The Big Pink Pout
If jealousy is a green-eyed monster, what is resentment?
I have been sitting in front of my computer for the last three hours wasting my time on the cybersurfboard, crashing waves of online discussions while chomping down on brownies, cookies, leftover tortilla soup, and pickles.
No, I'm not pregnant. I'm BORED.
It's Saturday night, Shabbat was over before 6:00 pm, and my kids were asleep by 8:00 pm. Why is the hottest Latina-Mama Orthodox woman in Chicago vegging out in front of a computer (pickles technically are a vegetable) when she should be out dancing salsa - dressed modestly, and, of course, only dancing with other women?
Between the time Shabbat ended and my kids went to bed, we loaded up the car, stopped off at the kosher Dunkin Donuts for a couple dozen to go, and drove my husband to O'Hare to catch a flight to San Antonio. My husband is going to celebrate our Rabbi's 36th anniversary and the groundbreaking for the expansion of the synagogue.
That's right. My husband is going to MY hometown, staying with MY parents, and visiting MY friends to celebrate MY Rabbi's 36th anniversary. My husband wasn't there 36 years ago. I was. And lest I forget to mention it, it is 80 degrees there. So what if he is the immediate past president of MY synagogue? While he is basking in the warm comforts of home, I am bundled in long underwear, a turtleneck and a sweater, straining my eyes and neck hunched over the computer, bored.
Resentment - the Big Pink Pout.
I'm actually quite proud of him. Not many people can make the kind of impact my husband made on our community in such a short time. I lived in San Antonio most of my life, but never managed to make the kinds of impressions or leave the indelible marks my husband did in seven years.
It's my husband's nature to matter. He doesn't do it overtly, or with ulterior motives. His desire to be an integral part of his surroundings, to participate, to contribute, to help, is as much a part of his personality as his corny sense of humor. In law school he is already serving on committees, fundraising, and participating in all of the seminars, speakers, and events he can manage between studies and family. He is wringing every drop out of the law school experience he can. I am in awe. I don't know where he has found the energy to be so thoroughly engaged.
If I can make it through the day without yelling at anyone, it's a success.
I've been struggling to feel at home at our new synagogue here in Chicago. Most Saturdays I have come home from the services feeling stressed and annoyed. It is hard to immerse myself in prayer when I'm trading off babysitting duties with my husband and worrying about where my kids are and how many cookies and lollipops they've consumed. The childcare situation at the synagogue we joined is, to put it mildly, chaotic. The kids run around shrieking, fighting, and playing in the halls, the lobby, and even the sanctuary. It makes me crazy. And the thought that my children might one day be found amongst the packs of feral but stylishly dressed children makes me cringe.
Last week, we finally had enough. I spent the morning services in the hall wrestling the baby and chasing the two older kids back into their groups. My husband did the same in the afternoon. As we walked home tired, annoyed, and resentful, we decided to explore other options. A few of the moms from the nursery school recommended another synagogue. We tried it out today. The babysitting situation was a huge improvement. They took all three kids, had plenty of games and activities for them, and healthy snacks, and unlike the other synagogue, the kids got to participate in part of the services.
My husband and I were happy enough there, but my son was overcome by the Big Pink Pout. I couldn't blame him. He has few enough friends here in Chicago. At least in the other synagogue he had a couple of girls from his school to play with. He didn't seem to know anyone here. They also didn't give him as much candy.
The happiest person at that synagogue had to be my baby. For months she has watched wistfully as I've dropped off her siblings at school, ballet, football practice, synagogue playgroups and even playdates. She has been stuck as a spectator, often strapped into a stroller, or pinned down in her mommy's arms. This was the first chance she has been invited to be a full participant alongside her siblings.
As long as the weather allows for the longer walk, we'll give it a shot.
Interestingly, my son is anxious to go back to the Sephardic synagogue. It is curious because there were even fewer kids for him to play with - only two - and far fewer toys. Is it possible that he senses that he is somehow a part of the legacy and tradition of this place? I may be reading too much into it, but he is a remarkably sensitive and bright kid. We'll make it back there, too.
I have been sitting in front of my computer for the last three hours wasting my time on the cybersurfboard, crashing waves of online discussions while chomping down on brownies, cookies, leftover tortilla soup, and pickles.
No, I'm not pregnant. I'm BORED.
It's Saturday night, Shabbat was over before 6:00 pm, and my kids were asleep by 8:00 pm. Why is the hottest Latina-Mama Orthodox woman in Chicago vegging out in front of a computer (pickles technically are a vegetable) when she should be out dancing salsa - dressed modestly, and, of course, only dancing with other women?
