Dear Family,

Living this life as a writer, as a person who sits most comfortably with words inside my head rather than sharing them in the moment, presents some challenges. I’m a thinker, and frequently get caught up with the stories swirling around in my mind that don’t always seem to make it out while we’re together. But please know, I’m listening, watching, taking notes and storing the moments until I can put them down to share with you – for moments like now, when the candles are burning, and the sun is just making its way over the horizon, and my mind is clear and still and centered and grateful.

This fall, I’m grateful for the small moments of life. For fiercely loving the arms around me, pulling me in, inspiring me to be present, and forcing me to stand on my toes to connect with you. For warmth, comfort, and unconditional love to see me through the moments that feel like life will never be the same again.

I’m grateful for my home, for the space and warmth and comfort of a space that lets me sink in and feel safe, for a little corner to close off the world when I need it to, and to show me how to embrace what I love within the walls that have weathered decades of love and pain, joy and hopes and dreams.

I’m so thankful for strong women, for those that paved the way for me to walk in their footsteps and finish their unfinished dreams, for the women who have stepped in my way, have held me up and pushed me forward. I am most grateful for independent women who said hello, who worked alongside me, who held my babies when I couldn’t handle one more second – thank you. And to the women who check in, who don’t let go, who know that no matter what, I love knowing their spirits are in my life, I am forever appreciative.

kids at Alta, Utah

I’m grateful for a year that led me to the beach of Carmel, the sky of Lake Tahoe, the energy of New York City, the vistas of Utah and the majesty of Yosemite. I’m grateful for safe travels, for wanderlust, for soft hotel room beds and journals filled with moments of the splendor of our country. I touched two oceans, soaked in the glittering mountain sun, climbed alongside cascading waterfalls and ancient glaciers and sipped coffee from west to east.

I’m thankful to have a job which forces me to create and nudge and dream and think about how, if we all work together, we can help transform our world into the place we dream of; for students that smile and make me laugh and take chances and think critically; for a country that hasn’t yet lost the value of education to empower our youth.

I’m grateful that all I have is all I need, that life has a way of working itself out, and that there is true magic in the extraordinary moments of life. I’m beholden to the writers and artists and thinkers who share their work with the world, who inspire me to think deeply and offer my own words to the Universe.

And for my son, my quirky, intelligent, clever boy, who taught me how to follow my dreams, to accept things I cannot change, and to never give up, I thank you.

For my daughter, my strong, honest, determined girl, who taught me to be true to myself, to hold onto good friends, to breathe in the mountain air and find my own unique path, I thank you.

This fall, I can’t deny my gratitude for the small, extraordinary moments of this ordinary life. Please know that when I seem quiet, when I gaze off and away, it’s my way of imprinting the exquisite, excruciating beauty of this brief interval of time we share. It’s my way of simply saying thank you.

Love,

J

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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It’s Friday afternoon, and I’m still in my classroom, clearing the debris that is left behind from 100+ 8th graders passing  through my door in one day. I’m tired. I’ve been with teens all day, helping and teaching and motivating. Trying, sometimes successfully, to connect. Glancing out the window I notice the sky is turning dark; if I’m lucky, I can catch the sunset on my bike ride home. I consider locking my door – if I’m left alone I can work so much faster. I hate to be that way, but socializing on a Friday just isn’t my jam.

My brain momentarily flashes to mommy mode – I’ve got my own teen to worry about. Surely no good can come from him wandering around on a Friday night without checking in with his mom. Hesitant to call to connect, I text instead. No teenager wants to have a conversation with their mom in front of all their homies. Texting is the ultimate connection tool with teens.

I start out on a positive note – no need to give him the third degree off the bat:

4:48 p.m.: “Plans? I’d like to take dad out to dinner to celebrate.”

5:09 p.m.: “Celebrate what? And I’m with the guys. At Casey’s house.”

5:09 p.m.: “No cancer. And until when?”

5:10 p.m.: “Idk. late.”

His complete disregard for the dinner invitation is so annoying, not to mention his lack of mentioning that his dad’s melanoma hasn’t spread. Sheesh. I try to connect again, this time more directly:

5:49 p.m.: “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

6:10 p.m.: “I was hoping I could spend the night at Neil’s.”

6:12 p.m.: “You know, spend actual quality time with my friend.”

6:13 p.m.: “Neil’s parents are in Hawaii.”

