Snowed in

My Mother-in-law came in for a short, but wonderful visit. We packed in a lot of fun and family time into a few days. She got in on Friday morning, and got to witness my Friday afternoon frenzy as I prepared Shabbat dinner for a small crowd. We enjoyed a quiet evening, just my family, my mother-in-law, my husband's cousin, and a young family friend from Minnesota. It was a warm, lovely, and relaxed evening, thanks to the presence of two young, experienced aunties.

Saturday night was live music night at the kosher pizza place. My son was completely fascinated by the tall skinny man with the long white beard playing guitar and singing old 60s folk songs. He marched right up and introduced himself. "You're really good!" He volunteered. He proceeded to tell the musician all about his piano lessons, his guitar, his grandfather who plays clarinet, his mom who played drums, and his dad who played trombone. He stopped long enough to eat a small slice of pizza and went back to gawking at the musicians. My son clearly has an ear and a fascination for music. It stops him dead in his tracks. It doesn't take long to realize that my son has a unique relationship with music. It takes hold of him like a direct line to his brain, unlike his mother's voice which has a direct line bypassing the brain.

After Open Mike Night at the pizza place, we put the kids to bed, and my husband and I got ready to prove once again that we're old, not that we need too many reminders. One of my husband's classmates was celebrating her birthday at a bar in a trendy part of town. I dressed as hip and funky as one can in longish skirts and longish sleeves. I settled on a knee length stretchy denim skirt and a fur-collared sweater and my tall brown boots, over the obligatory long underwear, of course. I wrapped my hair in a scarf, and bundled up against the 9 degree chill. We found our way downtown and drove around for half an hour looking for the bar. Finally, my husband suggested we park and just walk around looking for the place.

It's nine degrees out there, I reminded him. I'm dressed for fashion, not frostbite, I noted. To no avail. We parked, and made it half a block when I realized I had lost feeling in the most amply insulated part of my body. My tush is numb! I panicked. I was wearing long underwear and a skirt, yet my buns were tingling. Never in my life had I experienced such an improbable event.

"Are we on speaking terms anymore?" My husband asked, half-joking.

We'll talk when the temperature gets above 40 degrees. I answered between chattering teeth, not joking at all.

We turned back, got back into the car, and I laid down the law: We will pull up to that convenience store. You will go in and look up the address to this place. You will drop me off at the front door. You will park to your heart's content. When it is time to go, you will get the car, you will turn the heat up, then you will pick me up at the front door. And that was that.

My husband dropped me off at a dark door with no sign. Just two young, tough looking men with no hats standing guard out front. The looked at my ID and sent me inside the loudest, smokiest place I had been since college. I walked in clutching my purse, and cast my eyes about looking for a familiar face, and thankfully found one. One of my husband's classmates, a fellow frozen Texan greeted me with a warm and sympathetic smile. Without a word, she understood, as only a fellow Southerner could, that we were on completely uninhabitable terrain. "I'm wearing two pairs of stockings!" She confided. I pointed at my legs: long johns.

While I waited for my husband, some strange young man approached me, took my hand and attempted to dance with me. Part of me wanted to laugh. I was the only woman in the bar not wearing a small black camisole with a plunging neckline. I was the only woman with any kind of head covering. I was probably the only woman in the whole place with proudly earned stretch marks and crow's feet. I was probably the only person there over 30!

Another part of me was horrified. I yanked my hand away and rushed over to my husband. I was just accosted by some guy! My husband laughed and puffed out his chest. Oh, please. I rolled my eyes. After attempting a few conversations with classmates by positioning our mouths inches from our interlocutors' ears and shouting to be heard over the din of the dance music, we gave up, and headed home, ears ringing and clothing reeking of smoke.

Do you know how old I am? I queried. The only music I recognized was the background riffs sampled from songs I grew up with. I deposited my smokey clothes into the laundry, showered, and went to bed.

