I’ve just realized that when I’m exercising I take responsibility for the whole room. Let me clarify: I’m not teaching this class, just working out. But I feel compelled to smile encouragingly to the newbie, notice when the person behind me seems exhausted, and worry about the folks who are off-rhythm. I watch the clock, check out the muscle tone on the (much) younger woman in front of me, and wonder how much work I’ll get done when I get home. Recently, after about a year of this distracted exercising, I decided to just focus on the small bubble of space I inhabit and pretend nothing else exists.

This has become my new strategy. This summer I’m trying to finish a monograph, at least the bulk of it, before September. Meanwhile this is the last summer before my daughter enters kindergarten and I fantasized about long, relaxed days at the park. In addition, I’d like to spend more one-on-one time with my stepdaughter. And I should organize the four classes I’ll be teaching in the fall. Oh, and go on more romantic dates with my husband, perhaps even initiate 100-days of sex. And there’s that 8 pounds I’d love to lose, linen cabinets I’d like to reorganize, and a bunch of creative non-fiction I’ve been brewing.

While it’s true that I could achieve any one of these goals, I can’t do all of them, and I’m not sure it’s useful to even think about all of them. According to recent research, multi-tasking is counter-productive. Mothering (and teaching and chairing a department) is inherently a multi-task job. And although recent research shows that the female brain is actually better developed to multi-task, I’d rather conform to the stereotype of the absent-minded (male) professor, unaware of mundane everyday realities. I, for one, am tired of “tracking.” I’d rather be pleasantly myopic.

Either way, all of my projects are not going to get done this summer. So I say, let this be the summer that mama works on her book. The dishes can linger in the sink, the cobwebs may not get swept, my daughter won’t get enrolled in tennis lessons until she’s 6 (gasp), and my husband may not walk around in a state of bliss. And heck, maybe my book won’t get published at all. But at least I will have given it my best shot.

I can live with that.

Psychology is a second career for me. I returned to graduate school at age 36, and turned 40 during my internship year.

I interned at a VA hospital in Durham, North Carolina. Because I wanted to diversify my experience and, especially, to work for and with more women, I chose to pursue a simultaneous semester-long placement at the Duke University Diet and Fitness Center. I enjoyed learning about methods of addressing eating disorders and got along well with staff and clients. When the semester ended, they offered me a paid position, performing diagnostic interviews and counseling clients, in the evenings after my VA shift. I enjoyed this a great deal as well.

My purpose in taking an in internship in NC was to explore whether my husband and I would be happy relocating. We decided we wouldn't be, so at its completion, I moved back to New York. I stayed in touch with my former supervisors and colleagues at Duke. Because a number of their clients were New Yorkers who wished to see a therapist with expertise in eating disorders when they returned home, I had a steady stream of referrals. I kept up with the literature in the field and, when in doubt, called a former supervisor to consult.

A year or so after my return, I saw an ad for an entry-level therapist at a university counseling center. The ideal applicant, the ad read, would have experience in working with eating disorders. I sent in my resume and cover letter and waited.

I did not get a call, but a friend who had a no relevant experience was interviewed. We were both puzzled about this. Our degrees were both fairly recent, and both from well regarded schools. Our training experiences were similar—including stints at the counseling centers of our respective universities—except for my additional training in eating disorders.

I happened to mention this to another therapist friend, who knew one of the secretaries in the counseling center. She offered to ask what the story was.

A few days later, my friend got back to me. "They have orders to check the dates of everyone's college graduation," she said. "They're supposed to discount anyone over 40. They don't think an older person can relate to undergraduates.

"She says that if you quote her she'll deny it," my friend added. "She wants to hold on to her own job."

I thought this was crazy. Not everyone attends college straight out of high school. And young people who are away from home for the first time, and frightened about out-of-control eating and/or purging, are as likely to want to talk to a mother figure as a peer. Besides, I doubted that anyone coming in at this level could have better experience or recommendations than mine. But I didn't see any way to address it.

