Autumnal anxiety

Autumn is a beautiful time in Chicago. The leaves have taken on the crisp and twinkling tones of twilight. The ambers, burgundies, oranges, and ochres blanket the streets in an elegant tapestry, turning the city that works into a city that saunters. The children prickle with anticipation; winter is weeks away.

But we don't slow down for anything. We embrace the season and devour each moment like the succulent tartness of an apple picked fresh from a tree.


We savour the diminishing daylight, and grasp the dwindling warmth to us, like a dear friend, soon to part ways.

We bask in the dying glow of summer.

And we buckle down to the task at hand. For the children, this means adjusting to the rigorous quotidian challenges of being back to school. Spelling tests, book reports, and early bedtimes are vexing, yet they bring comfort and stability along with fear and discouragement.

We are in the process of potty training the baby. This is one of many parenting skills at which I have traditionally failed miserably. But we are seeing some encouraging signs. Like her father, she will do almost anything for candy. She will sit valiantly on the potty straining with intense concentration to earn her one candy for pee pee or two for poopy, humming the little ditty I made up for the occasion:

Poopy in the potty,
Peepee in the potty,
Then we wipe front to back!
We drop the paper in the potty,
Then we flush the potty,
Then we wash our hands!

All of this attention and reward has caused a regression in her big sister, who has reverted back to pull-ups at bedtime and temper tantrums during the day. She is having a rough time of it. Yet, she is quick to brag that she is the smartest girl in her class, and the second smartest in kindergarten. It's a perception I encourage. I don't worry so much about her over inflated ego as much as the inevitable deflation that tends to occur during adolescence. Anyway, I suspect she may be right. She is as perceptive as she is persistent. From a learning perspective, it's a winning combination. From a parenting perspective, it is maddening as hell.

My son is not immune to the turbulent transitions. He is not timid in his displays of manliness, but his triumphalism falters in private moments. "I'm a stupid boy!" he exclaims when struggling to write sentences for school. That you are not, I declare with certitude. "You're just saying that" he pouts back. "I'm the worst soccer player on my team" he moans. Yet he goes out there each week, bubbling with excitement. This week his coach commented that he did a great job as goalie, despite literally taking one on the chin. "He bounced the whole time!" He observed.

I was the substitute teacher at my children's school last week. I taught some physical education and some 7th grade science. It wasn't too terrible. The best part was getting to peek in on my kids during the day. My son's third grade teacher called me in to inform me that he had done poorly on his spelling test for the first time. She wasn't too concerned. "We can drop the grade and move on, or I can give him another chance." Let's ask him, I suggested.

I was so proud when he piped up, "I want a second chance!"

Moments like these - my baby plugging away, if you pardon the expression, at the potty; her big sister recovering from a melt-down to show off her math skills; my son taking his lumps and running back into the game - offer as much comfort as anxiety. I worry about their ability to cope with failures and frustrations. I worry that I lay too heavy a burden on them to be more grown up than they are capable. But they're resilient, and determined, and yes, stubborn as hell.

But that's all part of the rich tapestry: the vermilion and gold of an interesting textured life. Fall's deceptive beauty is ushering in the bitterness and cruelty of the Chicago winter. We are hunkering down for another year of law school and life. The agony and intensity of classes, externships, research, and hours away from the family have opened up fabulous offers from some of the top law firms in the nation. They're actively recruiting my husband sending (non-kosher) treats, inviting him to receptions, having their lawyers wine and dine him.

My husband reassures me that his hard work and long absences are paying off, but I'm not so far-sighted. I'm like a child, living and coping with the here and now. And my daily reality is the struggle to manage the kids on my own while facing another brutal winter.

My husband and my kids are amazing. They are so adaptable to the climate, to their new challenges, to the changes around them. The temperatures drop and they just pull out their jackets and keep going. Life throws them a curve ball, and they're back in the game.

Not me. Each change is a shock to my system. Each transition is a maelstrom in my life. I get so homesick sometimes I just want to curl up in bed and cry. I'm overwhelmed by every bump and dip in the road. Lately, I've felt so pathetic and resentful, unable to adapt, bounce back, change with the circumstances. I tell myself that it's temporary and in two years, God willing, life will be easier. But life isn't like that. There will always be challenges and obstacles.

There will always be change.

Fall always follows summer, winter always follows fall, and spring always comes again. What am I so worried about?