Akiva's wife

There's nothing like a nasty little virus to slow the world down. We had a Shabbat lunch invitation at my son's classmate's house, but Saturday morning, my son woke up with a fever. For the next two days he coughed, sneezed, and was generally miserable. I loaded him up with nana tea and honey, children's Tylenol, and Motrin. This morning, I took him to the doctor. The fever was down and the strep test was negative. There was nothing left to do, but go home, make chicken soup, and force the kid to rest.

As for me, I spent the day cleaning my stovetop and sinks, cooking, and chatting with my sweet boy. The list of "I should haves" and "I could haves" is as long as ever, but the time went by too fast to be productive.

Time, in general, is zooming by. I'm a few months from law school graduation, and a child in the double digits. February is quickly coming to close, quick, even for the shortest month of the year. Spring fashions are hanging tantalizingly on the store racks, and I'm not getting any younger.

On Sunday, I drove to the Western Suburbs with the girls, to drop in on a friend who was there as a scholar-in-residence. I hadn't seen this friend in over twenty years, but I would have recognized him anywhere. He had hardly changed, except for having four children, and a distinguished smattering of gray hairs. Twenty years is just too long.

I have reacquainted myself with hundreds of old friends from twenty years ago and beyond on Facebook. It's a mindboggling and time-sucking invention that has allowed me to revisit the past, see where childhood friends have ended up, and compare our lives. I'm not comparing favorably to my many highly successful peers, but perhaps some wisdom has come with those many years, because I'm okay with it.

No, I'm not a lawyer, a world class musician, an artist, or high tech executive, but I am happy, and in this world, that's a lot. I'm not necessarily content with myself professionally, but that's a different matter entirely.

It's taken me three years of living in Chicago to get to this place of acceptance. I suspect part of it comes from the fact that my husband is in the home stretch, and I don't mind taking some of the credit getting him there. I didn't always make it easy, as in: of course, dear! Go spend the entire week in the library! I'll be fine with the kids, taking care of the apartment, and keeping things in order here! I'll admit I haven't been so malleable. And at times, I'm ashamed to say, I was downright demanding.

I have not been like Rabbi Akiva's wife over these past three years. Then again, I always hated this Jewish story of the great rabbi whose wife sent him away to learn for twelve years while she suffered in poverty raising their children and maintaining their home. Upon his return, he overheard her telling a neighbor that she would be proud if her husband, the great scholar, went away to learn Torah for another twelve years. And so he turned right around and left her on her own for another twelve years.

The story of the Law School Widow goes something like this: three years is enough, and only under the condition that you take out the trash and get the kids out of my hair from time-to-time. An LL.M? Are you nuts?

In three months, if the benevolent lord above be willing, my husband will walk across the stage and accept his diploma. He has worked himself ragged for that piece of parchment. He has put in late nights writing and studying, and researching. He will be at it until the bitter end, and then he will do it some more until he has completed the Bar Exam. Yet, he has juggled his school work with his family life with such caring, sympathy, and sensitivity, that I wonder, why am I so lucky?

Before we embarked on this adventure together, three long years ago, we were often warned that many marriages didn't make it through the grueling demands of law school. We've made it so far, and in some ways, I think this whole experience has made us stronger. It hasn't been easy, and it hasn't always been fun. There have been times when I've been ready to pack up the bags, load the kids in the van, and drive back down to Texas. There have been times when I'm sure my husband wished we would.

It's not over yet. The fat lady hasn't started singing, but we are starting to plan for life post-law school. It's an exhilarating, if not slightly terrifying feeling, especially considering the current economy. And I'm not naive enough to think that graduation is the end of our trials and tribulations. In many ways, the law firm life will be far worse.

But for now, I'm not complaining. After all, it could be a lot worse.

Just ask Rabbi Akiva's wife.

Managing expectations

Two days ago, I stepped out my front door and, for the first time in three months, breathed warm air into my lungs. February has handed me a pleasant surprise: mild temperatures. Three people so far today have pointed out that it's not going to last very long, but I prefer to take it for what it is, a welcome respite from the misery, difficulty, and pain of a brutal Chicago winter.

This record-breaking warming spell also offers a lesson in managing expectations. For months I have been dreading February. It was awful our first two years here. Why would this particularly wicked and snowy winter be any different?

Good thing I'm not a meteorologist.