That was my only overt experience of ageism. I have been turned down for other jobs, of course, but it has never been clear that this was the reason, and I have had fairly good luck in finding congenial employment. But I have heard similar reports from other mature women, and I think it is important to take them seriously.

Mothers are more likely than women without children or men (with or without children) to get a late start in their careers, and to progress slowly in their fields. Thus, mature women are often in the position of seeking entry-level positions. This is another way the system can work against mothers: They are expected to put their careers on hold when their children are young, then penalized for starting out later than their peers.

I don't have an answer, but I think the issue is worth discussing. Ideas?

Have a question for the Career Coach? E-mail her.

The first few weeks of graduate school, several facts became apparent. I am sure that I should have realized these long before moving to a new city and beginning a Ph.D. program, but I have to admit that I did not. They have, however, strongly influenced the path my life has taken, and deserve some discussion.

The first thing that I learned is the one could not, and should not, hope to find a position in a school that was ranked anywhere near where our graduate program was ranked. Of course, to someone who was not closely plugged into the internal ranking system of my discipline, this had little to no meaning. After all, my ideal job at that point in my life was at a small, preferably Jesuit, college where I could become a master teacher and still maintain my research. This type of job was, of course, not what most ranking systems would place at the top of their list. The irony is that it took a rather non-linear path in life to help me find a job that is very close to my own ideal and which I would not have considered when I first entered the labor market.

The second thing I learned was that the academic labor market was a national market. This meant that one could expect to have to move to find a job. Indeed, being flexible and open to moving was almost a requirement for finding a good job. As I had partially chosen a graduate program because it was in the same region of the country as my parents and sister, this meant that I could expect to have to move far from my family of origin when it came time to graduate. But that was long off, and this detail of the academic labor market did not disturb me at that time.

However, as I now raise a family hundreds of miles from my parents, and see women around me relying on grandma to watch their children and see that their parents have the chance to watch their grandchildren grow up, I realize the true cost of this labor market. Of course, I am lucky in that I live in the same place as my own family; that is not always the case in the academic labor market .

I recall a young woman I once met who was entering a religious order. She had a good point when she said that you can make decisions in life in two ways. One way was to choose the people you want to be with, and then find work wherever you land. The other is to choose your work, and then find the people to live your life with wherever your work takes you. I would like to think that I would want to choose people first, and then find work, but I know this is not really possible with an academic job. I originally arrived (alone) to Cleveland to find my first job. I then found my husband and daughter here, and have built my life around them. I now have no intention of leaving any time soon.

When I moved to Cleveland, I left the East Coast, where I had grown up and spent my life up to that point. This week, I return to New England to spend a week with my parents, my sister and her family, and my 98 year old grandmother. I look forward to seeing the people I left behind, and the new people who have since joined the fold, especially my two year old niece who is excited to see my own daughter. I suspect that our arrival from land-locked Ohio may lead to what economists call a “demand shock” in the market for sea food, as I intend to spend much of that time savoring food that one just does not find in the Midwest. And so, as I enjoy my lobsters, I send greetings to everyone from the East Coast. I will see you back in Ohio soon enough. For now, I am spending time with the people who made me who I am.

After being in a relationship with my current partner for almost as long as my marriage lasted, I decided that it was time to read about stepparenting. Even though I’m the one with the biological children, and my partner’s the stepparent, the title — The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Stepparenting -- convinced me to buy the book…

My partner’s first long-term relationship was with a woman who had a toddler, so Ted had some prior experience in the stepdad arena. I took it as a good sign that Ted has stayed in touch with this child as he has grown up, and that they now contact each other several times a year. As a biological parent dejected by divorce, the most that I hoped for from my new experiment in cohabitation with Ted and my children was that we could all just get along and respect each other. Anything above this level seemed like gravy.

My children have never called Ted “Dad,” nor has he wanted them to. He has always been “Ted, my Mom’s friend” or just “Ted.” (I’m working on the “partner” title with them). My children have never wanted us to marry, nor have they ever wanted Ted to leave the family picture. Ted is fun — he rides bikes, plays volleyball, teaches my kids how to make movies — and, importantly, keeps their mother sane and happy. He travels with me as much as is financially possible on my bimonthly trips to my Florida home. In fact, during one of my visits from Chicago, my son asked me, “So, next time, can Ted fly down instead of you?

