; while we still have tantrums, and the sight of him in restaurants still conjures up a mix of pity and terror from fellow diners, he can sit still for longer, have conversations, and is generally happy. At times, I am even that mother sitting and reading while her children colour or play quietly. (For about five minutes).

Proof that life has become a little bit more bearable is this.

Making a prawn and fennel bisque. Like, from Gourmet Traveller! From scratch! Who would have thought?
Making a prawn and fennel bisque. Like, from Gourmet Traveller! From scratch! Who would have thought?

I’m cooking again. Real cooking. Not throwing things hastily into the oven, churning out boring casseroles, or relying on good old spag bol. On weekends anyway, I feel remnants of the old me returning – the one who loved to cook elaborate meals, involving many ingredients, much simmering and sautéing and chopping, and the type that is celebrated with the clink of glasses at the dinner table and “Compliments to the chef!” I am able to do this mostly because my two-year-old has now been surgically extracted from my leg, and no longer needs to be in bed by 6:30pm.

This state of affairs sounds quite delicious, I know, to other parents who are still in struggle-town. I was there not long ago. I do not remember now what exactly made it so hard – the pain is all a blur. I do remember that it was freaking hard, and that I was miserable at times, and that I cried occasionally. I remember everything being a struggle with my toddler – each simple task of living like getting dressed and eating was an enormous and often physical and loud battle. I remember the 12 months or more of 5am wake-ups – of sitting on the couch in the dark with a wide-awake baby, the whole household asleep, wondering how on earth I was going to stay awake until 8:30pm. I remember being so tired at night my eyeballs felt like they were going to fall out of my head. I remember a lot of food on the floor.

And yet I worked and studied full-time, nine days a fortnight. Truth be told, going to work was an escape in many ways. Whenever I was tired, I reminded myself that being at home would have exhausted me just as much. Still, looking back, I don’t know I did it. I do remember making a pledge to connect and engage with my children to the fullest, despite the challenges, and to live these precious and exhausting years with more joy and less guilt. I do feel that I have done that. I have kicked mother guilt in the ass. And while I have trouble remembering the exact details of the pain, I remember the exquisite joys as though they were yesterday. I can taste and smell them; I can feel the little hands in mine still. These are etched in my memory.

I am not much different to any other parent. I do not have extraordinary challenges – just the everyday, mundane challenges of parenting small children while working. I do have flexibility, a reasonable salary (as a GP anyway, not as a student…) and find meaning in my work. But mostly, I coped because I took things one day at a time. (I had no choice really). And I know that new, different challenges are to come. But I want to pen some encouragement to every parent who is still in that dark, hazy time of raising small children. (Studies show that parents are generally as happy as compared to people without kids, except for those with preschool-aged children. These people are pretty unhappy and stressed). Perhaps you have the dreaded combination of two under two. Perhaps you have a ten-week-old, and have just been through the most difficult ten weeks of your life. Whatever the case may be, I want to say this to you, with all my heart.

Take things one day at a time.  

But make a promise to do your best every day. 

Some days, your best will disappoint you. That’s ok. Be kind to yourself. You’re just doing the best you can, and you’ve never done this before. Every phase makes you an absolute novice at parenting again. But tomorrow is another day.  

Some days will be very dark. This just means you are right in the middle of the tunnel and the light cannot be seen yet. But if you keep moving forward, there is a light. It’s bright and very beautiful. It will make you cry tears of joy.  

Every day, connect at least once with your children, and once with yourself, even if only for a moment before you shut your eyes at night. Be grateful at the end of the day, breathe, and start again tomorrow.  

It’s ok to “lean out” during these years. It’s ok to say you’ve got too much on your plate right now. You have. It’s crazy. But it won’t last forever.  

If the days are too dark, talk to someone straight away.  

One day at a time, the days will roll excruciatingly slowly into weeks, and months, and then a year or two. You will look back and that cliché will escape your lips-  “They are growing up too fast!” Stupid cliché. But it’s true. 

But I know that seems far away now. I know how hard it can be. But don’t blink. Take it all in. 

One day at a time. That’s all you need to do. The best is yet to come, but in some ways the best is with you right now. That’s the exquisite conundrum of parenting.