Between the time Shabbat ended and my kids went to bed, we loaded up the car, stopped off at the kosher Dunkin Donuts for a couple dozen to go, and drove my husband to O'Hare to catch a flight to San Antonio. My husband is going to celebrate our Rabbi's 36th anniversary and the groundbreaking for the expansion of the synagogue.
That's right. My husband is going to MY hometown, staying with MY parents, and visiting MY friends to celebrate MY Rabbi's 36th anniversary. My husband wasn't there 36 years ago. I was. And lest I forget to mention it, it is 80 degrees there. So what if he is the immediate past president of MY synagogue? While he is basking in the warm comforts of home, I am bundled in long underwear, a turtleneck and a sweater, straining my eyes and neck hunched over the computer, bored.
Resentment - the Big Pink Pout.
I'm actually quite proud of him. Not many people can make the kind of impact my husband made on our community in such a short time. I lived in San Antonio most of my life, but never managed to make the kinds of impressions or leave the indelible marks my husband did in seven years.
It's my husband's nature to matter. He doesn't do it overtly, or with ulterior motives. His desire to be an integral part of his surroundings, to participate, to contribute, to help, is as much a part of his personality as his corny sense of humor. In law school he is already serving on committees, fundraising, and participating in all of the seminars, speakers, and events he can manage between studies and family. He is wringing every drop out of the law school experience he can. I am in awe. I don't know where he has found the energy to be so thoroughly engaged.
If I can make it through the day without yelling at anyone, it's a success.
I've been struggling to feel at home at our new synagogue here in Chicago. Most Saturdays I have come home from the services feeling stressed and annoyed. It is hard to immerse myself in prayer when I'm trading off babysitting duties with my husband and worrying about where my kids are and how many cookies and lollipops they've consumed. The childcare situation at the synagogue we joined is, to put it mildly, chaotic. The kids run around shrieking, fighting, and playing in the halls, the lobby, and even the sanctuary. It makes me crazy. And the thought that my children might one day be found amongst the packs of feral but stylishly dressed children makes me cringe.
Last week, we finally had enough. I spent the morning services in the hall wrestling the baby and chasing the two older kids back into their groups. My husband did the same in the afternoon. As we walked home tired, annoyed, and resentful, we decided to explore other options. A few of the moms from the nursery school recommended another synagogue. We tried it out today. The babysitting situation was a huge improvement. They took all three kids, had plenty of games and activities for them, and healthy snacks, and unlike the other synagogue, the kids got to participate in part of the services.
My husband and I were happy enough there, but my son was overcome by the Big Pink Pout. I couldn't blame him. He has few enough friends here in Chicago. At least in the other synagogue he had a couple of girls from his school to play with. He didn't seem to know anyone here. They also didn't give him as much candy.
The happiest person at that synagogue had to be my baby. For months she has watched wistfully as I've dropped off her siblings at school, ballet, football practice, synagogue playgroups and even playdates. She has been stuck as a spectator, often strapped into a stroller, or pinned down in her mommy's arms. This was the first chance she has been invited to be a full participant alongside her siblings.
As long as the weather allows for the longer walk, we'll give it a shot.
Interestingly, my son is anxious to go back to the Sephardic synagogue. It is curious because there were even fewer kids for him to play with - only two - and far fewer toys. Is it possible that he senses that he is somehow a part of the legacy and tradition of this place? I may be reading too much into it, but he is a remarkably sensitive and bright kid. We'll make it back there, too.
* * *
We had guests this past Friday night. I invited the family with the San Antonio connections who have had us over for a couple of meals already. They were real troopers dragging their five children through the cold to our distant home. I cooked and cleaned like a crazy woman. I made my challah, two soups (tortilla and chicken), two salads, roasted peppers, gefilte fish casserole, a roast, chicken breasts, braised eggplant, Turkish zucchini, blanched green beans, garlic- roasted potatoes, Israeli couscous, and brownies. I cleaned the kitchen, scrubbed the kids' bathroom, and made the apartment shine.
By the time the meal was over the apartment was waylaid with the toys and tracks of wild kids, the meal was almost completely devoured, and I was exhausted, but really proud of myself. I pulled off a gourmet meal AND a clean apartment for once!
There's hope for me yet.
Tomorrow's going to be a crazy day. We have two birthday parties and football practice to juggle, and I still need to buy birthday gifts. I'm also going to have to get my son to sit down and finish his Hebrew book report.
Oh, and my husband is in San Antonio, 80 degrees and sunny, with MY parents and MY friends, celebrating MY Rabbi's 36th anniversary.
Pout, pout.
posted by law school widow at 11:08 PM
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