As my children have turned into teenagers, tensions between my teens, their traveling academic mom and her partner seem to have increased. I have grown more concerned about stepparenting as teen hormones have ‘invaded’ my children. Suddenly my children are asking more questions about divorce, marriage, about relationships in general, or having children of their own… As they become young adults, my teens seem more resentful at being directed to change or alter their behavior by someone who is not their biological parent.

My partner has frequently pointed out the importance of asking older children questions instead of simply barking orders at them. When my daughter acted inappropriately in front of Ted and an adult friend on one trip recently, my partner asked that she write him a story explaining her behavior. I was the one who was furious at my daughter and demanded that she apologize to both adults immediately. My daughter explained to Ted (not to me) that she was upset that we were heading for the airport in a few hours and would soon separate. He got the better story (and more authentic apology) from her. I got resentful silence.

In spite of displaying a bit of parenting exhaustion, my partner maintains a consistent dedication to interacting with his ‘stepchildren’ (a fact for which I am eternally grateful). But it was my partner’s bemused retelling of a story about a friend of his -- also a stepdad -- who plans on “liking his stepchildren when they're older” that gave me some pause and led me to buy Ericka Lutz’s The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Stepparenting. The book covers the stepparenting role from a variety of helpful angles, and is focused primarily on the stepparent’s role and feelings -- not the child’s.

I do not mean to write a book review of the Idiot’s Guide, but I did identify one interesting fact in it that led me to do further research. Lutz notes in a 1994 study by Larry Bumpass that “half of the 60 million children under the age of 13 in the United States are currently living with one biological parent and that parent’s current partner.” I found in another study covering cohabitation trends that “roughly two-thirds of all women and 30% of all children will spend some time in a step-family” (Bumpass, Raley and Sweet 1995). The statistics for cohabitation with stepchildren — living together with one or both partners having children -- show no signs of declining. We had better start talking about stepparenting more.

I think one of the easiest ways for a culture to fully embrace the role of the stepparent (and to leave behind the Cinderella stereotypes) is to draw from the Nigerian Igbo proverb that Hilary Clinton also drew from for her book -- "Ora na azu nwa" or “It takes a village to raise a child.” Any long distance parent should understand this proverb intimately. As my own children age, I continue to draw upon and remain grateful for the energy of my partner, as well as for my other adult friends who assist me with helping my children feel supported, protected, loved and respected.

It’s not really that hard. Any idiot can do it…

For the past nearly two months I’ve been working towards some sort of new normal as I recover from and work with my doctors to figure out how to live with the illness I never dreamed would turn our family life so utterly on its head. Since then we’ve been taking one day at a time, each day assessing whether I need to spend extra time in bed on pain killers to get over a bad migraine and whether my husband has to once again skip his work obligations to take the children to one of their activities or take me to a doctor’s appointment. Our parents have all spent time with us, each taking a one to two week shift caring for our household. It’s been an unexpected silver lining for us to have so much time with them, and they give my husband a break to get some of his own work done and get back to academic life. He’s taken over as principle provider of domestic services and chauffer, as well as breadwinner, and he said recently that he’s looking forward to going back to work full-time so he can have a vacation — he’s exhausted! With our families here, I get many greatly appreciated offers to “just go lie down, I’ll take care of this” though it makes it a little more difficult to find ‘normal!’

