Life's surprises

It happened suddenly, without any warning. I stepped outside and shivered. Fall arrived with a dull thud, like a newspaper thrown to the stoop. No gradual cooling, gently turning leaves, or warm days followed by nippy nights. One day it was warm, the next day it wasn't.

Life seems to happen like that as well. Day after day, my husband and I are in a rut, working, cleaning, cooking, chasing kids into bed. Then without warning, the babysitter arrives, and I'm being swept out the door to pick up Chinese food to go, and to race downtown to catch the last architectural boat tour of the evening.

These are the surprises I don't mind. The city is so beautiful at dusk. The buildings majestically rise up from the banks for the river.

Some stand rigid and no-nonsense, some prance and flout their curlicues and embellishments. Others stand unpretentious, aware of their uncommon beauty, but not boastful.

My favorite are the unabashedly gaudy and fantastical.

Some buildings rise to dizzying heights,

others are dazzlingly down-to-Earth. Most plant themselves somewhere in between trying hard not to be too obtrusive, but clearly appreciating the admiring glances from passersby.

And even as bundled up as I am, I have to grudgingly admit, this is a beautiful city. Sometimes I surprise myself.

Many more wonderful surprises were in store for us this week. In one day we joyously welcomed two new cousins into our family. My big cousin and his wife in New York announced the birth of their second little girl, and my little cousin and his wife welcomed their first son in Florida. Our hearts are full to bursting with the happy news of eagerly awaited, and enthusiastically loved and adored new babies. We can't wait to meet them in person.

Almost nothing tops the pleasant surprises of a friend visiting from far away. Months ago, I got a call from a neighbor from Kibbutz Shalom letting me know she'd be in town with her son for a weekend. Could she stay with us for Shabbat, she wondered. Aaaah, I thought, San Antonio sunshine in October. What could be better?

Smack-dab between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur falls Shabbat Tshuvah, the sabbath of repentance. It's the cornerstone of the ten days of repentance before the day of atonement. On this weekend my friend came to help me shed the spiritual trials of my past year, and usher in a clean slate of forgiveness and piety. I cleaned and cooked, and invited along a new friend replete with musical, literary, and artistic talents. It was a symbolic meeting of past and future.

In an all too symbolic moment, nothing was ready. I was still mopping the kitchen floor and dicing up veggies for salads when my guests arrived. I finished up as quickly as I could, refusing as many kind offers of help as I was able, and rushed into my room to change into something a bit less hausfrau-ish.

Dinner was a colloquial affair. The kids bubbled over with curiosity and personality, and friends, new and old chatted about music, art, and politics with fiery passion and warm respect. It was a lovely evening. And as I walked my friend home, I smiled knowing the year was off to a good start.

Or, so I thought.

Life is full of surprises. Some are wonderful, like a magical boat ride on the Chicago river, or a new friend. Some are not so welcome, like the sudden arrival of cold weather. Or the kind of surprises only a child can pounce on you.

I went to sleep Friday night, tired from staying up late catching up with my San Antonio Sistah, but happy. At 6:30 am I was awoken from my deep sleep by shrieking girls. It was impossible to tell if they were happy or agonized shrieks. But they were certainly loud enough to wake up the sleeping guest in the living room, not to mention the landlord downstairs. I hauled my exhausted body out of bed and confronted the inappropriately gleeful children. It's too early to make so much noise. I informed them sternly. This worked to settle them down for all of half an hour. For the next two hours, my husband and I took turns shushing the alternately silly and sobbing sisters who were exhaustingly giddy and out of control when the rest of the world was trying to sleep in.

I finally dragged myself out of bed once-and-for-all, and got the girls ready for synagogue. I sent my husband off to shul and proceeded to get myself dressed. My guest had somehow managed to fall back asleep. Moments later, a small knock at the door caught my attention. "Mommy, the baby got to the scissors. She's cutting her hair." Ayyyiieee! The adrenaline that had finally subsided, rushed back into my brain. My temples throbbed as I threw on a robe and set foot out the door.

My baby looked back at me innocently. I could see some hair missing, but it didn't look too terrible. I didn't see any hair lying around her. "She threw it away." Informed the older sister, with no small satisfaction. The blood drained from my face as I retrieved a large bundle of golden brown curls from the garbage can. My sleeping friend heard the panic in my voice and got up to see me clutching the curls in my hands. The horrified look on my face said it all.

"At least she didn't cut herself." My friend offered weakly. Hmmm. Was all I could muster. The rest of the morning was spent reading the bewildered child the riot act, and dragging her to synagogue with steam pouring out of my ears.

Hours later, I could almost laugh about it. Barely.

That evening I wished my friend and her adorable son goodbye. We laughed about the unpredictable nature of children, and the timing of my daughter's Vidal Sassoon moment during the ten days of repentance (back to square one for me!). And then she left me to my Chicago life.

The next morning was a whirlwind of activity. After piano lessons I dragged the baby to the hair salon. The hairdresser chuckled as she snipped away at the bewildered toddlers curls. "Next time, "she told her in a thick accent, "Tell your Mama when you want your haircut. Don't do it yourself, sweetheart. Nancy will cut it for you!" My baby nodded solemnly, and smiled at her new style.

It wasn't perfect, but the jagged lines were pretty well camouflaged. And I had to admit it. She looked really cute with her short 'do.

The baby and I rushed home from the salon to pick up the rest of the family for the rainy Sunday afternoon soccer games that naturally overlapped. We got home that afternoon cold, wet, and tired. I was ready to draw the kids their baths, and prepare their supper, but my husband had one more surprise in store for me.

"We promised our son a pet for his birthday. I'm going to run him over to the pet store to look at some animals and get an idea of what he likes."

Hours later we welcomed a small, black furry hamster into our home. My son called him "Chomp" since he nibbled his way through the box he came in.


My husband spent the waning days of the afternoon putting together Chomp's cage while the girls giggled gleefully at their new playmate.

One part of me is ready to get back to my rut. It was safe, quiet and predictable there. But John Lennon put it best: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

I wish you all a happy, healthy, sweet new year. May you be inscribed in the book of life, and may all of life's surprises be the kind that make you smile.

Even if it takes a while.