Fiesta season

Cinco de Mayo has passed, but I'm revving up my Tex-Mex culinary chops. Once again I volunteered to make a festive meal for the Sephardic synagogue for the holiday of Shavuot. My theme "without tacos there is no Torah; without Torah there are no tacos" was a big hit. Let's hope the enchiladas are, too.

For the past week I've been making salsas, enchiladas, guacamole, and refried beans at home to warm up for the big event. Over the past week I've gained three pounds, but my sinuses are clear.

Work is ramping up, too. The school year ends in three weeks. My physical education program will culminate in a field day, which means loads of preparation and planning. It's a daunting task, but I'm really excited to make it work. Field day is a physical education tradition. It's a day of relay races, picnicking, games, and silly activities like water balloon tosses and tug-of-war to end the year on a high note. My students have never experienced the unrivalled joys of a field day before. This knowledge has motivated me to make it the best ever.

My husband has already begun his summer associate position at the law firm, and so far seems to be enjoying the firm life. The firm hosted a welcome event at the Spertus Jewish Museum in Chicago. We arranged for a babysitter so that I could accompany my husband to this hoity-toity affair. I squeezed into my black suit and quickly teetered over to the train station in my heels to meet my hubby downtown. We boarded the trolley, rented by the law firm for the occasion, to the museum, and were greeted at the venue with a flute of champagne with a piece of fresh fruit covered in bubbles, floating in the glass.

I wasn't shy. I took my glass and drained it. I practically mauled the passing waitstaff for their hors d'oeuvres. Everything was kosher, and pardon the expression, but I was in hog heaven. After literally rubbing elbows with hundreds of lawyers in the jam-packed ante room, we moved up to the ninth floor for the real food. Buffet tables laden with edible delights interested me far more than the spouses I was meeting. I smiled, nodded, nibbled on pastas, Asian salmon, and potato salad, and at one point squirted a spouse on the forehead with green bean fluid. Embarrassed, I skulked over to the chocolate mousse buffet.

After draining the girlie, fruity vodka drink the bartender surprised me with, I thought to myself, I can get used to this. Then I remembered I could barely fit into my little black suit as it was. On that depressing note, we headed back to the trolley, up to my husband's 41st floor office to catch an expansive view of the city, and back home to relieve the babysitter. My husband was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "Nice, huh?" was all he needed to say.

The nicest thing for me, however, is the weekends. For once, I have my husband by my side as I shlep my kids around from practices to games and back. Sunday was the usual piano-soccer hustle. After the soccer game we joined one of my Skokie Sistahs and her kids for a picnic. It was her husband's birthday, and to celebrate, she planned a day of learning for him. From morning services to evening services he stayed in the synagogue, while a stream of friends appeared hourly to learn from Jewish texts with him. My husband was scheduled for the 4 o'clock slot, so after the picnic we raced home so he could collect his stack of seven books. He had a gleeful glimmer in his eye when I asked him what he had planned. "Something lawyerly" was the obvious response.

But Monday, Memorial day, topped them all. We planned a full day of adventure for the little ones. I packed a picnic basket full of sandwiches, fruits, drinks and cookies. We drove to the train station and boarded the Metra train into town.

For my eldest and my youngest, it was the first time they had been on a real train. We could have ended the adventure right there, and they would have been satisfied, but we were just getting started.

From the train station, we walked a few blocks into downtown.

The sky was slightly cloudy, but deliciously warm.

We got onto a bus for Millennium Park, where we spread out the picnic blanket and had our lunch.

The girls were far too excited to eat. They nibbled on a bite or two and then ran circles around us; literally, tight circles around the picnic blanket.

Lunch finally finished, we packed up our basket, and found the next train terminal.

We had some time before boarding the next train, so I treated my family to Starbucks while we waited.

The time came to board the train for Hyde Park and the Museum of Science and Industry.

I'd been there several times before with my children, but this time around it was for the big kid, my husband. My kids can never tire of the many delightful and deceptively educational activities and exhibits there.

Water,

lights,

color,

and cows

are all my children need to be fascinated and mesmerized for hours on end.

But really, this was for my husband. He was more excited than anyone to see the old fashioned firetrucks, the giant model train tracks around a miniature Chicago,

and the Swiss Rube Goldberg contraption he had heard so much about.

We were there for a few solid hours, but it flew by so fast. Before we knew it, we had to rush out to catch another train back, followed by another bus, and another train soon after. Before we made it home, the baby was out for the night.

We fed the big kids a quick dinner and sent them off to bed. I sent myself to bed soon after.

In all of the action and excitement from this past month I have learned something about myself. I don't do things small. I don't do small birthday parties, I don't do small feasts, I don't celebrate small or plan small field days, and I don't do small family adventures either.

For the past year I was seeing a therapist, actually a social worker who was supposed to help me manage the difficult move and the affects of our big transition on the kids. She was remarkably sweet and smart, but I don't know that the whole experience was particularly useful for me. How could it be?

Today was our last appointment. My social working therapist is a graduate student who has completed her degree and is now moving on to bigger and better things than the angst of a harried, tired, overwhelmed law school widow who does it all to herself.