Learning moments
We didn't think much about the cold temperatures in the kindergarten classrooms Saturday night, when we went to our daughter's class presentation. What really stood out for me that evening was the homeless man walking up and down Devon Avenue with a cardboard sign asking for help. My heart was wrenched by the sight of this poor man out in sub-zero temperatures. Let's get him something hot to drink! I demanded of my husband. We pulled into the Dunkin' Donuts and ordered up a large decaffeinated coffee and a bagel with cream cheese, and rushed back to deliver them to the frozen dear. My children pelted us with a million questions. "What are you doing?" asked my confused kindergartner. "What's going to happen to him?" asked my terribly sensitive son. "I wan' Donut!" demanded the toddler.
But when we arrived back at the intersection, he had already moved on. I made my tired and beleaguered husband park and enter the seedy stores nearby. We drove around for ten or fifteen minutes, as the coffee went cold. Finally, we went home, our hearts heavy with concern for the homeless man.
I didn't give much thought to the cold classrooms that night, but I've thought a lot about them since then. The entire school closed down over the last couple of days to repair the faulty heaters. Monday wasn't so bad. The baby was in day care, and big brother was at a friend's working on a school project. My husband and I tag teamed with the Diva, who was kept blissfully preoccupied by the Sound of Music and ballet class. By Tuesday, I was beginning to panic as I envisioned spending my entire week of winter break keeping my children entertained.
My husband had his own problems to contend with, namely, a dead laptop computer. His computer began to randomly shut down right before final exams. A repair man replaced several crucial parts, but that made it worse. He shipped it into the service center, and they returned it in even worse condition. A repairman was sent out again, weeks later, and this time, it wouldn't even turn on. My husband spent hours on the phone with tech-support, but to no avail.
"They want me to send it in again!" He told me, incredulously. "If it doesn't work this time," he reassured himself, "they'll send me a new one. But that could take weeks."
They've replaced everything there is to replace! What more can they do? He shrugged, and looked up the corporate headquarters on our desktop. "I'll go straight to the CEO if I have to."
In the meantime, classes had started weeks ago, and mid-term exams were looming not too far over the horizon. He reluctantly began to search for a new computer to get him through the semester until the issues with the old one were resolved. Fortunately, he found one on sale.
The next morning he approached me with puppy dog eyes. "Do you need the car? I want to go pick up the new laptop." Not really, I answered reluctantly, As long as you can take the baby to daycare, but who's going to pick her up? You have a late class tonight.
"Nobody. She'll have to stay home with you."
Aaaeeeiii! Trapped at home with three stir-crazy children and no car?! I panicked. My mind raced for a solution. We'll drop you off at the law school! We'll drive you there!
To my great relief, he agreed. He dropped off the baby, picked up a new computer, and rushed home. True to my word, I had the kids dressed and bundled, his lunch, dinner, and snacks packed up. I even packed a few snacks for the kids, and as promised, we were downstairs waiting with misty breath in the 20 degree temperatures for him to pull up.
Halfway to the law school, it dawned on me that it was getting close to lunch time. How far is the new Wolfgang Puck Kosher Cafe at the Spertus Museum from the law school? Before I knew it, an adventure was born.
From the parking spot at the law school we caught a city bus down Michigan Avenue. Let me take your picture! I gleefully squealed. It's your first trip on a city bus! My son just rolled his eyes. "Mom, we've been on a bus before. We take the school bus every week." I took the picture anyway.
We missed our stop, but got off a few blocks later, only to be greeted by a homeless man addressing my children as "prince and princess". I whipped out my bag of snacks and proffered bags of pretzels, string cheeses and a diet soda to the man. My impulse to nourish cold strangers was assuaged for the time being.