When you come out of that tunnel, I hope you come out with more joy, less guilt, and no regrets. And eventually you too will be stirring prawn bisque in the kitchen, glass of wine in hand, like me. (If that kind of thing floats your boat). 

x

 

By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
At the very least, photographs of tantrums make for hilarious 21st birthday party slideshows. By Kyle Flood from Victoria, British Columbia, Canada (Waaah!) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
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Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!
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Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!
Happy birthday to my princess. And hello to fondant cakes!

At the start of this week I wasn’t feeling very good about myself. I was facing a week of extraordinary juggling of roles and responsibilities, and to put it plainly, I was grumpy. Grumpy that I had so much on, grumpy, even, that I had said yes to some of the things I had. Let’s take a look at the week that was and how it went, because it’s clear from the title of my post that I found unexpected (or perhaps expected) joy in much of what I did.

Monday morning: Go to baking store with four year old. Spend $120 on cake making equipment for her birthday cake. Perhaps I should have outsourced? Never mind. Browsing aisles of coloured fondant and plunger cutters gave me so much glee it almost felt illegal. 

Monday lunchtime: Meeting with Kindergarten teachers about the nut allergy incident from last week. Get handed a bunch of forms to fill out. Brain explodes slightly, but am grateful for the opportunity to discuss this very serious issue, which has now been resolved. 

Monday afternoon: Submit journal article to none less than the Lancet (which has a 99% rejection policy). Get quite excited when I don’t get rejected within the first 3 hours. 

Monday evening: Frost first birthday cake, followed by work on conference presentation until 11pm. Exhausted. 

Tuesday: Clinic. Am grumpy because of impending teleconference at 7:30pm. Think of pulling out. 

Tuesday afternoon: Teleconference cancelled. Mood lifts! Text husband, who immediately suggests we go and watch the Avengers. 

Tuesday night: Go out for dinner and watch Avengers Age of Ultron, which was tolerable because of my favourite character Ironman was in it. Kids are with Mum who is visiting us from interstate. Eat a choc top. Bed at 12:30am. Yawn!

Wednesday morning: Parent helper morning at kindergarten. Bring birthday cake along. Four year old is very excited, says it is a “really special day”. Listen to some awful knock knock jokes. Learn some Italian songs. Four year old cries when I leave, makes quite a scene. Wonder if I have done the right thing.

Wednesday afternoon: Supervision meeting with my Honours student, followed by practice presentation for upcoming conference talk. Get lots of “feedback”. Realise I have to change half my presentation. Brain starts to throb slightly. 

Wednesday evening: intend to go for a run but am too tired. In bed when the kids go to sleep. Paper is still not rejected by the Lancet! Get a glimmer of hope. 

Thursday morning: Work on presentation. 

Thursday afternoon: Hairdresser appointment. Finish reading Brene Brown’s book. 

Thursday evening: Run followed by dinner and then frost second birthday cake which, to my relief, was a success. Fondant is easier than I thought to work with! Why have I not done this before? Consider offering to make birthday cakes for our our friends and family. Slap myself a little bit. 

Friday morning: Paper is rejected by the Lancet. Resubmit to another journal. 

Friday lunchtime: Give a tutorial. Thoroughly enjoy being around “young people”. Their jokes are funny! Feel a little bit young again. Also feel thankful that I had my grey highlights covered the day before. 

Friday afternoon: Home early to make decorations from fondant with my four year old, to put on the cake. The cake is finally done and all ready for the big party on the weekend! 

Well that was my week. Looking back, it was such a wonderful and full week, and I came out of it feeling really really good. Why? Because I had made the decision to make every single scrap of my day count, to spend it only doing things that were meaningful, rejuvenating, important, or that would make someone else important to me happy (or me happy). And the teleconference, for a voluntary position on a committee, was one of the things I had reluctantly said yes to but felt that I shouldn’t. Once that was taken out of the equation for the week, the rest of my week was authentic, honest and very satisfying, inasmuch as it involved jumping (leaping?) from one role to another.

