Birthday girl
Everyone asks me how I'm coping with the cold weather. The truth is, I'm not coping very well. In Chicago in mid-winter, you have two choices: bury yourself under your blankets and never come out, our bury yourself under several layers of clothing and tough it out. My personal inclination is the former, however, with three kids in tow, it really isn't a great choice. Kids, like certain household cleaning items, explode under pressure. Almost daily I weigh the options: is toilet paper worth wrestling the baby down and enveloping her in four or five layers of thick and puffy clothes while she protests loudly?
Usually the answer is: Eh. We still have tissues.
Last week we were invited over to a friend's home for Shabbat dinner. It was the day after a snow and ice storm, and my husband advised me to cancel. When a Minnesotan suggests that it may be too cold and the conditions too hazardous, this Texan listens. So we postponed until the next Friday night.
Friday came around again, and it was cold out. Any description I could give about the severity of the weather would sound like hyperbole, but all I could think about was Dante's lowest level of hell. So, there I was again, weighing my options: Do I cancel again, whip up a last minute Shabbat dinner and risk upsetting a new friend, or do I just suck it up and go?
The kids and my husband convinced me to go. We bundled ourselves up a ridiculous amount. The children were in long underwear, their clothes, a layer of sweaters and additional pants, mittens, hats, gloves, parkas, snow boots, and my son's now disintegrating balaclava. We brought a couple of extra blankets to wrap up the kids, and we set out walking with the stroller the two miles to our friend's home.
The walk was miserable. The kids bundled up on the stroller, the little baby fell asleep like a hibernating bear, as my husband and I took turns pushing the stroller over partially, or not at all, shovelled sidewalks. We trudged over uneven ice, and mushy, dirty snow, and finally arrived, numb, hungry, and sore from the physical effort it took to get there. But the meal was lovely, the company congenial and stimulating. The kids played with their friends while my husband and I enjoyed adult conversation.
Then it was time to come home again, and from years of experience, I can attest to the fact that the way back is always worse than the way there. This was no exception.
Remind me why we're doing this again! I pleaded with my husband. We finally made it home, even more numb, tired, and sore than when we had arrived at dinner. We put the kids to bed and my husband said a meek, apologetic, "Happy birthday".
At 7:30 the next morning, the baby, revelling in her new freedom, waddled into our bedroom and began my birthday with a big smile. It took us several hours to get ourselves and the kids moving this morning, but we were finally able to pull it together enough to march through the elements to synagogue.
I can't say I'm enjoying any of this. Winter is difficult. Everything takes longer and requires planning and consideration. I am finding every task to be more inconvenient and more challenging than at any other time of year. Every shopping trip, every outing to a post office or dry cleaners is fraught with hazards and obstacles.
If it were up to me, I'd just stay in bed.
It's Saturday night, the ninth anniversary of my 29th birthday. My husband bought me a wonderful gift of Ghirardelli chocolates and a toasty and stylish hat, gloves, and mitten set. He let me take a nap while he watched the kids, and he even did all of the dishes today. It's not the grandest of birthday celebrations, but with his first exam a mere 36 hours away, I'm feeling pretty loved.
I know he's feeling gut-wrenching pressure right now, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He has the same smiling, easy demeanor he always does. We couldn't be more opposite. When I'm asked how I'm coping with winter, I grimace. When he's asked how he's coping with law school, he smiles.
I know he loves me because he's working hard, trying to make a better life for his family. He's enduring copious amounts of rigorous reading assignments and brain-numbing exams. He's balancing a back-breaking study schedule with the demands of family life, and incurring frightening debts in the process. I don't know many people who could take these kinds of risks and commit themselves to these kinds of challenges. But my husband does it with a smile.
And how do I show him I love him?
Well, I'm here, ain't I?!
Usually the answer is: Eh. We still have tissues.
Last week we were invited over to a friend's home for Shabbat dinner. It was the day after a snow and ice storm, and my husband advised me to cancel. When a Minnesotan suggests that it may be too cold and the conditions too hazardous, this Texan listens. So we postponed until the next Friday night.
Friday came around again, and it was cold out. Any description I could give about the severity of the weather would sound like hyperbole, but all I could think about was Dante's lowest level of hell. So, there I was again, weighing my options: Do I cancel again, whip up a last minute Shabbat dinner and risk upsetting a new friend, or do I just suck it up and go?
The kids and my husband convinced me to go. We bundled ourselves up a ridiculous amount. The children were in long underwear, their clothes, a layer of sweaters and additional pants, mittens, hats, gloves, parkas, snow boots, and my son's now disintegrating balaclava. We brought a couple of extra blankets to wrap up the kids, and we set out walking with the stroller the two miles to our friend's home.
The walk was miserable. The kids bundled up on the stroller, the little baby fell asleep like a hibernating bear, as my husband and I took turns pushing the stroller over partially, or not at all, shovelled sidewalks. We trudged over uneven ice, and mushy, dirty snow, and finally arrived, numb, hungry, and sore from the physical effort it took to get there. But the meal was lovely, the company congenial and stimulating. The kids played with their friends while my husband and I enjoyed adult conversation.
Then it was time to come home again, and from years of experience, I can attest to the fact that the way back is always worse than the way there. This was no exception.
Remind me why we're doing this again! I pleaded with my husband. We finally made it home, even more numb, tired, and sore than when we had arrived at dinner. We put the kids to bed and my husband said a meek, apologetic, "Happy birthday".
At 7:30 the next morning, the baby, revelling in her new freedom, waddled into our bedroom and began my birthday with a big smile. It took us several hours to get ourselves and the kids moving this morning, but we were finally able to pull it together enough to march through the elements to synagogue.
I can't say I'm enjoying any of this. Winter is difficult. Everything takes longer and requires planning and consideration. I am finding every task to be more inconvenient and more challenging than at any other time of year. Every shopping trip, every outing to a post office or dry cleaners is fraught with hazards and obstacles.
If it were up to me, I'd just stay in bed.
* * *
It's Saturday night, the ninth anniversary of my 29th birthday. My husband bought me a wonderful gift of Ghirardelli chocolates and a toasty and stylish hat, gloves, and mitten set. He let me take a nap while he watched the kids, and he even did all of the dishes today. It's not the grandest of birthday celebrations, but with his first exam a mere 36 hours away, I'm feeling pretty loved.
I know he's feeling gut-wrenching pressure right now, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him. He has the same smiling, easy demeanor he always does. We couldn't be more opposite. When I'm asked how I'm coping with winter, I grimace. When he's asked how he's coping with law school, he smiles.
I know he loves me because he's working hard, trying to make a better life for his family. He's enduring copious amounts of rigorous reading assignments and brain-numbing exams. He's balancing a back-breaking study schedule with the demands of family life, and incurring frightening debts in the process. I don't know many people who could take these kinds of risks and commit themselves to these kinds of challenges. But my husband does it with a smile.
And how do I show him I love him?
Well, I'm here, ain't I?!
posted by law school widow at 9:29 PM
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