Category: thinking deeply

Words For Working Moms

Posted on March 18, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’ve been a working mom for nearly 20 years, if you count teaching-middle-school-while-pregnant (not an easy feat, believe me). I have to say – it’s made me a better mom.

I’m not trying to judge here. I wouldn’t assume to know your story – I’m just sharing mine.

I strongly believe we all make choices in life, and sometimes we choose things that we realize aren’t in our best interest – but I don’t believe they are wrong choices; instead, they’re opportunities for learning more about ourselves and choosing another path.

I could have chosen to stay at home – I just would have had to choose everything that went along with that. For me, being a working mom was what offered me balance, a center, and a way to indulge all aspects of my self.

As a teacher, being a working mom created definite problems – papers to grade during every karate class or gymnastics meet. An inability to feel like I could always be open about what my kids were experiencing while enrolled in classes taught by colleagues. A lack of salary increase, no 401k to retire on or work ‘vacations’ they could tag along to interesting places.

However, being a working mom had certain perks – similar schedules to my children, an understanding of what their days were like, and, since they went to my school, an opportunity to know all their friends and classmates.

With 25 years of teaching and two teenagers later, I still feel the pull for balance, I still feel the urge to create boundaries and keep my priorities front and center. Today, I’m sharing my words for working moms on The Educator’s Room in hopes that my experiences can connect with yours and that together we can find strength in this parenting journey.

“I’ve always been a working mom. I guess I should qualify that – I’ve always been a work-outside-the-home mom. Since I was in my thirties before I had both children, I spent several years teaching before they rocked my world…and to be honest, it was a struggle to figure out how I could balance it all. I loved being a teacher.”

http://theeducatorsroom.com/2016/03/balancing-teaching-mothering/

Jennifer Wolfe

Jennifer Wolfe, a writer-teacher-mom, is dedicated to finding the extraordinary in the ordinary moments of life by thinking deeply, loving fiercely, and teaching audaciously. Jennifer is a Google Certified Educator, Hyperdoc fanatic, and a voracious reader. Read her stories on her blog, mamawolfe, and grab free copies of her teaching and parenting resources.

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Inheritance

Posted on March 10, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

I stumbled across this poem as I was prepping for teaching a poetry unit this month, and its beautiful images of time, surrender and memories absolutely enchanted me. So often I think of those inheritances from my ancestors – both the tangible and intangible – and breathe with gratitude that I carry their stories with me.

Inheritance

BY PHILIP LEVINE

A rectangular Bulova, my Zadie

called a dress watch, I wore it for years,

and though it gave the wrong time

I treasured the sense of community

it offered, the beauty of certain numerals —

the seven especially, the way it leaned

into its subtle work and never changed,

and signified exactly what it was

and no more. In dreams I learned

that only the watch and the circle

of ash trees surrounding me, and the grass

prodding my bare feet, and of course

my nakedness were necessary, though

common. Just surrendering my youth,

I still believed everything in dreams

meant something I could parse to discover

who we were.

As I write these words

in sepia across a lined page I have

no idea why they’ve taken the shape

I’ve given them, some cursive, some not,

some elegantly articulated, others plain,

many of no use at all. They go on working

as best they can, like the Parker 51

that spent its coming of age stumbling

backwards into Yiddish or the Bulova

that finally threw up its twin baroque arms

in surrender to the infinite and quit

without a word. The Parker still works

and is never to blame. On good days

it works better than I, and when it leaks

it leaks only ink, never a word best

left unsaid.

As a boy I would steal

into Zadie’s bedroom, find the watch

in a velvet box, wind it, hold it

to each ear — back then both worked —

to hear its music, the jeweled wheels

and axles that kept time alive.

There is still such joy in these tokens

from back of beyond: the watch,

the Parker pen, the tiny pocket knife

he used to separate truth from lies,

the ivory cigarette holder —

a gift, he claimed, from FDR

who mistook him for a famous

Russian violinist. I could call them

“Infinite riches in a little room”

or go cosmic and regard them

as fragments of a great mystery

instead of what they are,

amulets against nothing.

Source: Poetry (January 2015).

photo credit: Writing For Rosie via photopin (license)

Jennifer Wolfe

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My Great-Grandmother Was A Dress Designer

Posted on February 29, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

I still have boxes of lace and buttons my great-grandmother Grace left behind, lingering like shadows of a world I never knew. She died in 1965, months before I was born, her life history playing as a background script throughout my life.

I feel her spirit whenever I walk into the old adobe cottage originally purchased by my great-grandparents. My mom lives there now, and for three generations, this tiny home on the California coast has been the place my people go to live when they’re done with the big city or just need a change in their life. That’s how Grandma Grace ended up there. After decades as a fashion designer and businesswoman, she chose to retire from her successful design company in St. Louis to start a new adventure in California, pulled by her love of stone houses and a desire to be nearer to her only child (my grandmother).

My great-grandmother was a woman who knew what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to go after it.

To read the rest of this piece, please visit SheKnows.com, where it is featured as part of their ‘Women In History’ series.

Jennifer Wolfe

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We Should All See Things So Simply

Posted on February 26, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

We should all see things so simply…

the basics of bone

the sky unchanging blue

sandhills that endure

despite eroding thighs.

We should remember

these curving shapes

are what we are,

and move with similar precision

toward the light.

Leaves reaching through darkness

crack pale stones,

persist,

bear scented strength in secret

until blooming time.

Perhaps we should strive

for their courage

in those acts that need no guidance —

the flamboyant thrust of stamens

up and out of opening petals.

I love the beauty, the simplicity, and the message of this poem titled “Calla Lilies: For Georgia O’Keeffe”, by Jane Candia Coleman from her exquisite collection, “Poetry of the American West: No Roof But Sky”.
photo credit: Lilly via photopin (license)

Jennifer Wolfe

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Beauty, The Brave, The Exemplary, Blazing Open

Posted on February 19, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

This week El Nino backed off, and the sun smiled on us with 70 degree days. Everywhere I went, the violets popped their purple and white heads, the daffodils unfurled into yellow trumpets heralding spring, and the finches and flickers and chickadees flock to the feeder in glorious song. It’s hard not to think about spring and the emergence of new life just below the surface.

Oh, this world. This humble and silky life. Thank you, Mary Oliver, for reminding me to fill my arms with flowers, to be wild, and that “there it is again — beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open” trusting the journey to spring.

Peonies by Mary Oliver

This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers

and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,

boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away

to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,

the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding

all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary, blazing open.

Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

~ Mary Oliver

Jennifer Wolfe

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