Category: loving fiercely

The Gods Are Here, In This Almost Empty Nest

Posted on May 12, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

“The Gods Are Here”

This is no mountain

But a house,

No rock of solitude

But a family chair,

No wilds

But life appearing

As life anywhere domesticated,

Yet I know the gods are here,

And that if I touch them

I will arise

And take majesty into the kitchen.”

― Jean Toomer

The Gods are here, in this almost empty nest of mine.

Hovering over my family, my son frequently ticks off the months left he has until his birthday, the day he officially becomes an ‘adult’.

There’s less than four left; we anticipate with a mix of excitement and uncertainty. He for the former, me for the latter. More than some I know, less than others.

Yesterday he announced there were seven months before he would know officially where he’s spending his college years. Unofficially, he’s hoping for a location 2, 467 miles from home. Exactly. Yes, I checked.

The Gods are here, in this home. I surround myself with their comfort.

We watch “Blackish” together. It’s one of our few remaining ‘things’ we do, just the two of us. That, and gardening. For anyone out there with a teenage son, you understand the joy of having a ‘thing’ to do together. For most days, we parallel, a mix of school and jobs and eating and homework. We say good morning and goodnight, and as ‘life anywhere domesticated’, we have our own strange daily routine. It works ok. I find myself forever on the end of wanting more, but swelling with pride as he feels his footing in wanting and doing more for himself.

A few weeks ago, “Blackish” hit home with their episode about their oldest child receiving college acceptances and struggling with a decision of the heart v. head. It’s the kind of struggle I’m all too familiar with these days: how hard to tug on the line, how much slack to release. How to truly sit with the situation in front of me and decide where I fit, how I respond, when I share my opinion and when I just listen.

“This is no mountain, but a house”, I remind myself. This is “no rock of solitude”, but a “family chair” to sink into. These are the small moments of life that slip in and out sometimes without notice, sometimes with great emotion surfacing at the most strange and inopportune times. This is my job, as a mother, to remember that it is my place to create the soft place to land, the cushion to spring into and out of and to trust the solid foundation that brought us this far. This is ‘life appearing’ whether I like it or not, despite my protests and preparations. This is my holy place, our landing space, our creation. I can trust in the sturdiness of our structure. I can close my eyes and remember the majesty of their first words and milestones. I breathe in the scent of their baby soft skin, fresh from the bath. I hear the whispers and the whimpers, the laughter and the squeals of excitement. I remember it all even when I didn’t think I would need to.

I will arise, I am confident. I will take majesty, just as it has been given to me in all the extraordinary, ordinary moments spent gathered in this kitchen, this garden, this home.

I know the gods are here, in this almost empty nest. I will touch them here, I am confident. Here, rooted in this family, this place, this home, this life appearing and disappearing in front of me.

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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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From Facebook to Snapchat to Instagram Stories, or Other Ways My Kids Make Me Feel My Age

Posted on May 5, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

“Mrs. Wolfe, you have a Snapchat?” my 9th-grade student sputtered. It was after school, and I naively left my phone front and center on my desk. Yes, indeed, baby Wolfe had chatted her middle-aged mother, and the world now knows.

“Yep,” I smiled as I clicked off the screen. “How else would I know what my kids are doing?”

“That’s awesome!” he exclaimed as if no one my age EVER would know what Snapchat was, let alone how to use it.

The truth is, I strongly dislike Snapchat. I don’t dig the fact that I have seven- plus seconds to read and scan a photo. I dislike when my volume is off and I miss the audio on the video she sends. And I really abhor that I can’t go back and review the images over and over – I want to know what my girl is doing, where she, what her life looks like. She doesn’t live here anymore, and I’ll grab any glimpse I can.

So why Snapchat?

Because that’s what millenials/teenagers/anyoneunder30something use. And if I want to be in the know, I’d better know how to Snap.

Ugh.

Just a few years ago I wrote about my then 13-year-old son jumping online with Facebook. At the time, I was a combination of shocked/curious/dismayed at the idea of his jumping into social media. The ‘pros’ were obvious; social media offers a glimpse into the world away from parents where kids can show other sides of their personalities. He coaxed it would allow him to be tagged when he/we travel, and how much more connected we would be.

