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.

The end, part 1

The week of the Bar Exam was packed. I had a job interview the day before at De Paul University. It was an interview I was trying to nail down for months, and finally got. Before the interview I asked my husband for his advice. He told me: "answer their questions." Huh? What kind of advice is that? I sputtered. "Just answer their questions. Don't tell them more than they've asked you. Listen carefully and just answer what they've asked."

That made sense. I dropped off my budding actress at theater camp, and found my way to De Paul. I parked across the street and dropped my quarters into the meter. The head of the department greeted me at the entrance to the department offices, she guided me into an office where I met the second woman who would be interviewing me, and they asked me my first question. Within seconds, I had pulled out all of my class syllabi from semesters past, my course outlines, and copies of power point slides. I confessed to being stuck teaching courses I had never even taken, I gave detailed explanations of how I switched from studying Irish History to Sport Administration, why I was one course short of my M.Ed, how I started developing on-line courses when I was on maternity leave. I confided in the challenges of being the mother of three while my husband was in law school, and on and on.

So much for my husband's advice.

Despite being a complete blabbermouth, or perhaps, because of it, they liked me. The hiring processes at universities are fairly complex, so nothing is guaranteed, but I think (and hope and pray) I'll be teaching one class in the spring term. It's a start!

The excitement and giddiness of a successful job interview quickly dissolved into the stress and panic of the upcoming Bar Exam. My poor hubby was studying day and night, pouring over his massive exam guides and taking practice exam after practice exam. The Bar also coincided with the end of summer camp, so we were also dealing with a tan, skinny boy who hadn't brushed his teeth in a month, full of excitement and stories to share.

A week of sleepless nights preceded the Bar, and my hubby tried valiantly to sleep the night between the two days of exams. I stayed awake in some kind of sick solidarity. All day, the kids and I glanced at the clock anxiously imagining the torture our love was enduring.

Finally, it was over. Just like that. In a moment, three years of stress, anguish, hard work, fun, fear, pride, ambition, and accomplishment were over. My husband came home exhausted and drained. I asked him, How'd you do?

"I dunno." Came the tired response. "I'll find out in October." And that was that.

The next day was both my husband's 37th birthday (young pup!), and Tisha B'Av, a Jewish fast day. So much for celebrating.

The following day was the last day of drama camp.

We were treated to an adorable and amusing musical performance followed by Shabbat. The Bar Exam did not precede wild parties and celebrations. My husband's birthday was not a cause for joy and licentiousness. we didn't slide into home plate. Three years of Law School and three months of Bar preparation left us spent.

After another couple of weeks of my husband's PILI fellowship, I continued Camp Mommy with three kids. We hung out at the park, went to the museum,

went to the beach,

went to the zoo,

and the big kids and I spent a day at Six Flags.

They had earned their tickets through a reading program at their school.

It was nice getting to spend time with them.

We giggled, played, and chilled. And except for 60 degree weather and rain every day, it felt like summer.

My hubby and I had our own little vacation. We hired a baby sitter to stay with the kids for twenty four hours, while we booked a hotel fifteen minutes away. We dined on kosher sushi, worked out in the hotel fitness room, shopped for shoes (yay!!), and strolled the beautiful Chicago Botanic Gardens for hours. It was romantic, relaxing, and rejuvenating, and I highly recommend it to anyone married with kids.

Finally, the real family vacation came around. We had planned a dramatic, exciting, and outrageously expensive "Post-Bar trip" to California. The plan was to meet up with the family in Northern California to celebrate my parent's 50th wedding anniversary. Then we were going to drive down to Los Angeles with the kids hitting every tourist spot in the state like Disneyland, Hollywood, the studio tours, the Monterrey Aquarium, San Diego zoo, etc. You name it, it was on our agenda.

Unfortunately, the economic meltdown, the law firm cutting back on hours and delaying start dates were not.

In a matter of weeks our glorious vacation was dealt a reality blow and after some tweaking and revising, was downgraded to four days on Madeline Island off of the Wisconsin shores of Lake Superior and a week and a half in St. Paul, Minnesota with my mother-in-law. It may not have been as thrilling as we had originally planned, but it was wonderful nonetheless. The kids thoroughly enjoyed spending time with their granma and her geriatric dog, Amy. And the vacation, in a quiet and understated way, was as mind-blowing as anything the kids could have experienced in California.

Before we headed out to Minnesota, I had a slight detour on my map: the replanned fiftieth anniversary celebration for mom and dad in Ft. Lauderdale! I flew out on Thursday first class, thanks to frequent flyer miles. I got in at midnight, and on Friday morning, we hit the Florida beaches running. I spent the day basking in the sun with my sisters and their families.

It was wonderful seeing my niece whom I hadn't seen since she was a baby.

It was a treat discovering my niece was blessed with more personality in her pinkie than most people get in their whole lives.

It was also a treat hanging out with my family. Just about everyone was there: aunts, uncles, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins, and more.

But the stars of the weekend were my parents who made it to the big 5-0 and still looked as beautiful, happy and in love as ever.

Family came from far and wide to celebrate.

It was as much a family reunion as a celebration of 50 years of bliss. I got reacquainted with family I hadn't seen in years,

and got to meet a few new faces, too.

We laughed, we caught up, we reminisced. We remembered just how much we loved being together.

And all too fast, it was time to say goodbye and get back to my own kiddos.

Shakespeare had it right. Parting is such sweet sorrow, but a common Jewish sentiment gets it right, too: only in simchas. We should always meet under such joyous, wonderful circumstances. And as far as I'm concerned, the more the merrier. I don't know who said that one, but they're right, too.

Part 2: Post-Bar trip to nowhere!