Sabbath peace

The big date we planned for Saturday night didn't happen. I resorted to accosting random teenagers on the street about babysitting, but most looked at me with fear in their eyes and ran away.

Usually after I dropped to my knees and begged.

I did, however, get my much needed break. My hubby got the hint (if I don't get an hour away from these children I'm going to completely LOSE IT!), and offered to stay home while I escaped the confines of my apartment. My big night out consisted of going to a "jewelry party" at one of the Skokie Girls' house. I nearly skipped to the minivan, relishing the feeling of not being attached to a child or a stroller for the first time in months. I almost screeched freedom! as I fled my house.

Don't get me wrong, I adore my children. They give me a tremendous amount of naches, a Yiddish word describe that feeling of pride and love that flows out of a parent toward a child when the child does not embarrass the parent in public.

I am truly blessed by my children. Not only can I not recall an incident where they have caused me embarrassment in public; they often make me look like I'm a really good parent. I wish I could take the credit for great parenting skills, but the truth is, I got much more than I deserve with these kiddos (ptui, ptui, ptui, hamsa, hamsa!).

Take this past Shabbat.

We were invited out both to the Friday night meal and Saturday lunch. On Friday night we were welcomed to the home of a family from synagogue. The husband graduated from Northwestern Law a few years ago. The wife is a beautiful, sweet woman graced with organization and style. We showed up early at her house Friday night because it was raining and we didn't want to walk, so we drove over before Shabbat began. Her meal was cooked, her house was clean, her kids were bathed, and she was ready to go.

Me? If a guest showed up early to my house on a Friday night they'd be greeted with chaos. I'd be in a panic cooking three or four last minute dishes, I'd be yelling at my kids to put their toys away, and my husband would be begging to take a last minute shower. In fact, that was pretty much the scene at my house when I didn't even have a meal to cook or guests for whom to prepare.

In the waning minutes of the week I flipped over a chocolate bundt cake I was making to bring to our host's house while trying to salvage a frosting that wasn't quite cooperating (what on Earth did those Rombauer sister mean by "threading" sugar syrup?). The top half of the cake stayed in the pan. Meanwhile, my husband was showering, dressing some of the kids (we forget to change the baby's stained and mismatched outfit), and putting away laundry. We were all yelling at each other.

Sabbath Peace, indeed.

We abandoned the failed cake, stashed a bottle of wine in the diaper bag, bundled up the kids, and drove over with seconds left before candle-lighting. As we approached their home, the bottle slipped out of the bag and shattered. We arrived wet, stressed, dishevelled, and empty-handed to a peaceful, clean, quiet home.

But the kids made us look good. They were polite, well-behaved, and even complimentary. My son worked valiantly to get the hostess's attention. "Excuse me!" He said, repeatedly.

"Everything was delicious!" He said so sincerely, my heart melted.

And as we prepared to depart in our brightly-colored plastic ponchos, ready to brave the two mile walk in the rain, my daughter looked squarely into the lady-of-the-house's eyes and said,

"You are so lovely."

I walked that two miles home standing a bit taller.

The following morning we got out late, walked a mile-and-a-half in the cold to the new synagogue we're trying out, the one with the great babysitting. I dropped the kids off in the playroom, and before I said hello, blurted out a congenial, are you busy tonight? to the babysitters.

"Um, yeah." They responded warily.

On Saturday we were invited to lunch at the home of the shadchanim (matchmakers) who introduced friends of ours in San Antonio. Our friends had called them to let them know we'd moved to Chicago, and they graciously invited us for a meal. They were a loving and elegant grandparently couple. He was a professor of mathematics, she was a former English teacher and retired social worker. Their home was beautiful in the old, classic Chicago bungalow style: hardwood floors, wood panelling in the well-stocked library, antique furniture, lots of toys for the grandkids.

My children made themselves right at home, asking to be directed to the toys. They played beautifully, ate nicely, and spoke eloquently. The baby reached up to the kindly professor to be picked up. They cleaned up the toys when they were finished, and thanked their hosts who in turn, complimented their behavior, their conduct toward one another, and their good manners.

We may have returned to a less than peaceful and stately home, but we beamed with pride and love at our majestic offspring.

The Sabbath ended, I changed my clothes, and practically raced out of the house to retrieve the minivan and head to the jewelry party. A dozen women sat around the living room, trying on baubles, snacking on salads and cookies, and talking about their children. While it wasn't the "Karaoke Night" we've been threatening to subject ourselves to, it was a grown up social event, and I was thrilled. I talked kids, I shopped jewelry, got a present for my mother-in-law, and stuffed my face with corn salad.

While I didn't exactly come out of the house singing, "I could have danced all night", I did emerge considerably more relaxed. That alone was worth the price of the gift. And I came home to a clean apartment: my husband the saint.

* * *

On Sunday morning I made whole wheat pancakes and my father's specialty, eggs with onions and lox. I picked up a birthday present, took my four-year-old to a party, and came back to hustle my son off to football practice. After practice we walked the scenic route to the kosher Dunkin Donuts.

Do you know why you're getting this treat? I smiled to my chocolate-smudged kids.

"Because we were so good on Shabbat." They answered right away.

You guys are the BEST! I gushed.

"We know."

I don't always remember to show my family how much I appreciate them. I get too caught up in the daily challenges of keeping the house in order, the kids taken care of, and my composure in check. It's a tall order. Some women make it look so simple. It would be easy to resent their clean homes, organized lives, and serenity, but I know all is not as it seems. And while I don't feel like I've got any control of my life, I can't be doing that badly. After all, some pretty amazing kids have emerged from this hectic environment. I can't take all of the credit, but perhaps I can convince myself that I deserve at least some.