Seriously? Are we texting about the possibility of a 16-year-old spending the night without parental supervision? Does he think I’m not on social media? Does he really imagine I don’t know his parents aren’t home. Surely he’s not trying to pull a fast one…

6:18 p.m.: “He has a babysitter tho and she’s coming over soon.”

Phew. At least he’s honest. Crazy, but honest.

6:19 p.m. “Not this weekend. You’re welcome to have your friends sleepover at our house. That’s totally fine.”

6:20 p.m.: “…”

6:23 p.m.: “I mean we’re hanging out…”

How am I supposed to get any work done with this insane conversation? Correcting vocabulary tests while arguing with a teen while texting pushes multitasking to its limits.

6:46 p.m.: “I can come home too but I’d just rather be with my friends.”

6:47 p.m.: “I mean you’re my mom…It’s up to you but just remember my happiness.”

6:48 p.m.: “I could be one of those kids with no one to play with but I’m trying to make a life for myself. Your choice.”

OMG. Who raised this kid? His logic skills are epic. I think I let him listen to too much NPR when he was little. And seriously. He hasn’t dialed my number yet? We’re negotiating non-negotiable rules over text?

6:54 p.m.: “Don’t guilt trip me. Just bring ur friends over.”

I’m done. The screech of the copy machine just adds to the dull ache in my brain. Should I just call him and get this over with?

6:57 p.m.: “Well they’re already planning on being there so if I come home I’ll be alone.”

6:57 p.m.: “I’m sorry. You can sleep over at Neil’s house when his parents are home.”

6:58 p.m.: “Ok…I don’t see the difference but whatever.”

6:58 p.m.: “I’ll be home soon then.”

6:59 p.m.: “I guess.”

He’s relentless. All I want to do is get home. I want this conversation to be over. I want my jammies and my big glass of pinot and…I want my little boy back.

7:06 p.m.: “Alrighty.”

He’s slowing down. One last text, one last grasp for me to change my mind? Prepare for the silent treatment.

7:18 p.m.: “I’m making my way home/:”

Yes! I held strong.

7:18 p.m.: “Do u need a ride?”

Please, let him say yes. We need car time – we do some of our best conversations in the car, both of us staring ahead.

7:23 p.m.: “No.”

Well, OK then.

He walked through the door about 20 minutes later, heading straight for his room. The door shut with just a touch of attitude; best to leave him alone, I think. How long do I let him sit there? Do I try to connect with him, to give him my best explanation of why there was no way he was sleeping over there tonight? Should I just be glad he’s home and leave him be?

Twenty minutes later I tap on the door. The music stops as he calls, “What?” from the other side. I recognize the tone, and know he’s not quite done being mad, but I’m going in. “What’s up?” I question. “Do you want dinner?”

“No. I’m doing homework. I’ve got nothing else to do.” Oh, the sting. I’ve ruined his social life, so he might as well study. I fight back a smile.

“Ok, cool. Have fun with Macbeth,” I reply, and back out the door.

Pinot, here I come.

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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I feel a little outnumbered these days. It’s always been an equal gig around here- two girls , two boys. Two kids, two parents. Now, with one boy kid left at home, the balance is all out of whack. And some days I really feel it.

We’d planned to stay late at his first lacrosse game to see the super moon. It’s a once in decades kind of thing, but the cloudy evening forced us to scrap the plans and head home early. And the boys conspired against me and before I knew it, my 16-year-old driver-in-training had slipped behind the wheel and was ready to roll onto the freeway. Driving into the sun. On the night of the mother of all celestial distractions. I was out numbered. I gripped the arm rest as he guided the Prius down the wrong street towards home.

“Don’t change lanes!” My shriek came out slightly louder than I intended.

“Actually, you can get over,” my husband countered from the back seat. “Those green signs tell you where the freeway on ramp is coming up.” I know he’s trying hard to be extra calm to make me look bad. It’s a boy thing.

“Do you know about the power boost button?” I questioned as the car strained to reach freeway speed as he navigated the on ramp like he was on a giant slalom course.

No response- not even from the back seat. At least he’s got his blinker on.

Outside his window, I’m noticing a pink tinge to the sky. Not that I’m going to say anything to anyone – just enjoy the beginnings of the super moon myself.

“Cam is driving on the freeway. I might throw up. I love you ❤️,” I quickly text to my daughter. I don’t remember driving so aggressively at 16. Maybe it’s a boy thing.