Since my last post, my illness has been diagnosed at different times as brain stem migraine and viral encephalitis, for which I spent 12 days in hospital on a course of intra-venous anti-viral drugs. I should add that despite my tongue-and-cheek tone about the diagnoses, I’ve been very happy with the excellent medical care I’ve received and the thoughtful consideration my doctors have made for the fact that I’m the mother of two young children. When they saw how difficult it was for our family to be separated with me in hospital, they arranged for day passes and made accommodations for me to be temporarily unplugged from the IV to visit home. Yesterday was a long awaited appointment with a second neurologist who weighed in on my crazy collection of symptoms with yet a new diagnosis: syndrome of headache, neurological deficits, and cerebrospinal fluid lymphocytosis (or HaNDL, which almost sounds like it was invented as a catch-all for me and my symptoms). Along with the white blood cells in my spinal fluid, migraines, and dizziness, I also have entertaining colorful hallucinations (fairies, dragons, iridescent butterflies, and hammering cartoon characters) which have become an unlikely family source of creativity as I describe the latest over breakfast and my son later reproduces them, based on my descriptions, in his drawing journal at school. Fortunately his teacher is aware of my neurological problems, since I’ve not yet received any worried phone calls or visits from social workers to investigate my seven-year-old son’s involvement with mind-altering drugs as the inspiration for his art.

My most frustrating symptoms, however, are cognitive deficits. Often it’s difficult to read and process a passage of text, and I’m a slower writer. My arithmetic skills, never sharp, are also slow because I get distracted or lose my place. Sometimes it’s simply a problem of not finding the right word to finish a sentence or being unable to remember a name. Other times I do some quirky things that I simply can’t explain, like putting ketchup in my lemon soda and toothpaste in my contact lens case. We just try to laugh off these behaviors. “What, you’d think you have a brain virus or something,” my husband teases. However, the things that keep me awake at night are the mindless or potentially dangerous things I do, such as turning on the wrong burner on the stovetop, or becoming confused when I’m out shopping and can’t figure out how to go down the “up” escalator. I begin to question my competence to care for my children, and I don’t drive for fear I’ll do something dumb (my doctors concur).

Usually I’m pretty positive, but on a recent sleepless night I lay awake worrying about what’s happened to me and where this is going. Here I’d spent so much time and energy advocating for the satisfaction of stay-at-home parenting and pursuit of academic interests part-time, and now because of my brain health both are difficult to do. Of course, I was still Mom even if Dad, Grandmas, Grandpas, and friends had to do some of the physical and practical parts of my job. As my mind wandered I remembered a Mama PhD piece that I’d read three months ago. In her April 1 post, Elizabeth Coffman wrote about her recovery from serious brain injury, and remembering that she also wrote about being afraid of her inability to parent her own children brought me comfort. I was very moved by her piece when I first read it, never realizing that despite the differences in circumstances of our particular health situations what resonance her story would have with me in a few weeks to come. She went back to her work as a film- maker to help with her own recovery. Reading her story again has helped me realize that I need to get back to work too. I don’t think I can find ‘normal’ until I immerse myself in things I used to do — maybe in small, patient steps at first.

So I’m back to some of the housework, and taking my shift in supervising the bedtime parade. And it’s very satisfying to be cooking again, except I have to stay away from knives—my hand-eye coordination is not what it used to be. As my four-year-old daughter said so supportively to me, “Mamma, you need to take knife lessons — when your brain is fixed.”

And practicing my other skills is important too. I know the only way I’ll feel confident in my communication and math ability is to use them. My husband has devised regular cribbage therapy to help me practice my math skills; unfortunately he usually wins, so I refuse to play for quarters yet. And writing this blog is a big step in healing, a way to reassure myself that I can, despite my temporary set-backs in brain function, express ideas, think, and create.

We leave for a six-week stay in England next Monday. In between now and then I have to finish my annual review, write a book review, hold a workshop on a novel for YA librarians, convene a committee meeting, and pack. I think I have a couple of personal appointments in there as well — haircut? Dermatologist? I trust to my google calendar to pop up a reminder in enough time for me to get where I need to be. Then there’s the figuring out our travel part, and the planning my summer course part. I’m shelving those for the moment while I work on the more pressing matters.

Whoever said academics got summers off was, apparently, living in a fantasy world. Unfortunately, whoever invented the stereotype of the absent-minded professor may not have been quite so wide of the mark. I’ve not missed an appointment yet, but I did forget to bring the right materials to a committee meeting (in my defense, my son had just been diagnosed with Lyme disease — he’s fine now, but for a few days I was a little scattered). And an e-mail today reminding me of the meeting with the young adult librarians had my heart racing for a minute until I realized that, no, I hadn’t missed it. Yet.

