Bricks and figs

I am happy to announce that the mission was successful. We have found a place to live in Chicago. It's a quaint three bedroom, one and a half bath flat on a nice, quiet street. It's not the palatial, bright, hard-wood floored place I was hoping for. We actually did see that apartment, but it was a bit off the beaten path and already in high demand. But we've found a lovely place, nonetheless. With some luck and effort, we'll make a nice home for ourselves there.

The process was completely overwhelming. The first few places we looked at were so dumpy, and I was discouraged. It was really hard to look out a window and see a brick wall five feet away. It was even worse walking into a kitchen and not seeing any counter space. I am so spoiled by my enormous kitchen and my fruit trees.

By the way, the figs are ripe and fabulous, and the grapes and pears are on their way. I hope they ripen before we leave!

I hope I ripen to the idea of urban living. The buzzing energy and drama of city life were so appealing to me when I was in my twenties. As a mom of three I have so much more to worry about with crowded, busy streets, strangers, crime, and of course, the ever present threat of hypothermia. I wonder if I'll be able to carve out a quiet, calm, warm haven for myself and my family in such a densely populated place.

I also think about how my children are bound to adapt to their new environs. But I'll save that worry for another time.

Mission: Impossible

I'm blogging from home today. Normally, I sit in my small, dimly lit office, surrounded by piles of loosely organized papers, and avoid getting real work done. Today I'm in my big, bright home office, surrounded by piles of loosely organized papers, typing away with a hot, squirmy child on my lap. The baby has a fever (still) and can't seem to find a comfortable position.

My saintly husband and I have spent the last three weeks taking care of sick kids, from my son's stomach virus, to my older daughter's 24-hour bug, to the baby's fever. Mystery viruses are nothing new around here. They come with the territory. Day cares are one big virus vector, and any kid's first year in one is a trial as their little immune systems perk up. I haven't held office hours in a month, and my husband has had to juggle around meetings like a circus clown.

He's taking the baby to the doctor's office this afternoon while I'm teaching. I'm guessing it's another ear infection. We're flying to Chicago first thing tomorrow morning, so it's probably best to take care of it now. My husband, the baby, and I are flying up tomorrow morning and coming back the next night. We're on a mission to find a place to live and for me to distribute my resume to as many colleges and universities as I can get to in such a small window of time.

It's guerrilla jobfare!

While we're zipping around Chicago in our rental car, the other two kids will be staying with a friend. Some kids don't do well staying over at someone else's house, but I don't worry about my kiddos. They are the most easy-going children you'll ever meet. And they're going to fun place with a dog, a nice backyard, and other kids to hang out with. While I don't predict tears when I drop them off, I do exect a full-blown temper tantrum when it's time to go home.

They've always been that way. While other kids were clinging like mad to their parents at day care, mine would saunter in, find a toy, and immediately forget I existed. I suppose I should have felt relief that they were so well-adjusted, confident, and independent. Mainly I worried that I was a lousy mom.

They're going to be staying with a fun friend. She'll give them yummy things to eat, let them watch TV and play videos, and probably eat sugar-sweetened cereals for breakfast! She's a cool mom. Not like me. I feed my kids healthy cereals, I don't let them watch TV, and I make them floss every night. No wonder day care was such a welcome change for them.

Wish me luck on my mission to find housing and work. Yes, I realize these are two of the most stressful events in a person's life. I also recognize that attempting to do both in a whirlwind 24-hour period is madness; and with a feverish baby in tow, it's absolute lunacy! I may be a dud as a mom, but I am a wild woman this week!

Cover me! I'm going in!

The dilemma

So, here's the dilemma: shlep all of our worldly goods to Chicago or purge it all and start with a clean slate?

I'm leaning towards the latter.

I'm not one to get to attached to things. My fantasy is to haul all of our furniture, appliances, books, dishes, pots and pans, fondue pot, and mismatched coffee mug collection out onto the front lawn and throw a big yard sale. My things will be better off with people who will appreciate them, cherish them, even love them! Me? I barely tolerate my stuff.

My dream is to pack up my clothes (the outfits I'm not totally sick of), some books, the photo albums, the art, my kids and the piano, and throw it all into the back of a rented trailer - minus the kids who will be safely buckled into their government approved carseats, of course - and drive north to an empty apartment. I will fill the bare space with new furniture, new dishes, new houseplants, and new coffee mugs that reflect my taste, my style, and who I am at this moment!

At this point in my fantasy I let out a great big growl and break into an Aretha anthem.

It's easy to be emotionally detached from stuff, things, material possessions. Even the words sound trivial, unimportant. Except material possessions, that sounds like junk aspiring to be a family heirloom. It's easy, that is, until you don't have them anymore. Maybe it's something deeper. Is jettisoning my old tupperware a symbolic detachment from what roots me here? With every tossed trinket, the ties-that-bind are loosened a notch?

Uh huh.