I feel like I am giving an Oscar speech now, because I cannot do this juggling without flexibility. The nature of what I do is not time-based but outcome-based. This makes my week very flexible, apart from my clinic day, and allowed me to take two hours off to volunteer to sharpen pencils at kindergarten. Of course it’s not about sharpening pencils but about doing something that meant a lot to my daughter. But yes, thank you flexibility, and may you grace the work weeks of everyone else.

I also cannot do this juggle without a healthy disdain for meals that require hours of preparation. Meals this week consisted of baked salmon (in the oven and off to the gym!) and tacos with grilled pork and guacamole. In the big picture, time doing things I love is more important than spending hours in the kitchen, but I still do pump out home-cooked meals for every single weeknight.

Thirdly, sleep. I skimped on it for the first two nights and started to feel pretty grizzly. Then amazing after catching up on sleep. Sleep is the working mama’s secret ingredient.

Fourthly, fun and self care. Respect for the “date night”. Making the time in a busy week to get my hair done. I’ve given lip service to self care before and this week I had to force myself to pay attention to it (or rather the state of my hair forced me).

And lastly. The realisation that I am juggling very very good things and even things that bring me joy. Sitting in on an kindergarten Italian lesson and laughing at four-year-old jokes? Joy. Making birthday cakes? Joy. Even the tutorial, tacked on to the end of the week and seen as yet another time stealer, was joyful because I was teaching, and because it was fun. So I am filled with joy and gratitude, on this Saturday morning, for the week that was. An amazing week of work and love. And choc-tops. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a birthday party to organise :)

PS. Sunday evening. Party was a success. I cannot believe she is almost five. They do grow up fast… after the toddler years :)

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Two days ago, during a meeting, I got the dreaded phone call from kindergarten.

“She’s had an anaphylactic reaction”, they said. “The ambulance is on its way. How soon can you get here?”

It turns out they meant an allergic reaction, thankfully, but still that call was enough to send my heart pounding, and see me racing to collect my things in a slightly delirious haste, and run out the door.

But even though this unfortunate mistake of both kindergarten parent who sent birthday party food in with nuts accidentally, and teacher who didn’t check, meant that my child’s face swelled up and she threw up three times, I am grateful, once crises are over, that they come along at all.

I am grateful because nothing puts your true priorities into focus more blindingly than the experience of running down the street desperately trying to hail a taxi so you can get to your sick child’s side.

At that moment, it’s crystal clear what’s really important. And I’m ashamed to say that of late, it is mostly these crises that remind me. I tend to forget and become focussed on what doesn’t really matter. Just that morning I had a thought, as I scurried around Uni doing this and that, being “busy”, that I was so absorbed in work that I wasn’t really living the moment.

But during an emergency, I suddenly remember.

My laptop and what’s on it isn’t the most important thing. I couldn’t care less at that point.

Money isn’t the most important thing.

Having clean floors is definitely not important.

The most important, the dearest and most precious things to me, are the people that I love, and making them happy and safe. Being with them. 

Health is important. So valuable and so underappreciated, until it’s gone.

Time is important. Time to spend with the cherished ones in your life. Living each moment to its fullest.

I’m not saying that it’s good to live with crisis after crisis, unresolved; this is extremely stressful and damaging and sadly, is the reality for many people. Neither am I suggesting that we should neglect planning for the future, and managing our finances. These things clearly are necessary, though they tend to pale in comparison when the safety of a loved one is at stake. Who would rather have lots of money in the bank than be able to hold a frightened but healthy and alive child in their arms, or speak to Mum on the phone to hear that her biopsy results were all normal?

Our little crisis settled quickly, with the help of antihistamines, the reassurance of the nice paramedics, and lots of TLC. The appropriate steps have been initiated to strengthen the policy around not bringing nuts in. The poor parent rang me to apologise from the bottom of her heart, which I appreciated.

Crises like these are what I call my “reset” button. All the rubbish that was building up in my head is now cleared. I’m back on track again. But I don’t want to rely on crises to help me rethink my priorities, so I’m (re) starting a daily gratitude practice, to ensure that I’m fully appreciating and living every single day instead of missing out. Because you never know what tomorrow will bring.

What about you? What helps you to “reset” your priorities?

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