My mention of google calendar, above, is not totally gratuitous, though it’s not an advertisement, either. I’m still searching for the Holy Grail of organizing, the one tool — or two or three, if that’s what it takes—that will keep me on task, prepared for the next, and never overbooked. At the moment I juggle four calendars. We keep a big desk blotter sized calendar on a bulletin board near the kitchen for family events. That works pretty well — we remember to note when guitar and tae kwon do lessons are, as well as the odd hair appointment or doctor visit. If it’s a family responsibility, it’s usually there.

But then there are my personal calendars — and yes, that is a plural. I keep the main one on google calendar. It’s web-based and flexible, but I haven’t yet figured out how to link an e-mail message to a task or an appointment the way I used to with MS-Entourage—so I still maintain that one for recurring events or to remind me of tasks that may have e-mail notifications as well (e-bills, for example).

I also carry a small appointment book in my purse. Mostly, however, I use it to take note of book titles I want to look up, or funny road signs, that sort of thing. I’m not disciplined enough about copying the electronic calendar reminders into it to trust it as a record, though I do—usually—manage to copy dates out of it into the electronic one(s) when necessary.

I recently learned that I could sync my iPod with the calendar program that lives on my MacBook — and that the Mac program could sync with google calendar. So there’s a possibility, too — though, again, it requires a certain discipline in terms of actually synching up the calendars to get everything copied over when necessary. It’s no problem when my schedule doesn’t change much, but at this time of year, when I don’t have a regular schedule but I still have lots to do, it’s a little less efficient.

Folks who’ve seen my office know that organization is not my strong suit. I do meet my deadlines, and I usually manage to keep things running when I need to. But if anyone out there has tips for me, I’m open to them — if I can manage to find them again when I need them! (By the way, I’ll be off next week while we travel to the UK; I hope to be back the following week, though, and maybe I’ll have a report on my reformed organizational strategies. Hope springs eternal!)

I am a 55-year-old woman with a Ph.D. in economic history, 6 books and quite a few scholarly articles on international economics and human rights issues. The bulk of my work focuses on current policies. I have procured grants from major foundations and my university as well as corporations. I have worked at two think tanks that went under, and now I work essentially as an adjunct. I have tried for the last 3 years to get a job at a school of international affairs at the associate level, but in the end they never hire me. Any advice? I believe I suffer from two problems: age and that I am truly multidisciplinary. I have a lot of fundraising and project management experience, but I am also not able to get jobs as an administrator. Any suggestions for how I might do a better job marketing myself?

--Susan

Dear Susan:

It seems to me that your letter covers two issues: ageism and the challenge of marketing multidisciplinary experience.

Ageism can be difficult to address, because it is so seldom overt. A potential employer can openly question your suitability for a particular position based on the diversity of other positions you have held, allowing you to address any reservations head-on. But if a department is looking for a younger person, either you will be immediately eliminated based on the dates on your CV, or you will be called in for a token EEOC-compliant interview at which no one will show much interest in your ideas or accomplishments.

It may be helpful to look at why some employers are reluctant to hire workers who are middle-aged or older. Common perceptions about mature workers include the following:

• They resist direction from younger deans or department heads.
• They are technophobic.
• They are inflexible in their thinking and set in their ways.
• Their passion for their subject has necessarily waned with age and experience. They may be looking only for a safe haven until retirement.

These stereotypes are unfair, as is the extra work needed to counter them. Presumably, however, as a woman in academia, you are accustomed to combating silly preconceptions. This is no different.

Depending on the specific position you are seeking and your own strengths, you may wish to find ways to stress your adaptability, flexibility, comfort level with technology, and/or openness to direction and new ideas both in your cover letter and in any interviews. You can talk, for example, about exposure to exciting ideas and the wealth of collegial expertise as benefits of working in a university setting. It might be helpful if your letters of recommendation mentioned these qualities as well.

