Joy

Giggle, giggle, BOING, squeak, smile, BOING. Baby dances in the jumper. Drool, drool, giggle BOING. Baby sees the cat. STOP. Look, reach, smile, giggle, BOING. Baby twirls around. Swing, coo, sqeak, giggle, BOING. Baby sees Momma cleaning bottles. Dadda cooking dinner. Squeal, giggle, BOING. Life is good.

I try to remember when I felt such joy as my little man in his jumper. When I was able to let go and let things be. The trees have burst with gold and green, the flowers are blooming, the air is warm. I bike to work and try to capture it, but I seem preoccupied with what I have to do when I get there and the fear of getting rear-ended by a distracted driver. I look outside and try to imagine it, but my mind wanders to the data I must analyze, the things I have to prepare for church on Sunday, the songs I want to be writing, crafts I want to be doing, life I wish I was living.

Wouldn't it be lovely to just hang in a jumper, take in the world with the eyes of a child, and let yourself dance, unencumbered. BOING.

Sleep and Data

Large data set before her, the bleary-eyed "Momma Scientifica" attempts to process the black and white images into numbers, and then convert those numbers into pretty little histograms packed with meaning. Her head appears to sway and weave, but armed with a large cup of black tea with mate, she plods slowly forward, selecting points of interest and telling the analysis software what to do. Eyes slowly shut and snap back open, head droops ever closer to the keyboard of her laptop, threatening to fill the spreasheet with random characters typed by a weary forehead. Every muscle in her mouth is keeping it from dropping open, to prevent her from sitting slack-jawed and drooling in front of the screen, like a neanderthal or an undergrad in the face of such obstacles. "Science is hard" she thinks to herself.

And the only other thought in her head is what her husband likes repeating,"whoever coined the phrase 'sleeping like a baby' needs to be kicked in the clown".

What do I want

Sitting here this morning, finishing up a lab presentation, waiting for the nanny to wake up, and watching my son play in his new "Jumperoo", the thought entered my mind -- what do I want? It's something I keep asking myself as I try to figure out how to balance this mom/work thing, define my career, and find time for all the many many many creative outlets I wish to pursue. In some ways I am procrastination incarnate, and in other ways I am like a top, spinning and spinning, with only some semblance of direction. I have a PhD, yes, I am working in a field I love, yes, but I'm not really happy with my exact job. I have ideas of what I want to be "when I grow up" but I'm 32 -- isn't it about time? When do career, life, and happiness all merge? What do I want?