I'm discovering that life is all about managing expectations. I went into parenting without a clue, and come to think of it, I still don't seem to have one. The kid who spent all of last year wailing, howling and caterwauling, has become a dream: responsible, mature, helpful, and calm. But like the seasons, past performance is no guarantee of future behaviors. I just hold my breath and wait. My son, on the other hand, was once the sweetest, easiest child on the planet. Since he hit those pre-teen years, he's been a mystery: loving, thoughtful, and caring one moment, grumpy, moody, irrational the next.

He sounds just like me.

The baby is the greatest enigma of them all, but you don't have to take my word for it. Last week, we consulted a professional. "Tell me about your child." She began. What could we say? She's willful, defiant, stubborn, and happy. Yes, very happy, smiling all the time. "You don't usually get those traits together." The professional mused.

We, personally, wouldn't have sought professional help to address our child's behavioral quirks. After all, all three of our children fit that description. But the day care urged us to talk to someone, anyone, please. Apparently, our little angel is a bit more than they can handle. The professional recommended behavioral modification. Her suggestion was to pick out two of the most egregious behaviors to focus on, come up with a really special reward for changing those behaviors, and move on to the next behaviors from there.

That sounded reasonable to us. We decided on our two behaviors, and from there decided on a reward, in consultation with our toddler. "I want to bake cookies!" She proclaimed. And we knew that nothing would make her happier, except maybe eating them. I pulled out a Chanukah Baking Kit that we didn't get around to in December. My little chef mixed the ingredients, rolled out the dough, used the cookie cutters to make the shapes, made the icing, frosted the cookies, painted them, and dug right in.

It was hard to imagine this kid any happier than her normal state of being, but there she was, grinning from ear-to-ear, giddy with glee.

















So far so good on the behavioral modification front!

How about behavioral modification for moms?

For years, I've felt like I'm expecting too much from my kids. Every day they come home to a laundry list of responsibilities. They have to practice piano, do homework, put away their toys, take a bath. Some days they have dance classes to boot. And there I am, hovering like a helicopter mom. Have you finished your math? Is your spelling packet done? Piano! Don't forget piano! I'd tune me out, too.

Yet, somehow, my son always seems to rise to the occasion. A few weeks ago he had his first science fair.

His project was "Static Electricity". It wasn't a big surprise to us when his teacher called reminding us of a deadline just days away. Hey, kid, have you started on your project? I asked, trying to sound nonchalant. After minutes of hemming and hawing and intense discomfort on his part, I realized, my son didn't have a clue. I called his partner's parents. They got the same response from their son. My husband emailed the teacher and got the complete low down on the project. Arrangements were made, and the children put together a last minute project.

It wasn't too bad, for a last minute-first try, but my son was quite disappointed with his third place ribbon. Especially since every child received a ribbon, and third was "the worst". He grumbled a bit, but was determined to do better the next year. I couldn't have been prouder. That night, in fact, he was already toying with a project idea for next year.

I'm just happy he has high expectation for himself. He should, he's got the whole world ahead of him, with nothing to stop him but himself. I just hope that if I tell him that often enough, he'll believe me.

Optimism comes hard these days. My husband watches the law blogs like a hawk, watching to see which firms have folded, which have laid off lawyers, and which have rescinded offers for the next year. It's a precarious moment for us all. I listen to the news daily, waiting to hear a good report. I'm not holding my breath. Today, for the first time, we began to consider plan B, just in case. In the meantime, we listen, wait, and pray hard.

Life turns on a dime. A brutal winter mellows into a beautiful spring, a buoyant job market sinks. Hopes and expectations for a bright future ebb and flow with the changing economic tides. Thankfully, we have each other.

We grasped that truth rather poignantly last weekend, when we paid a long overdue visit to my husband's cousins. His cousin is married to a sweet, soft spoken guy, and they have four adorable boys. We expected to walk into a house of chaos and noise. What else would four boys do, but run around, screaming, creating havoc, and making noise? We were pleasantly surprised to find a calm, quiet home filled with sweet, handsome young boys. They are such a blessing to their mother who has suffered with chronic back pain since her oldest was born. She has endured several surgeries already, and is preparing for another soon.

















It's been rough on all of them, but you can see so much love in their family. As tough as things may get, they truly have each other for comfort and support.

I don't know what the future holds for us, either. I do know that spring will come, eventually. I know that my daughter will one day channel her stubborn, independent streak in creative, wonderful ways. I know that my son will continue to make things harder for himself, and maybe he'll be better off for it in the long run.

Best of all, I know that no matter what happens, we have each other.