It's insulting to have to think this way, I know, but I don't know what else to tell you. Maybe readers have other suggestions.

Regarding your multidisciplinary background, Cheryl Torok Fleming, assistant dean for teaching and learning of the College of Adult and Professional Studies at the Greenwood Education Center of Indiana Wesleyan University, suggests that you take advantage of the breadth of your experience: "First of all, I think the writer should expand her reach in searching for a job. She states that she has applied at a school of international affairs. Perhaps she should not limit herself in this way, and should look at some private colleges or smaller universities or community colleges. In addition, her skill areas should be quite marketable -- economics! There are never enough econ profs to go around. Also, I wonder if she is able to take advantage of the market for overseas professors and administrators. Finally, some folks from higher ed have found niches in the consulting or research fields in business and industry, although I am not sure of the viability of that market now, given the economic downturn. Maybe she should also check into non-profit organizations."

Fleming also wonders whether your resume and cover letters are up to date and effective marketing tools. If you aren't getting interviews, you may wish to arrange for a professional resume review.

Naturally, you will continue to stay active in your field, attending conferences and serving on committees, where you will give other professionals — who may be hiring or know someone who is — the opportunity to experience your skills and collegiality at first hand.

Have a question for the Career Coach? E-mail her.

You may have heard the comment that the “three best things about teaching are June, July and August”. Those of us who are actually teachers know this is not exactly true. For some of us, the summer just presents an opportunity to earn some additional income, or, as in my case, to also maintain my department’s presence on campus and in the community by offering summer courses. For most, it is truly only two months long, as our contracts extend from mid-August to mid-June, and we are back to work long before September actually arrives. And for everyone who realizes they need to publish or risk perishing as professionals in their fields, this is actually a short “sabbatical” that allows us a chance to pound out some research, not exactly the “vacation” that some outside of the academy think it is. Nevertheless, summer is certainly a magical time that offers a chance to slow down and celebrate life. I realized this last week as I took my daughter to “opening day” at the public pool.

As I watched my daughter’s muscles remember how to swim after a long cold Cleveland winter of being bundled up, I savored the moment in the sunshine. In the years since my recovery from a serious illness, summer has come to represent my own experience of living again, after thinking I was going to die. I remember vividly the bike trip to Martha’s Vineyard the summer after my surgery, as I peddled across the island and felt “alive-ness” in every inch of my being, from my toes to my eyes. Indeed, it is summer that I use to describe the experience of having come so close to dying and then had the opportunity to live again. “It is as if even the worst of times is a warm summer day savored in sparkling turquoise water” is the way I explain it. It is a time to slow down and remember why we love life so much that we have found a way to get paid to study it. It is a time for cook-outs, warm breezes in our hair, sand between our toes and sunshine on our skin. It is a time for joy. But I think my daughter captured the life-affirming nature of summer best as we pulled up to the pool last week when she said what ware actually very profound words. “Summer always comes back.”

My best to everyone as we begin this most amazing of seasons. May it be both productive and relaxing.

Although I became a mother late in life, two girls have been teaching me about parenting for the past several years: the 15 year old girl I mentor and my 16 year old step-daughter. Of course, mentoring and (non-custodial) step-mothering is not the same as parenting. It is much less intense and you do not make important decisions in that girl’s life. However, I know from my own experience as a step-daughter that step-mothers and mentors can have profound, lasting effects.

I have known Stacia, the girl I mentor, for the past 10 years –longer than I’ve known my husband. I’ve watched her grow from a somewhat hyper, cute 6 year old into a poised, articulate young woman who makes me laugh out loud. She’s been raised by a single father and the absence of her mother has been a topic of conversation between she and I, and has caused me to think a lot about the importance of mothering. In addition, she’s helped “train” me as a mother, taught me how to deal with tantrums, play dress up, plan activities, and relish the wonderfully unpredictable utterances of outspoken girls (I’d give examples of the hilarious things she says, but she’d kill me!). Although I became a Big Sister in order to “make a difference” in her life, I’ve lost track of that goal; we have a relationship and I can’t imagine my life
without her.

