Settling in
Friday has snuck up on me again. We've been in Chicago for a week and a half now and we're finally at the end of unpacking. We've got some papers to file away, and the art left to hang, but things are more-or-less where we want them. At last, I know where my stuff is; I just don't know what day it is.
My husband has started to feel anxious about starting law school. He missed a couple of deadlines on orientation paper work and medical forms during the move, and has spent the last couple of days getting that sorted out. I'm starting to get anxious about finding a job. We spent a lot of money on moving and new furniture, and we still need a dining room set, and odds and ends. The kids, alone, are not feeling anxious at all, just a little bored. We haven't really taken them out to see the sights yet. I can't blame them. I'm also getting tired of moving piles of papers around the same six rooms.
My mom is coming in a couple of days to set things right. She'll help me arrange toys and kids clothing. She'll direct the hanging of the art. She'll get us out of the house and sightseeing like proper tourists. Thank the benevolent Lord above for Moms.
We have our first invitation to eat out on Shabbat. We were invited by a rabbi who is in charge of the Chicago orthodox community "welcome wagon", for lack of a better title. His wife is the cousin of a dear friend of ours, and the sister-in-law of another friend. The Orthodox community is very small and close-knit. I'm looking forward to the chance to socialize a bit, even if it is with someone with a tenuous connection.
I have yet to call the lists of people I've been asked to contact. Everyone has a friend or relative in Chicago whom I have to meet. I have a plan: once I get this apartment presentable, I'll invite everyone on all of the lists to help hang the mezuzahs. I'll feed them some home-cooked Mexican treats, and fulfill my social obligations all at once. Expedient, efficient, and entertaining: what could be better? A home should be filled with friends when the mezuzahs are hung, even if they're not quite friends, yet.
We live in an interesting neighborhood. Orthodox Jews, Indians, Arabs, and Eastern Europeans occupy the same streets and apartment blocks, but seem to move along on their own paths, not mingling too much. I seem to be lacking some cultural subtext, or the proper etiquette here. I get appreciative smiles when I greet people on the street; either that or their looking at me with condescending pity for the poor, naive southern girl.
One thing we have figured out is where not to take my son for a haircut. My husband took him to some old Yiddish-speaking gentleman who gave my son the worst haircut he has ever received. The child came home looking like a Chassidic street urchin with a shaved head and long, unevenly trimmed sideburns. I did my best to even them up, but I may have made matters worse. My mother is going to faint when she sees him.
Speaking of etiquette, I'm still trying to get used to cohabitation in an apartment complex. I'm used to my old house back in San Antonio where the neighbors were far enough away that my kids could squeal, shout, and zip about like budding running backs; and I could holler at them for being too loud without being concerned that anyone was evesdropping on my pathetic and desperate parenting. Here, I worry that the kids' dancing, wrestling, and running sound like a herd of elephants to my landlord below, and my shouts and screeches are wafting up to the divorced lawyer above. I worry that during the next three years, all people walking by our building will be serenaded by my high-pitched voice yelling,
Inside voices, please!!
Back in San Antonio, two more families have left the neighborhood. I think about my old, empty house filled with the dust and memories of a happy, loud family, their noises bouncing off the walls and setling into the soft furniture.
A loud stereo is blaring from the street below, accompanied by a teenager singing off key. My kids' squeals, shouts, and sounds are a symphony.
My husband has started to feel anxious about starting law school. He missed a couple of deadlines on orientation paper work and medical forms during the move, and has spent the last couple of days getting that sorted out. I'm starting to get anxious about finding a job. We spent a lot of money on moving and new furniture, and we still need a dining room set, and odds and ends. The kids, alone, are not feeling anxious at all, just a little bored. We haven't really taken them out to see the sights yet. I can't blame them. I'm also getting tired of moving piles of papers around the same six rooms.
My mom is coming in a couple of days to set things right. She'll help me arrange toys and kids clothing. She'll direct the hanging of the art. She'll get us out of the house and sightseeing like proper tourists. Thank the benevolent Lord above for Moms.
We have our first invitation to eat out on Shabbat. We were invited by a rabbi who is in charge of the Chicago orthodox community "welcome wagon", for lack of a better title. His wife is the cousin of a dear friend of ours, and the sister-in-law of another friend. The Orthodox community is very small and close-knit. I'm looking forward to the chance to socialize a bit, even if it is with someone with a tenuous connection.
I have yet to call the lists of people I've been asked to contact. Everyone has a friend or relative in Chicago whom I have to meet. I have a plan: once I get this apartment presentable, I'll invite everyone on all of the lists to help hang the mezuzahs. I'll feed them some home-cooked Mexican treats, and fulfill my social obligations all at once. Expedient, efficient, and entertaining: what could be better? A home should be filled with friends when the mezuzahs are hung, even if they're not quite friends, yet.
We live in an interesting neighborhood. Orthodox Jews, Indians, Arabs, and Eastern Europeans occupy the same streets and apartment blocks, but seem to move along on their own paths, not mingling too much. I seem to be lacking some cultural subtext, or the proper etiquette here. I get appreciative smiles when I greet people on the street; either that or their looking at me with condescending pity for the poor, naive southern girl.
One thing we have figured out is where not to take my son for a haircut. My husband took him to some old Yiddish-speaking gentleman who gave my son the worst haircut he has ever received. The child came home looking like a Chassidic street urchin with a shaved head and long, unevenly trimmed sideburns. I did my best to even them up, but I may have made matters worse. My mother is going to faint when she sees him.
Speaking of etiquette, I'm still trying to get used to cohabitation in an apartment complex. I'm used to my old house back in San Antonio where the neighbors were far enough away that my kids could squeal, shout, and zip about like budding running backs; and I could holler at them for being too loud without being concerned that anyone was evesdropping on my pathetic and desperate parenting. Here, I worry that the kids' dancing, wrestling, and running sound like a herd of elephants to my landlord below, and my shouts and screeches are wafting up to the divorced lawyer above. I worry that during the next three years, all people walking by our building will be serenaded by my high-pitched voice yelling,
Inside voices, please!!
Back in San Antonio, two more families have left the neighborhood. I think about my old, empty house filled with the dust and memories of a happy, loud family, their noises bouncing off the walls and setling into the soft furniture.
A loud stereo is blaring from the street below, accompanied by a teenager singing off key. My kids' squeals, shouts, and sounds are a symphony.
posted by law school widow at 12:19 PM
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