Facebook lasted all of a few months for him. Now 17, he tells me he does a monthly check in to see if he’s been tagged. No connection there. Facebook is for old people.

For awhile both kids posted on Instagram – mostly after-the-fact images of their adventures, seemingly innocuous sunsets and sunrises over the mountains, or goofy poses with their friends. Bu these days, ‘grams’ are few and fleeting, and while I love the peek into their worlds, the succinct shots of life don’t have the same impact as good ‘ole Facebook.

Maybe that’s why Snapchat is so problematic for me. It enhances the fleetingness of the millennial lifestyle while at the same time reminding me that I cannot swipe or click fast enough to capture a memory for review. Despite my establishing the perfect condition to carefully open the snap, fingers poised perfectly to screenshot, I undoubtedly mess up, ending with a disappointing shot of the carpet. Not to mention the inability to magnify the image to satisfy my failing eyesight.

Snapchat is an exercise in frustration at best.

And now, just in the nick of time, we have Snapchat’s ‘world lenses’, plying old moms like me with easier replay and overlays that really do emphasize the generation gap. Every time I see someone wearing kitty whiskers or pursed lips and a helium voice it really makes me wonder about the future of the next generation – to have all that time on your hands and spend it augmenting your undeniably ordinary existence is hard to digest.

Someone, stop this Snapchat nonsense.

Instagram to the rescue.

As if the angels heard my plea, Instagram Stories has dumped into my phone glimpses into my children’s semi-adult lives that actually allow me to soak in the moment – I can see my girl on the mountaintop, hear the wind blowing against her phone and the crunch of the snow below her ski boots. And just when I start to hyperventilate that she’s on top of a mountain that she just hiked up to see the sunrise, Stories segues into the next video montage, showing her safely at the bottom of the hill.

Thank you, Instagram, for figuring out how to overtake Snapchat and settle my stressed out mind. Now I can hit ‘replay’ over and over and over, soaking in the details and sharing with grandma and grandpa without feeling like my screenshot game is minor-league. And since all things come back in style, if I just wait long enough, maybe by the time my kids have kids of their own Facebook will be trendy again, and I can take all the time I want replaying and sharing photos of my bound-to-be-adorable grandchildren to all my old lady friends.

See ya, Snapchat. Can’t say I’ll miss you one bit.

If you’d like to be my old lady friend on Facebook or Instagram, you can find me sharing stories, snaps, books and beauty there on a regular basis. Snapchat? Not so much.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Words That Nourish, Friends That Write

Posted on March 15, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

I can count on one hand the number of women I trust will always be in my life. They each entered my world at different, crucial, life altering times, and while not one of them lives within walking distance of my home, our connection remains – through words that nourish.

I’ve been a pen pal, a journaler, a poet, a blogger, a note-take, list maker and a lesson creator. Words make my world centered, they offer me a chance to slip away and at the same time, ground myself. Words are solace in a life that I struggle to understand and often, to trust.

One of these phenomenal women is my friend Michelle. We met during our early years of teaching English – a time in our twenties when life as we know now was merely a whisper. Our paths crossed in an interview for a teaching position – I, the interviewer, she the interviewee. I was captivated by her quiet grace, her creativity, and her absolute desire to share her love of language and words and books.

That was over two decades ago, and despite many moves, some marriages, a divorce, numerous job changes and a few precious children thrown into our realiity, our friendship ebbs and flows like the tide, constant, reliable, soothing.

Michelle may not realize what an inspiration she’s been to me; she may not know that when I bake bread or dig in my garden, or read about her treasured Lousisiana or find myself succumbing to fine food and wine, she’s with me.

Today, we were on each other’s minds. Close friendships work like that – I mailed her a book she needed on her shelf this morning, and this afternoon she called to talk writing and summer travel plans.