A couple of blocks later, we found our way to the newly remodeled building. At the cafe, I felt pressure to adequately feed my children, knowing I had just given their snacks away. The offerings were elegant take-out: Thai chicken wraps, cold salmon fillet over a bed of Asian noodles, fancy salads. I despaired to find a kid-friendly meal. The roast beef sandwich looked like a possibility until the children opened them up and grimaced.
"Ugh! What's that?" My finicky eaters sneered. I scrapped away sauteed purple onion and chili aolio, and tried to present a delicious meal, but they weren't buying it. I became desperate, knowing that in an hour my children would be whining non-stop about being hungry, and I would have nothing to give them. Please, I begged, just try it. I watched in desperation, as they picked at the bread, and assiduously avoided the meat filing. At one point I offered a bribe.
"What's a bribe?" my suspicious son asked. He adamantly refused to entertain the idea, but little sister jumped, and opened her mouth wide, taking a small but adequate bite. I reached into my purse, and handed her a crisp dollar bill. She gloated, and continued to nibble. "It's good!" she said, sounding surprised. My son remained stolid, but I couldn't let it go.
You are sooo brave! I complimented my daring daughter. You are like Nachshon ben Aminadav! I gushed, referring to the figure in this week's Torah reading who showed tremendous courage and faith by jumping into the Red Sea as the Hebrews fled the Egyptian army, causing God to split the sea in two. You had faith that you mommy wouldn't feed you something terrible, and you jumped in!
"For a dollar." Glowered my son, pointing out the obvious flaw in my analogy.
The museum, like the cafe, was not kid-friendly, but it did keep them mostly entertained for an hour. It kept me on my toes. Nope! This isn't very nice to see. Let's move on!
That evening we barely acknowledged Tu B'Shevat, the Jewish holiday celebrating nature, with a barley and dried fruit concoction I invented on the spot, and steak. Not exactly the Kabbalistic-laden repast most Sephardi families would have enjoyed, but it was better than nothing.
School's on tomorrow. As much as I enjoy my adventures with my children, I look forward to a couple of days of quiet and calm. I don't have much planned, but lots to accomplish.
While I'm praying for the well-being of homeless people everywhere, I'll include a small entreaty for the well-being of the school's heater, too.
But when we arrived back at the intersection, he had already moved on. I made my tired and beleaguered husband park and enter the seedy stores nearby. We drove around for ten or fifteen minutes, as the coffee went cold. Finally, we went home, our hearts heavy with concern for the homeless man.
I didn't give much thought to the cold classrooms that night, but I've thought a lot about them since then. The entire school closed down over the last couple of days to repair the faulty heaters. Monday wasn't so bad. The baby was in day care, and big brother was at a friend's working on a school project. My husband and I tag teamed with the Diva, who was kept blissfully preoccupied by the Sound of Music and ballet class. By Tuesday, I was beginning to panic as I envisioned spending my entire week of winter break keeping my children entertained.
My husband had his own problems to contend with, namely, a dead laptop computer. His computer began to randomly shut down right before final exams. A repair man replaced several crucial parts, but that made it worse. He shipped it into the service center, and they returned it in even worse condition. A repairman was sent out again, weeks later, and this time, it wouldn't even turn on. My husband spent hours on the phone with tech-support, but to no avail.
"They want me to send it in again!" He told me, incredulously. "If it doesn't work this time," he reassured himself, "they'll send me a new one. But that could take weeks."
They've replaced everything there is to replace! What more can they do? He shrugged, and looked up the corporate headquarters on our desktop. "I'll go straight to the CEO if I have to."
In the meantime, classes had started weeks ago, and mid-term exams were looming not too far over the horizon. He reluctantly began to search for a new computer to get him through the semester until the issues with the old one were resolved. Fortunately, he found one on sale.
The next morning he approached me with puppy dog eyes. "Do you need the car? I want to go pick up the new laptop." Not really, I answered reluctantly, As long as you can take the baby to daycare, but who's going to pick her up? You have a late class tonight.
"Nobody. She'll have to stay home with you."
