The way forward

Today I met with the director of the research institute I hope to move to. He is a well-respected scientist, having made significant discoveries in his field that have had international impact. He was a most interesting man and clearly very astute. He was extremely respectful but nevertheless asked incisive, probing questions. It was a delight! He talked about the institute's need for leadership in the role I am proposing to hold, but emphasised that good science should underpin the group's activities. This is the first time someone has clearly outlined a realistic plan to support my science and yet assist my development as an academic leader. Brilliant. Hurrah.

Today was also the first time my husband has taken one of our kids into work for the day with him. I couldn't possibly count the number of times I've dragged kids in to meetings, developed new artwork for every staff member in our group, raided the tea room fridge for milk... What was so impressive about this event was not actually that my husband did this, because he helps more than most men I know. The best part was how excited my 5 year old was when I met to pick them up in the afternoon. He had such a happy day and so much to tell me about and was really enjoying his Dad's company. Of course, there is a bonus to all of this, in that my husband is probably now more inclined to consider repeating this (5yo watched DVD on Dad's laptop during their team meeting, much to the amusement of the group, and then attended lunch with a bunch of visiting professors who were regaled with stories of said DVD etc etc).

Suddenly it all feels achievable. I see now why surfers like riding the crest on a big swell day.

Juggling

Over the Easter break my five year old son decided he'd like to learn how to juggle. This might have something to do with the fact that he's being taken to "Circus school" by his grandmother as part of his holiday break. My husband is a good juggler (literally and metaphorically) so it could also be genes at play...? (Now there's a cute but silly study to do).

Anyway, my mother does in fact have a set of soft, bean filled, juggling sacks. It's the circus theme again, as she really does have a thing about him joining the circus. It's sort of a family joke in a weird and twisted way. So attempt to juggle he did.

Three juggling sacks is hard for a five year old's hands to cope with. Just as you throw one in the air, eyes intently focussed upon it, your other uncontrollable hand sends another of the sacks skyward. Instead though, it spurts out laterally, which totally throws you when you go to fling the third sack of beans up. So it's a veritable mess, this juggling caper. But he kept trying and we had a LOT of laughs as we all took turns to show him that EVERYONE (except Daddy) has difficulty juggling.

And that's the brilliant thing about kids. They go on undeterred. He kept trying and laughing and spewing little bean sacks across the courtyard, into flower pots, across the table and so forth. I have little doubt that one day he'll juggle like a pro and not just with three little red blue and yellow sacks but with five. Or maybe burning torches, like the folk you sometimes see at organic music festivals???

It's nice to see a kid learn to juggle. It relieves the strain of the constant juggle of work, life and that utopian dream of balance between them. My juggling sacks are all over the floor at present. I need lessons from my five year old!

Resolve

After a fitful night of sleep, which hasn't happened to be for years, I was woken this morning to the usual cry of 'oiy wan bwekki' (loosely translated into Mummy speak, means "mother dear, have you woken yet? Oh, I would be ever so grateful for a small repaste. Perhaps some poached eggs with hollandaise on rye?").
oiy wan bwekki mumma.
oiy wan BWEKKI mumma.
OIY WAN BewkKi!!!!!!!!!!!!!.

Ahhhhh... wrestling through the haze into a new day. A mother's delight!

So I got up and tried all the usual stalling tactics ("Mummy sleep in your bed? You play with dolly? Teddy wants to sleep - Look, Mummy put him to sleep, nice and warm in bed [yaaawn]"), but to no avail.

So we cooked eggs (scrambled, not poached) and to-be-ignored mushrooms.
"OIY wan do eet, toats" ("Oh mother, do let me help you. There's no need for you to do all the work. Shall I spread my toast? Would you like a piece").

And I just felt numb. The noise that was my bird's-nest-haired daughter wanting to do far more than a two and half year old can was just so tiresome.

But then as i stood with my cup of lovely morning tea, looking across our dreary back yard, I thought "No. I am not going to let the events of the last 24 hours affect my entire weekend and that of my gorgeous family". We've had a lovely day since, despite the ongoing whine- and whinge-fest that seems to be our lot at present.


All of this just makes me realise how much I've developed over the past few years. It's a gradual process, developing one's sense of 'worker' self. As an adolescent, it's quite acceptable to question who you are in the world, how you relate to this person and that. I did my fair share of testing the limits back then, too! What I never expected was that this process would continue on, punctuated by work-related 'developmental milestones'. Where once I'd have thrown my arms to the sky in surrender, I now feel such a firm sense of resolve to stand my ground and maintain my principles.