Today, I’m happy to share a beautiful blog post written on Michelle’s new blog, A Power 4 Good. I know you’ll love her words that nourish – she’s one of a kind! Please welcome her to the blogging community with open arms!

Words that nourish; words that heal by Michelle St. Romain

“Wherever I’ve lived my room and soon the entire house is filled with books; poems, stories, histories, prayers of all kinds stand up gracefully or are heaped on shelves, on the floor, on the bed. Strangers old and new offering their words bountifully and thoughtfully, lifting my heart.” ~ Mary Oliver

I have been thinking recently about why we write stories, why anyone writes their thoughts on paper (or computer screens). In my days as an English major in college, I was always amazed by my classmates and even my professors who chose to put their written hats in the ring and try to publish their writing. Why would anyone pick out of the millions of things that have been written this particular piece or that particular poem? Why would anyone care about my writing, or anyone’s, for that matter?

And so I chose to do other things. I continued to write, because I cannot help it. I wrote in journals. I wrote essays. I wrote for a newspaper for a short time and I found quickly that my writing could be used in almost any profession, to entertain, market, raise funds, make a case, explain, take a stand.

At this point in my life, I find that the writers I have loved have become my teachers, their words the medicine for my soul. These are the ones who have the power to change my mood and my thinking in an instant. These are the ones with a power that transcends everything that is happening in our world, at any time, no matter how ominous or depressing.

They are Mary Oliver, Toni Morrison, Barbara Kingsolver, Amy Tan. David Whyte, Alice Hoffman, Joanna Macy. Clarissa Pinkola Estes. Marge Piercy. Alice Walker and Maya Angelou. Sandra Cisneros and Kate Chopin. This list could go on, go deeper, go farther into the past, more fully into the variety of cultures and stories that inform our world, whether we are conscious of it or not.

It goes to Ovid and Shakespeare, Richard Wright and Steinbeck. Their classics shaped my view of the world, challenged what I was taught about class and reality. They are immortal inside me and the influence of their words on paper cannot be known, even in the singular strand of my life – of decisions I have made, paths I have taken, words I have spoken. Of stands I have made on issues that seem larger than my small life.

I am making these decisions today. And their words are my solace and guidance. They are my living teachers. Their stories and reflections shape me still, in this time of great change in our world.

I believe that stories and words will heal us from all that is hurting around and within us. I believe that every story that has ever been lived or spoken is still alive today. I believe that every story we are now living, every truth and broken moment, every travesty and victory, no matter how small or large, has been lived in one way or another and we can learn from what has happened before us.

We may have to go deep, go far into the past. We may need to journey to cultures far from our own, or perhaps simply allow ourselves to imagine what it is like today, in this moment, in a country where running water is a luxury and homes have dirt floors. If we expand our thinking to include the larger stories of those who have gone before and of those who are now living lives much different than our own, we may find our way. We may find hope.

We will most definitely find sorrow and grief, but we will also find companions on the path. We must only look, be curious, be patient enough to step back and open to seeing the larger shape of what is happening in any moment of our own life stories.

Thank you, great writers and thinkers and teachers. Thank you for the living gift of words that heal and uplift, teach and guide and make us question ourselves. I bury myself deeply in your wisdom. I offer my own words as an offering of gratitude, and as a prayer.

(this post originally appeared on Michelle’s blog, A Power 4 Good)

Jennifer Wolfe

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Want Your Child To Get The Best Education? Here’s How

Posted on March 11, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

One thing parents have in common is that they want the best for their kids. As a parent, it is almost impossible not to give into the urge to put them first. You want them to succeed, and you will do whatever it takes to make it happen. Well, what it takes is a top education. Studies show people with a high level of education make it to the top of the pile, while the less educated flounder. So, it is time to ensure your children are getting the best education possible, and here’s how you and your kids reach that target. Do you want your child to get the best education? Here’s some ideas:

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Make Sure They Sleep

Kids don’t have any energy or focus without the right amount of sleep. All they do have the energy for is watching the clock, waiting for the final bell. Obviously, this hinders their education as they might spend more time looking at the walls than at a textbook. To combat this, they need to be fresh and ready to go when they wake up in the morning. Sure, they won’t look their attentive best at half 6, but they will soon get into the day. By the time they sit down in their first lesson, their mind will be like a sponge.