“Did you know the Pope can speak six languages?” My husband asks from the backseat. No questions, I think. No music, no distractions. Nothing but eyes on the road for 30 minutes, I silently plead.

“Wow- I wonder which six? Why don’t you ask Siri?” Cameron replies. “Should I change lanes?”

“No- stay right here.” My hand thrusts out into some sort of warning gesture. “This is where you should be. Not in the fast lane. Not in the slow lane. Right here. Go straight.”

“Wow!” he exclaims from behind. “I just typed in what languages and Siri added ‘does the pope speak!'” He is so easily amused. Doesn’t he sense the danger here? “Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English, German and Ukranian. Really?” I notice the golden glow off the Sacramento skyline. The clouds are the color of raspberry sorbet, but I keep quiet.

“Slow down!” My God, where does this voice come from? I honestly don’t mean to be so shrill. “When you see brake lights you need to brake. Always look ahead!”

Silence from the backseat is broken from the drivers side. “Mom, I know. Stop stressing me out. When you yell it distracts me.”

The sky is like stripes of pink cotton candy against the darkening sky. I can’t see the super moon from the side mirror. We can’t see a thing except the southern sky through his driver’s side window.

“The clouds look really pretty,” I say, barely more than a whisper.

“I know,” he replies, his eyes not leaving the road. “I noticed.” I swallow my comment about why was he looking at the clouds instead of driving, try to relax into the seat, and enjoy the ride. I know it will all be over soon, and not surprisingly, I’m sure I’ll miss it. Moments like this only come around once in a super moon.

photo credit: Lunar Eclipse Rising via photopin (license)

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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“No” is a complete sentence.”
― Anne Lamott

That sentence used to drive me crazy when my kids were little. Remember those days when every request, every plea, every last ounce of your mommy-breath received a “No”? Do you remember their determined little faces, squeezed into such ferociousness, fists in the air?

And now I realize my toddlers had a point.

The last few weeks were a doozy. Nothing particularly earth-shattering or heart-breaking happened, just weeks when I said ‘yes’ more than ‘no’ and let my boundaries get far too loose. Weeks when I had to dig deep for courage, weeks when I was tired, hungry, and felt like I didn’t give myself a moment to catch my breath.

And I did it to myself. I have no one to blame. I didn’t say “No.” Not once.

That old adage about putting on our own oxygen mask first is absolutely true.

I’m spending the weekend trying to re-center and re-capture the fleeting muse of Persistence – sometimes is the only way I  make it out of bed in the morning. Does this happen to you?  When did you agree to do one more thing, schedule one more meeting, help one more person when what you really needed to do was stop, breathe, and help yourself? What did you say “Yes” to when you really wish you had screamed “No!”

What happened?

“When we fail to set boundaries and hold people accountable, we feel used and mistreated. This is why we sometimes attack who they are, which is far more hurtful than addressing a behavior or a choice.”
― Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

I didn’t set good boundaries. I let other people put me in places that made me feel resentful and  frankly, worn out. I forgot to hold myself accountable for my own happiness. I lost my center.

Being a teacher mom is a delicate balance, especially at stressful times of the school year – like the beginning and ending. And grading periods. The anxiety and busyness families feel at the start of the school year is definitely felt at my house, too. I still have to get my family back on a routine, make sure that my kid is ready for classes and homework and studying and sports. I have to get myself out of summer mode and suddenly, after 8 weeks of being mostly at home, I’m gone all day long. And sometimes into the night, too.

Teacher moms get the double back-to-school whammy. We get the sometimes unexpected bliss of watching our own children walk out the door and into new adventures alongside sometimes expected unhappiness of watching our life go back to bells and grading and teaching routines and behaviors and meetings and meetings more meetings.

We’re trying to make everyone else’s school year start off smoothly, and oftentimes around mid-September, we crash.

How much time do we give to our jobs versus our families? It’s why I’ve never become an administrator. I cherish the eight weeks of summer, the weekends and evenings when I don’t have to technically be responsible. I get to choose.

During this school year, I’ve been choosing to work late Friday nights. It’s quiet time for me – time when I can think, breathe, spread out and center. It’s my way of setting my weekend boundaries; if I leave it school ready to go for Monday, my brain spins much less over the weekend. I give up a few more hours on Friday to allow myself to get more space to choose.

