After our 18-month-old had recovered from her stomach bug, it was my turn. We were on day 3 of what was supposed to be our vacation. At 9 am, I had a work call on a student matter that I couldn’t postpone until after my vacation. At the end of that meeting, I stayed on with a colleague for a few minutes. She asked me if everything was alright. Because I looked a little off. I told her about the stomach bug being passed on from my husband to our little one, and that I was starting to feel queasy as well.

We are on day 4 of a nasty stomach bug with our 1.5-year-old. My husband got it first. It took him eight days to clear it and he was basically non-functional for half of those days. My little one threw up over his feet the day after he was fully recovered. One big waterfall of white milk on the floor. Then a few instant returns of food we tried to feed her at dinner. No thank you - this stomach isn’t open for food at the moment.

My husband and I consider ourselves planners. We sit together on Sunday night and discuss who does drop offs and pickups each day that week. Yet, there is always a moment (or two) in the week on which we realize there is not enough food in the fridge for tomorrow’s breakfast or dinner. If we are such skilled planners, why can’t we get our act together for groceries?

I’m on a flight back from Boston, where I attended a management conference. Four days of symposia, meetings with colleagues, and going out for drinks and dinner with old friends. Not to forget, 3.5 nights of sleep (the half night due to a red eye flight), free reign to decide when and what to eat (chocolate croissants for breakfast), time for writing, and a squeezed in run.

This weekend my husband and I were home with our little one. My husband had been under the weather since Tuesday, and our little one as well. I was the only one who miraculously had avoided the virus thus far. I had been so preoccupied with a deadline to resubmit a manuscript, that I simply had been going on adrenaline so far.

My dad had two important things going for him that helped him stay healthy while working hard. He loved his job. And he was good at picking the right activities when he was not working. After work, he did activities he loved, things that got him away from his desk and that he could do with others. But he also had a secret weapon. And that was my mom.

When I’m at my parents’ the days follow the same routine. It is predictable, perhaps boring at times, but it offers a strange form of comfort. It was around 10:30 in the morning. I had just finished another game of soccer with my son. The church bell sounded once, confirming the half hour. My son, growing up in Canada, didn’t understand why the bells were ringing.

I’m on a 9-hour flight back to Vancouver from Amsterdam. My 8yo and I visited my parents, brother, and friends for ten days. Although primarily meant as a vacation, my dad had asked me to share some insights about my work with what I’ll call his gentlemen club by lack of better label.

My husband gave me the best birthday present I can imagine. A weekend to myself. He is taking two of the kids to our cabin in Whistler. My son is with his dad this week. This means an empty house for me. Sleeping when I want to sleep. Writing when I want to write. Exercising when I want to exercise. Eating what I want to eat. Ask any parent – the feeling of being able to do whatever you want to do for 48 hours straight is magical.

Today, I turned 40. It seems like a good day to start a blog. As a professor in management, my expertise is in work-life-balance and employee well-being. I know many relevant theories and research articles that tell us what work-life balance can look like on paper. On top of that, I find that my experience as a mom of 2.5 kids helps to understand what balance looks like in reality.