The next day was abuzz with activity. My Mother-in-law and I took my son to his piano lesson, then we packed a picnic lunch and loaded the whole family into the car. We dropped my husband off at the law school and went to the Field Museum. The Field Museum is remarkable, not least of all for the amazing collection of stuffed animals that wind through exhibit hall after exhibit hall. The taxidermists in early twentieth century Chicago must have had the lowest unemployment rate of any sector in this city. I could just imagine them flocking to Chicago to stuff all types of wild cats, buffalo, deer, rodents, lions, giraffe, apes, gorillas, and monkeys. Thousands and thousands of diverse creatures found their final resting place on display here. But far from feeling like a place of death, it was bright, vibrant, and full of life. It may have been the only place in Chicago my baby could be content to stay in her stroller. Princess Crazy Hair bounced up and down pointing at meerkats, armadillos, octopodes, and wart hogs shouting "doggie!"

My Mother-in-law and the older kids found themselves lost in the winding, ascending and descending labyrinth of the Egyptian exhibit, marvelling at artifacts and mummies. We met up in time to rush home for a quick bite before I had to chauffeur my son to a cub scout meeting armed with a hammer, a set of pliers, a flashlight, and a towel.

My son recently joined the Yeshiva boys troop of boy scouts. My husband and I felt that it would be a great opportunity for him to bond with the little men in his age group. My son, at the age of seven, is already a bit of a ladies' man. Perhaps, that's overstating it a bit, but he has found more kindred spirits in his new class among the young girls. It is easy to understand why. The boys in his class tend to run a bit wild and aggressive. The girls are sweet, cool, and fun.

The task for this week's cub scout meeting was to create a tin can lantern by hammering nails in the shape of a design into a tin can filled with frozen water. Since my husband had to study, it was left to me to assist my son in this manly task. I was vetoed on the Fleur De Lis pattern, but otherwise, it went off without a hitch, and only two sore thumbs between the two of us.

My Mother-in-law left on Monday, but only after visiting her grandson's school, and helping her granddaughter build a family of snowmen. After a sorrowful parting at the airport, we headed back home for supper and bedtime.

On Tuesday we awoke to what I consider a blizzard. Snow was whipped about by the wind, swirling around my window, and blanketing the earth below. I lay in bed listening to the radio and watching the school closing reports. My children's school was not listed, yet, but I was convinced that school had to be shut down. The radio repeatedly blared out a warning: "The conditions out there are pretty bad, don't go out if you don't have to!" Who would send children out in those conditions? Apparently, their school.

In a panic, we got my son ready for his carpool. The poor kid was bitterly disappointed that school wasn't cancelled. A whole day of fresh, fluffy snow would be wasted! My husband took my daughter to school, and I stayed home, safe and warm. A big hug and thanks goes out to the Skokie girl who braved the wicked elements to bring my ballerina home safe and sound.

Princess Crazy Hair put on her hat and neck warmer, ready to dive into a bank of fluffy snow. Sadly, Momma Crazy Hair had no intentions of putting one toe outside. Standing one step above the foyer of our building was enough for me. The ground, inside, was covered in two inches of snow! Snow blew in each time the door was opened. It was enough for me to barricade myself back indoors. Chances are school will be cancelled tomorrow as the city digs itself out of the snow. Unfortunately, the law school will continue unfazed, and my husband will be forced to trudge through a two hour commute downtown, leaving me with three kids anxious to go out and play.

It's time to dig deep into my psyche to find the inner child who looks at the cold white fluff as uncharted territory to explore, dig in, dive in, and revel in. She's in there somewhere isn't she? Perhaps she's wrestling with my inner bear, wanting nothing but to hibernate for the rest of the winter.

* * *

One of the nicest elements of staying at home has been the unexpected bond I've forged with my niece. As far as teenagers go, she's the sweetest, coolest, smartest, prettiest, and funniest I know. She's in Israel for the year, and every few days she IM's me just to chat. It has been such a treat getting to hear about her adventures first hand: the great concerts, the exciting trips, the funny and fascinating experiences she's had. I'm reliving my year in Israel vicariously, and getting the chance to escape to a warmer, more interesting and exotic land. At least in my imagination. Occasionally I get to practice my Hebrew, too. Toda raba!

My niece (left)