One of my ‘extra’ jobs is training new teachers; this year, I’m working with two adults who chose teaching as their second career. All three of us have families and responsibilities at home. I’m reminding myself to walk my talk – teaching them to set personal and professional boundaries is so important as they begin their careers. I want them to learn not to promise too much – it just ends up disappointing everyone.

“If your boundary training consists only of words, you are wasting your breath. But if you ‘do’ boundaries with your kids, they internalize the experiences, remember them, digest them, and make them part of how they see reality.”
― Henry Cloud

Ultimately, it swings back to me. How do I teach my children to live their life within their own boundaries? How do I model for them a life that balances work and home? How do I show my kids how to follow their passion and not lose the trail back home?

I think it goes back to Anne Lamott – I think I’ll teach them that “No” is a complete sentence.

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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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I’ve been deeply, deeply rattled by the most recent mass shooting in Oregon.  Not just because I’m a mom, and I mourn the inconceivable loss of the children. Not just because I’m a writer, and mourn the loss of the creative writing teacher. And not just because I’m a human, and mourn the violence and tragedy of anyone killed at the hands of another.

I’m utterly devastated because I’m a classroom teacher, and I’m tired of worrying if this will happen to me. I’m a junior high school teacher, concentrating on serving students with the best education I can. I’m focused on watching developing minds bloom, and creating lessons to capture their attention and engage their minds. I’m intent on offering the very best of me every single minute of my work day. My intention is to help make the world a better place by teaching kids to be confident, kind, and compassionate humans.

I’m not focused on protecting them from a mass shooter – but now, I feel like I need to start paying attention.

I’ve made it no secret how I feel about guns and violence. I’ve written about every mass shooting in schools since I started this blog. I’ve shared my fears and my anger over and over, both here and on social media.

I’ve likely lost some friends because of it, too. My voice becomes too loud for some when they have a fundamental disagreement with what its saying.

I’m sorry it has to end that way, but honestly, I’m OK with it.

Last spring, I wrote about what a school lockdown really feels like. My first-person narrative has been reprinted in the Huffington Post, on Bonbon Break, and many other websites. It has been shared hundreds of times, and on September 1, even turned into a podcast interview for Ten too Twenty Parenting.

And then last week, fifteen minutes before I was instructed to huddle once again on the floor of my classroom, I saw the news alert about the Umpqua Community College. My shoulders slumped, my jaw dropped, and I felt the tears coming. Not again. NOT AGAIN!

The bell rang and my students tumbled into the classroom. We did the safety drill. We talked about why we were doing it. We discussed the reality of the world, and how scary it was that people with guns were coming to schools to hurt students and teachers.

No teacher wants to have those conversations with their students. No parent wants to know their child is in lockdown.

Out of the wake of any tragedy, the media frenzy commences. The people begin talking, politicians begin sharing, and tempers flare. One side says this, the other that. Friends realize how different they might be. Families realize they don’t agree.

Once again, before the crime scene tape has been renewed, the media headlines begin, shouting out solutions. Over and over again, my temper rises as the default solution escapes from the lips of those who don’t set foot in classrooms: Arm the teachers. Teach them to kill.

As my anger escalates, the words escape me – it is that unimaginable to ask me, a mother, wife and 25-year teaching veteran, to arm myself before I walk into the classroom to serve my students.

There has got to be a more sensible solution.

I’m sharing this with you to start a dialogue. Gun violence is a multi-faceted issue, of that I am sure. I know we all want the same outcome: we want the killing to stop. But arming teachers isn’t the answer. It shouldn’t even be on the table.

I’d love for you to read my weekly post for The Educator’s Room – I’m talking about Gun Violence: An Educator’s New Normal? If you don’t understand my stand against arming teachers, listen to their conversations. Talk to your child’s school administration. Think about your favorite teacher from the past – is it really their job to be the first responder to an armed shooter? Shouldn’t we, couldn’t we, come up with a better answer?

One thing I know for sure – arming teachers isn’t the right one.

I welcome your comments that enable a discussion about solutions – if you have hate and vitriol to spew, do it somewhere else.

Remember, I’m a teacher.

p.s. – In the time since I wrote this and it was published, there have been TWO more school shootings – one in Arizona, and one in Texas. This teacher mom demands ACTION!
photo credit: Blackstar Arms via photopin (license)
photo credit: Caution: School Crossing via photopin (license)

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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