Part I

      ‘No ordinary work done by a man is either as hard or as responsible as the work of a woman who is bringing up a family of small children; for upon her time and strength demands are made not only every hour of the day but often every hour of the night.’

       — Theodore Roosevelt

      I’m pretty sure I have everything organised for the family before I walk out the door.

      Kids’ bags packed.

      Extra food prepared.

      Outdoor gear organised.

      Jordan and Elizabeth are going on their first wilderness expedition for a week with all the dads charged with helping out given the nature of outdoor activities they will be pursuing. Great idea from a mother’s perspective, but we all know in our hearts we will miss them from the first night they are away. The kids were devastated when the expedition was almost cancelled due to a lack of funding and support for the Tasmanian Wilderness Foundation. Thankfully, some last-minute sponsorship from the Fathers4Kids program enabled the expedition to take place after all. The kids are so excited. Actually when I think about it Robert, my husband, seems more awakened and engaged by this adventure than I have seen him in years. Must have something to do with men and their exploring tendencies — the mysteriousness of the confounding thylacine providing the perfect avenue — or maybe he is just happy to be away from me. Either way, he’s excited too and they haven’t been able to sleep in anticipation of the great adventure traversing the west coast of Tasmania’s wilderness in search of the elusive Tasmanian tiger.

      I’ve decided to make the most of the children’s absence from my life to complete a series of lectures I had been deferring for the last few months until the ‘time felt right’, so I’m preparing to fly to Sydney, Brisbane, Perth and Melbourne to deliver my latest findings to postgraduate students, academics and other professionals in their given field of expertise.

      I now really need to focus on getting myself organised for the first lecture this afternoon in Sydney. Mentally, I go through my checklist — I have my notes, slides, discussion themes, workshop challenges, laptop and mobile phone, so all good. I am still fascinated by the research I have been conducting on visual stimulation and its impact on the development of perception and even now I find my mind wandering off and becoming lost in my work, considering a different spin on some of the provocative challenges I have developed for the lectures …

      All of a sudden, I become intensely aware of butterflies in my stomach, so much so, I have to lean against the kitchen bench to steady myself. How strange; I never usually get nervous before giving lectures, quite the opposite, as I really enjoy it. The challenge of engaging new minds, intellects sparring with one another on a quest for deeper, broader knowledge — fantastic! But where on earth are these butterflies coming from?

      I pause for a moment to investigate these feelings and attempt to locate their source, which might seem strange to some people, but it is something that has always intrigued me. They are more intense than usual, and it certainly isn’t the lecture making me feel this way. Perhaps it is the trip away from family. No, it is not as if I haven’t been away from them before, particularly for work purposes. I broaden my mindset to include the rest of the weekend when I stop suddenly — as my stomach flips again. I surprise myself as I instinctively inhale at the thought of my 5.00 p.m. meeting at the Hotel InterContinental with Jeremy.

      Doctor Jeremy Quinn. My uni buddy, my best friend, the man who opened my eyes and my body to the world in ways I never considered possible. He knew me inside and out when we were younger and we shared