The end, part 2

Three and a half years ago I began:

May 10, 2006. In two months and 21 days I will be moving across the country to start my life as the wife of a law student. I am leaving my friends and family, a great job, a house I love, and a comfortable life for the dream of a better future. And I'll be taking my three children along on the adventure with me. The logistics of the move are huge: selling our house, enrolling the kids in school, finding affordable day care for the baby, finding a new apartment, finding me a new job. The details are staggering. I'm told the first year of law school is brutal. I've been warned that I will only see glimpses of my husband as he rushes off to the library, or returns home for a quick shower. I've been alerted to the fact that law school is rough on marriages. But we're strong. We're tight. And if we can survive this move, we can survive anything.

I'm not really the blogging type, but I'm hoping this will be a good way to stay connected to my former life, and understand the new one I'm being thrust into. Blog as cheap therapy? Perhaps. Blog as form letter you plug into? Definitely! Stay tuned for the exciting adventures of the Law School Widow!

Looking back I can say we did, in fact survive. A little worse for the wear, but we made it through to the other side. I did make new friends, but never quite got over leaving my family. I found a new job, but it isn't nearly as great as the one I left behind. I still miss my house, my synagogue, my old life, but I'm okay with that. My hubby did spectacularly in law school, no surprise there. He started his new job a couple of weeks ago, and seems content. The kids, thank goodness, are thriving. They are in a wonderful school, have sweet friends, and are as at home here as anywhere.

It wasn't easy. I have yet to feel that Chicago is my home. I will never, ever, not ever, get used to the harsh and vicious winters. I am still struggling to find my place in a large and rather homogeneous Orthodox community. I've put on close to fifteen pounds (but have managed to lose seven). I'm grumpier, tenser, more prone to snap at the people I love. My parenting skills have taken a nosedive. And yet around me, life flourishes.

The post-Bar trip is a fine example. We couldn't afford our plan to take California by storm, hitting everything from the Napa Valley vineyards (the kosher ones, at least) south to the San Diego zoo. We had big dreams, but as of yet, no income. So we went for a two week trip to Minnesota instead to visit my mother-in-law.

There was no Disneyland, Monterrey Bay Aquarium, or Baron Herzog kosher fine dining, but we managed to have a genuinely wonderful, relaxing, and much needed break. I flew in from Ft. Lauderdale while my saintly hubby drove the kids the seven hour drive to St. Paul. The next day we packed up and drove up north to Lake Superior, hanging a right at Duluth to head back to a place we'd vacationed years ago: Bayfield, Wisconsin.

Bayfield is an adorable, picturesque seaside town on the shores of the lake they once called Gitche Gumee (h/t Gordon Lightfoot). On our first visit I had the distinct feeling of being in a Twilight Zone episode visiting the small town. Something was amiss. The town looked normal, the people seemed normal, but I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong. It finally occurred to me: it didn't smell right. No dead fish and salty sea air. Of course, now I'm used to living on a gigantic lake.

This time, we drove through Bayfield and straight onto the ferry to Madeline Island, the shining star of the Apostle Islands.

Granted, it was a little spit of an almost uninhabited island, but the kids couldn't have been happier, breathing clean air, clinging to their Granma like little monkeys.

Madeline Island has two grocery stores, a handful of taverns, three or more art galleries, and fourteen miles of paved road. It doesn't have the sophisticated marketing skills of your average Californian corporation, hence the name of the cabin we rented, "Better Than A Tent".

There is something to be said for truth in advertising.

It was much better than a tent. Our double double-wide with four bedrooms, two full baths, kitchen, dining area, living room and tiki bar was downright adorable. And stuck in the middle of nowhere in the deep, dark, bug-filled woods of the island.

We had no cell phone reception, no TV reception, and no wireless internet, but we found plenty to do in our little island paradise.

We played tennis.

We visited the local history museum where the kids learned to weave in the ancient way,

and enjoyed the soft, scent-free prized fur of the local skunks.

We built our own "dreamcatchers",

and braved a storm kayaking around the island.

We swam in the recreation center's "heated" pool overlooking the lake and the marina,

and thawed out in the hot tub.

Our most memorable event was sitting out on the dock as the sun disappeared over the horizon and the night bloomed in billions of stars, unobscured by city lights or clouds. We even saw the milky way and a couple of satellites.

Months later, it is what they remember most about the trip.

We spent four days cooking together, eating together, playing Mille Bournes, laughing and snuggling together.

And no one complained about missing the Disney princesses.

Back in St. Paul, the kids explored the Science Museum where their Daddy had once worked.

The spent hours in Granma's garden picking cherry tomatoes and green beans,

and we celebrated our first born's first decade of life with friends and family.

We spent a lovely Shabbat in the St. Louis Park community, and capped the trip off with a trip to the Apple Valley Zoo and the Como Land amusement park.

Back at home, life went back to it's normal, allegretto rhythms. The kids went back to school, my hubby finished of his last few weeks of pro bono work, and I returned to teach P.E. at the girl's school. But even our daily routines are broken up by special events, visits and moments. In the past couple of months we went apple picking,

celebrated Sukkot,

enjoyed visits from a long lost friend (thanks, facebook!),

and from Grandma and Papa. We dragged Grandma and Papa around Chicago from one end to the other.

My hubby, having some free time, took them to the Art Institute of Chicago, and the kids and I dragged them to the Museum of Science and Industry

and a Chamber music concert at the school.

But the moment I'll hold onto most dearly is the week my hubby and I spent together. He was finished with his pro bono work, and hadn't begun working at the firm yet. I was off for Sukkot break. The kids were still in school. We took our own little "Staycation" from the moment we dropped the kids off at school at 8:00 am, until we picked them up at 4. We went to the Art Institute, explored the Cultural Arts Center's Tiffany domes, and spent a day at the Merchandise Mart, dreaming of that bright future we've tried so hard to attain.


And what great gem of wisdom have I gained from these past three years? Nothing too stellar that hasn't been said better by countless others. All I can say is that it was nothing like I expected. It was neither as difficult nor as fulfilling. Law School wasn't the marriage-killing drudgery I was warned it would be, nor has it's completion been a great watershed moment. Life goes on. My husband works, either in a library or an office, my kids grow, learn, test me, thrill me. I struggle everyday to be the best person I can be, and often fail spectacularly. Daily struggles and tribulations are dotted throughout with sublime moments of joy and contentment. I am incredibly blessed to be alive at this time, in this place, with this family. All I can tell you is that I've learned to be grateful for it all.

And for all of you who shared it with me. I humbly express my gratitude.