Aaaeeeiii! Trapped at home with three stir-crazy children and no car?! I panicked. My mind raced for a solution. We'll drop you off at the law school! We'll drive you there!
To my great relief, he agreed. He dropped off the baby, picked up a new computer, and rushed home. True to my word, I had the kids dressed and bundled, his lunch, dinner, and snacks packed up. I even packed a few snacks for the kids, and as promised, we were downstairs waiting with misty breath in the 20 degree temperatures for him to pull up.
Halfway to the law school, it dawned on me that it was getting close to lunch time. How far is the new Wolfgang Puck Kosher Cafe at the Spertus Museum from the law school? Before I knew it, an adventure was born.
From the parking spot at the law school we caught a city bus down Michigan Avenue. Let me take your picture! I gleefully squealed. It's your first trip on a city bus! My son just rolled his eyes. "Mom, we've been on a bus before. We take the school bus every week." I took the picture anyway.
We missed our stop, but got off a few blocks later, only to be greeted by a homeless man addressing my children as "prince and princess". I whipped out my bag of snacks and proffered bags of pretzels, string cheeses and a diet soda to the man. My impulse to nourish cold strangers was assuaged for the time being.A couple of blocks later, we found our way to the newly remodeled building. At the cafe, I felt pressure to adequately feed my children, knowing I had just given their snacks away. The offerings were elegant take-out: Thai chicken wraps, cold salmon fillet over a bed of Asian noodles, fancy salads. I despaired to find a kid-friendly meal. The roast beef sandwich looked like a possibility until the children opened them up and grimaced.
"Ugh! What's that?" My finicky eaters sneered. I scrapped away sauteed purple onion and chili aolio, and tried to present a delicious meal, but they weren't buying it. I became desperate, knowing that in an hour my children would be whining non-stop about being hungry, and I would have nothing to give them. Please, I begged, just try it. I watched in desperation, as they picked at the bread, and assiduously avoided the meat filing. At one point I offered a bribe.
"What's a bribe?" my suspicious son asked. He adamantly refused to entertain the idea, but little sister jumped, and opened her mouth wide, taking a small but adequate bite. I reached into my purse, and handed her a crisp dollar bill. She gloated, and continued to nibble. "It's good!" she said, sounding surprised. My son remained stolid, but I couldn't let it go.
You are sooo brave! I complimented my daring daughter. You are like Nachshon ben Aminadav! I gushed, referring to the figure in this week's Torah reading who showed tremendous courage and faith by jumping into the Red Sea as the Hebrews fled the Egyptian army, causing God to split the sea in two. You had faith that you mommy wouldn't feed you something terrible, and you jumped in!
"For a dollar." Glowered my son, pointing out the obvious flaw in my analogy.
The museum, like the cafe, was not kid-friendly, but it did keep them mostly entertained for an hour. It kept me on my toes. Nope! This isn't very nice to see. Let's move on!
That evening we barely acknowledged Tu B'Shevat, the Jewish holiday celebrating nature, with a barley and dried fruit concoction I invented on the spot, and steak. Not exactly the Kabbalistic-laden repast most Sephardi families would have enjoyed, but it was better than nothing.School's on tomorrow. As much as I enjoy my adventures with my children, I look forward to a couple of days of quiet and calm. I don't have much planned, but lots to accomplish.
While I'm praying for the well-being of homeless people everywhere, I'll include a small entreaty for the well-being of the school's heater, too.
posted by law school widow at 11:23 PM
3 Comments:
I feel sort of like a stalker saying this...but i recognize your kids. I saw them in Jewel this week with a woman who I assume was you!
Next time say hi, unless, of course, I'm yelling at my kids! That would be way too embarassing. Come to think of it, I wasn't yelling at them, was I?
Ha. No you weren't, not that I remember at least. Although I might have been distracted because I was yelling at my own kids, saying things like, "Get off the cart!" and "No that popcorn is not kosher!"
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