PS. The font changes along the way is me testing what on earth was going on trying to post this. It's decidedly pretty though and makes a change from my usual black, green or burgundy style.

Weary

I'm exhausted, but can't sleep. The last two days at work have challenged me to the core. All I can think about is that I've sacrificed things on the home front so that I can try to excel in academia. So when that world starts to implode (people sense something is up in the group) and I'm on the receiving end of that frustration then I do start to wonder whether it's worth it at all. One of my colleagues said I'd lost my chirpy demeanor; up until now I've always been so good at the facade but perhaps the cracks are beginning to show.

Two years ago I was told that women academics with children who choose to work don't deserve special treatment. Who wants special treatment? I just want EQUAL treatment. And not to be chastized in the workplace like a child.

Little girl's just woken from sleep, which is a nice opportunity for a sorely needed cuddle!

Are men better at boundaries?

Just when the dust appeared to settle a newly appointed, only recently qualified, post-doc in my group has said that the role's not for him. This fellow had come very highly recommended and when I met with him about Project A I was duly impressed. I indicated that although I could see a future for him on Project A that at this point in time there was not enough in the budget to appoint a new member of staff. Would he instead like to get a start with the group by working on Project B?

So it seemed all sorted. Of course there's always more to the story. In this case the assistant previously working on Project B recently admitted to another senior investigator that she'd rather given up and left things in a complete mess. Covered her tracks as much as possible with me and then moved interstate (!). So I asked new male post-doc to assist me in getting things back on track and then continuing with data acquisition.

The grumblings started early but yesterday took an unusual turn with NMPD telling me in front of the entire group that he wasn't sure that he'd be happy doing what I asked of him. We met afterwards, whereupon he said "this is too much for me. I feel too stressed out and I'm not sure I want to continue any involvement with Project B. I really want to work on Project A in a consultancy type role".

So........... (yes, that was a lot of basic venting from me - apologies...). I spoke with my colleague, a post-doc who is still trying to work out how she'll fit in kids but who is certain she'll manage. The point I made to her was that perhaps men are just better at boundaries. Perhaps when they don't want to do something they just say no. Their self-worth is not bound up like a woman's by the need to please. But of course, like the little scientist I am, this was merely hypothesis testing and we decided this was utter rubbish. Both of our husbands work in academia and do what it takes to get the job done. They do not check their watch at 3.30 to see whether there is enough time to do the task someone might have asked of them. They do not leave at 4.30 to 'miss' the traffic, having arrived half an hour late to do the same in the morning. Perhaps some people are simply inflexible and let's face it, it's a tad out of date to assume that women 'need to please'.

It's just really made me wonder whether I've developed such a blinkered view of my crazy, busy life that my expectations of others are too high (regardless of whether they're men or women). Have my boundaries lapsed so much that I no longer appreciate what it is to be able to make clear distinctions between work and 'life'? As I sat outside this afternoon watching my little girl potter around the garden digging out weeds and scooping dirt with her trowel I thought that the answer was definitely 'no'.

Men aren't better than women at setting boundaries. It's just that when men say 'no' they're not viewed as weak, or 'not up to the job', or being undedicated. Perhaps that's why the events of the past 24 hours have troubled me. Well, that and the fact that I'm the 'new' research assistant on that project.

Funding for science

It's been a crazy few weeks with all sorts of major funding applications due. It's like an addiction really. The reward rate is very low but when they come, the rewards are high, tangible, brilliant. So we keep going back for more, year in and year out.

So I've done the annual begging and sent myself to the slaughter. My track record remains a bit of a shambles but it's hard to convince male professors that it is a valid choice to want babies and an academic career. It's just hard to do both all at once, particularly since one's most productive post-doc years tend to co-incide with the old tick-tock that biology so kindly throws into the equation. Will I get funded? Almost certainly not. Will I keep trying? Absolutely.

This of course has all taken on a new perspective of late, given that the status of my position will now have a far more direct effect upon others around me. If I don't have funding then my group ceases to exist. Which is ironic, because if I agreed to move with my current boss then I would have guaranteed funding for at least five years. Perhaps my placenta head has never recovered, because that's (objectively at least) really poor decision-making! Lucky we scientists like a challenge...