My relationship with my step-daughter began in a less intentional, but typical way: I fell in love with her father and decided to make a life with him. I met her and liked her, but I don’t think I realized what a big part she (and by extension, her mother) would play in my life. Being a step-mother is more complex than mentoring. I am very aware of the negative stereotypes step-mothers carry. I cringe whenever I read fairy tales to my 5 year old daughter, sometimes substituting “bad lady” for “step mother,” wanting to shield her from the legacy of distrust and poison apples.

This week my 16 year-old step daughter moves in with us for the summer. She is, I hasten to explain, an exception to all of the stories I hear about dreadful teenagers. She is a joy to be around: smart, kind, considerate, and easy-going. Still, it’s an adjustment adding another daughter into our mix, partly because I know that it’s only temporary. Just as we get into a groove, it seems, she is leaving to resume her “regular” life with her mother. I know from personal experience how awkward this transition must be for her. I remember being yelled at by one of my father’s girlfriends because I didn’t know how to operate the washing machine, a chore I wasn’t taught to do in my mother’s house. While many of my friends are jealous that I have this convenient babysitter, I hesitated to use her that way, concerned with being
selfish and worried about intruding on her precious time with her father.

Step mothering is weird, not less when one has been a step-daughter oneself. I had a step-mother that I liked, then feared, then almost hated, and now love. Go figure. Because I remember what it felt like to be the object of my step-mother’s rage, I am (perhaps pathologically) careful not to express anger at my step-daughter. Of course, this is pretty easy, since Ali is unusually well-behaved. Nonetheless, I think I have been paralyzed with fear that I would hurt her in some unintentional way.

Over the years, my relationship with my step-daughter has gotten more comfortable. Part of this is watching her love for my daughter, who in turn adores her beyond anything. This reminds me of my love for my own younger brother, who was born when I was 16. Whatever issues she and I had, my step-mother knew that I love him –her only son—unconditionally. He was the bond that kept us connected, even after my father and step-mother divorced. Now I realize that she is one of the people I call whenever I have important news, or want a confidant to discuss academic politics with (she’s now a professor in another discipline). More important, she’s now “Bubbe” to my daughter, her first “grand-child.”

I don’t know what role I’ll play in Stacia or Ali’s futures. But I know that I’m in their lives for the long run.

With the end of the semester, we packed up our household and headed out to the other side of the country to visit my parents in southern California. We’re staying for two and a half weeks. My whole family always looks forward to these visits tremendously, since, being so far away we see each other rarely. But the first couple days I never enjoy.

The kids miss their friends, the structure of school and homework, their toys, their musical instruments, and need a lot of attention. There aren’t other kids around – the time here is adult-focused. There’s a fair bit of acting up, vying for attention, behaviors that are easier to quell at home. The food is different, and everyone seems to get more finicky. Even though the semester has finished, there’s always all the catch up work to do, the huge email inbox with correspondence that needs catching up. I am helping with two ongoing research projects that, like my kids, really can’t be left unattended for long and with all the time I’ve spent in the last week getting us ready to go, I feel a strong tug in this direction. My parents love seeing the kids, but they also want to visit with my husband and me. We’re just as busy as at home, but our system for dealing with getting it all done while keeping everyone happy is scrambled.

I know from experience that the dynamics get easier as our visit progresses – everyone settles into their space and activity and we all find time to be together. In fact, happily, one of the best ways to ease the transition is for my husband and me to plan a little overnight vacation on our own. So that we have planned. And I remind myself that every year we look forward tremendously to these visits for a reason – they work out well. We just need to get through these first couple days.

This is the beginning of a summer full of transitions. After our visit with my parents we go directly to a marine biology lab where my husband, who has a 9-month appointment, does his “vacation-research” every year (and, with lots of other kids and sitters around, I’m able to balance my work and kid time well). I like these summer travelling “sabbaticals”. Sharing the academic year schedule with my kids and my husband, travelling together, is one of the great perks of academia for me. We start the summer off with a bang, and a crash, and an ouch. But it works.