Okay, the truth is I have three kids. Kids are messy. I know what they've done to that area rug, and I don't want it following me to Chicago! They've been especially messy this past week. My son had a nasty stomach virus. Without going into too much gory detail, suffice it to say, the already skinny kid lost 12% of his body weight in one week. I cried giving him a bath, running my hands over every protruding rib. It broke my heart to see him being such a trooper when he couldn't walk because his legs had cramped up from lack of potassium. Today was his little sister's turn. She couldn't keep water down. She was listless, pale, and quiet as a mouse. She just looked at me with her big, brown sad eyes, and said nothing.

So, who am I at this moment? Sage green and lavender. Out with the butter yellows and cranberry reds, in with the earthy, Springy tones. Out with the inflated sense of presumption and entitlement, in with the pared down and prudent. Out with the taking for granted, in with the taking care.

I am MOMMY, hear me roar!

Present and past

At the risk of being completely redundant, I'm back in my office grading again. In three and a half weeks I'll be done with the summer term. It will be the end of an era, albeit a short one. Six years at one job doesn't sound like a lot, but for me it's been a lifetime. Prior to January 2000, I hadn't stayed with one job for more than a year. For that matter, I hadn't stayed in the same apartment for more than two. I've dropped some deep and strong roots here, and it's really going to be hard letting go.

All our friends are planning one heck of a send off for us. They're sponsoring a luncheon at our synagogue on our last Shabbat at home. I am so moved by this gesture of warmth and love.

When I was younger I craved adventure and change. I'd put myself into debt just to avoid staying in one place for too long. I made some steadfast friends, but the ones I have stayed in touch with I can count on one hand. We used to go out dining, drinking, and dancing together week after week. We would stay up until ridiculous hours of the night pouring out our souls to one another. It felt like we'd be irrevocably bound together for a lifetime.

I can barely remember their names now.

The types of friends I have as a wife and mother are different somehow. We don't actually do much together. We talk about our kids, we give each other support and advice, we share recipes. We share kids from time to time. In a way, I have formed much richer bonds here. I don't know if they'll last any longer than my college friendships, but I hope so. I have been blessed with the kindness and guidance of some amazing, strong, smart, warm, wonderful women here. They have taught me more about being a caring, thoughtful, and unselfish person than a shelfload of self-help manuals. For this I will be forever grateful.

This has been a time for pondering friendships. I've spent a lot of time lately reconnecting with my past. My twenty year high school reunion is coming up in a month (time to hit the gym!). I had no regrets missing the tenth, but I'm looking forward to this flashback. I'm not sure I'll recognize anyone. For that matter, I'm not sure I'll recognize my past self.

I'm also seeking to remember and revive a specific time in my life nineteen years ago when I spent a year living in Israel. I have been tracking down the alumni from my program and compiling their pictures and biographies in a website I've patched together (http://machzor79alumni.org).

Perhaps I'm finally recognizing the fleeting nature of relationships, which can seem so solid one day, but can evaporate so quickly. Friendships that shape us, strengthen us, build us are like ancient empires that get buried under the foundations of a new life. I'm donning my pith helmet and excavating the old to better understand the way to preserve the new.

One step closer

I am in my office late at night taking a break from grading. There are only so many papers I can read without losing my professional demeanor and positive perspective. In other words, if I read one more horribly mangled and misspelled cliche I will bash my head into the corner of my desk to end my misery. Actually, they're not that bad, but they do start to blend into one indistinguishable discussion of childhood obesity. And quite frankly, while I'm slouching in my office chair, guzzling a non-diet soda and snacking on goodies loaded with artery clogging hydrogenated machine oil and sugar, obesity is the last thing I want to be thinking about.

On a happier note, we have a contract on our house! I say "happy", but in fact I really mean relieved. It's our first home. We helped design it, picked out the paints, tiles, and carpets, and watched it being built. We know all of our neighbors. On a breezy afternoon, when the sun is starting to veer off behind the trees, all of the kids in the neighborhood are out in the street playing basketball in my driveway, racing about on scooters, bikes, and tricycles, or burying my garden tools in the sandpit next door. On Shabbat everyone is dressed up, pushing babies in strollers past my windows. It's hard to be thrilled about leaving my little corner of Eden, but selling my house is one less thing to worry about.

Speaking of hordes of little tykes on trikes, school is out, and the marauding mass of midgets is on the loose! Panicked parents are anxiously awaiting the first day of summer camp. My poor husband and parents have their hands full while I seek refuge in my office.

I've started teaching my last class at the university. Oddly, I'm teaching the same class I was hired to teach 6 years ago and haven't taught for the last 5. I've come full circle. Of course, the first time I taught this class I had 10 students. This semester I have 90. I'm also a bit better at this teaching thing. Walking into a teaching auditorium with a class full of bored looking students doesn't fill me with terror the way it used to. In fact, I'm going to miss these sweet, snarky kids. They've grown on me.

Speaking of snarky kids, their obesity essays aren't grading themselves!