Justice on ice

About a month ago I was summoned for jury duty. My gut reaction to these things is rarely negative. In fact, I'm quite eager to fulfill my civic responsibilities. I've always voted, and almost always make the effort to research the candidates and ballot initiatives. I actually look forward to serving on a jury, and serving as impartially, dispassionately, and judiciously as I can, considering my Latina passions that never lie too far beneath the surface. However, until now, my number was called only once, while I was a college student living in another state. Since then, the summons never came, until a month ago.

As much as I yearn to serve the cause of justice, for as it is written, "Justice, justice shall you pursue" (Parshat Shoftim, my son's Bar Mitzvah Parshah, B"H), the timing bites. Who's going to take the baby to day care while I begin my multiple modalities of transportation to arrive at the downtown courthouse in a timely manner? Who's going to pick up my kids from school, take my diva to ballet, and pick up the big kids from homework club while I weigh the scales justice? Certainly not the law school hubby who is in the midst of his own judicial pursuits.

I managed to get out of it, but only after taking a train (a cool double decker Metra) and a taxi to get to the court house 30 minutes late, waiting in a really long line, and explaining to the clerk with the French accent that I did send in a request for a hardship deferment, but, apparently, in the wrong format. I was required to write a note explaining my predicament (motherhood), and a date when I could serve (when my youngest turns twelve?).

In the end, I was able to defer jury duty until, theoretically, this summer, and I made it to work with plenty of time to spare. The best thing to come out of this superfluous errand was the discovery that those super-cool Metra trains allow parents to take up to three kids under the age of twelve free! I see a fabulous Spring-time adventure in the making...

Speaking of adventures, this week has been replete with them. On Wednesday I had to drag my mildly feverish baby to work with me, since she was not well enough for daycare. On Thursday I stayed home with her. On Friday morning at 4:00 am, she crawled into bed with me burning hot, pointing to her ear and complaining of a boo boo. Several hours later I whisked her off to the pediatrician who confirmed the suspected ear infection. Amoxycillin was dispensed, and I'm happy to report she is on the road to recovery (hamza, hamza).

She was well enough this afternoon for a different kind of family adventure altogether. After the usual Sunday morning shuffle of piano lessons, which I'm happy to announce are going really well, and swim lessons, which aren't going badly, we drove downtown to take in an outdoor winter art exhibit known as The Museum of Modern Ice. It was really cool, no pun intended.

The paintings were painted onto sheets of ice. It was as beautiful as it was fascinating. The artist developed his own technique for keeping the ice sheets below freezing, not that it was necessary this month, but we were more fascinated by how he got the paint to stick.

For the duration of our short walk to the exhibit, my little Texan Diva kvetched about the cold. She was miserable. Interestingly, she stopped complaining once we reached the exhibit. Unfortunately, she didn't stop frowning. I could hardly blame her.

After an obligatory stop at the "Bean",

we found our way to an even stranger sight. A "heating tent" with free tango lessons where my kids warmed up and drank free samples of pomegranate flavored Kefir, while puzzling at the hypnotic strains of Argentinian accordions.

Were we in Chicago or Tierra del Fuego? Who cares? We were warm, if only briefly. We made it another few blocks before we had to stop for another blast of warmth, this time, courtesy Starbucks, and some warm drinks.

We finished off the adventure at the Ghirardelli chocolate shop and ice cream parlor. Where else does one go to warm up on a blustery day in Chicago? I passed up on ice cream and chocolates, figuring the kids would never finish theirs. How wrong I was. Not a bite remained.

We got home right around bedtime. I bathed the kids, fed them some cereal (after all, they had sandwiches for breakfast), and sent them off to bed. I uploaded my photos onto the computer and gasped. I had gained ten pounds in my cheeks alone over the winter!

Thank goodness I passed up on the ice cream. Justice has been served.