Don’t Leave Work At School

Going to school is just the foundation for their education – the cherry on top of the cake is the work they do at home. Not only is it an excellent way to consume more information, but it’s also a good way to comprehend the material. As a parent, you know that teachers and educators have a lot on their plate. In fact, some of them have a busier schedule than the President, which means they don’t have time to teach one on one. You, on the other hand, have plenty of time when you are at home to talk through the process and explain the material. If they can’t get the quality of teaching at school, then give it to them at home.

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Shoot For The Stars

The work they put in at school dictates where they will go to college. If you want them to go to a college with esteem, you need to start prepping for it early because Harvard has minimal places. Not only is there a lot of competition, but there is a way to handle the process. The Ivy League schools have a formula, and kids need to know it before they commit. Thankfully, there are Ivy League admissions consulting lessons for those of you that don’t know the method or how to pass the info along. Let the experts take of the issues that you can’t, and your kids will have a better chance of being accepted.

Start Saving

You don’t need telling, but it is worth a reminder. Further education in the US is expensive, especially at places like Yale and Stanford. If they are going to have any chance of getting the best education, you are going to have to find the cash. A little tip is to save now so that you have the majority of the money in place before they’re eighteen.

An education is important, but a top education opens doors.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Love Note To My Seventeen-Year-Old Son

Posted on March 1, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

The clock ticked just past noon, and I decided to see if you were awake. Not that I hadn’t been checking on you – it’s the habit begun when you were tiny and I was so full of love for you I was sure I couldn’t go one more minute without seeing your found little face. I quietly turn the door handle, take three steps in -sometimes four, depending on your position -and wait until I see you breathe.

It’s stupid, I know. You’re seventeen, far past the stage when SIDS or any sort of sudden, unexpected loss of breathing would occur.

At 6’0”, 155 pounds you’re considered skinny by some measures, but far, far bigger than the tiny little preemie I brought home. That’s when it started, you know – when you were in the hospital. I’d tiptoe into the nursery just to check that someone was watching over you. I’d stand there for a minute, watching your chest gently rise up and down, bird-like. It was the only way I could sleep.

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of time alone in your room. I guess it’s what 17-year olds do, but it still feels unsettling. I’ve learned to knock and wait – you say I’m getting pretty good at it. My normal inclination, to walk in and ask a question or share something funny, has been squelched over the last year. I wait, tentatively, as if requesting permission to enter. Sometimes, just to get you to laugh, that’s what I say through the closed door.

Today it’s Sunday, and the cinnamon rolls have been cooling on the counter for well over an hour. I tried to wake you when they were pulled from the oven, golden brown and oozing with brown sugary goodness. You didn’t growl this time – you didn’t even open an eye, but I swear I heard you say, “I love you, Mom” before you rolled over. I pushed your bear into the space between your pillow and the covers and noiselessly backed out of your space.

This time, I decided it was too late to still be sleeping. My grandmother’s mantra, “You’re going to lose the day” ringing in my ears, I went downstairs and checked for signs of life. Nothing stirred. Walking down the hall, unusually quiet music wafted over the sounds of the lawnmower next door. Could it be true?

With all the gentleness I could muster, I tapped on the door. “What?” you responded, slight annoyance in your voice. Surprised, I turned the knob. It was dark, even though the midday sun was high overhead. You looked up from your chair, school binder balancing on your lap.

Surprised, I turned the knob. It was dark, even though the midday sun was high overhead. You looked up from your chair, school binder balancing on your lap.

“How’re you feeling?” I cautiously inquired.

“Fine. I’m doing homework,” you muttered as if I was interrupting your favorite video game. Your hair is tousled to one side, and I notice how small your black and white bathrobe suddenly looks on your elongated frame.

“Did you see what I made you? Are you hungry?” I question, hoping food will make the connection.

Love Kelly Rae Roberts’ love notes

Do I sound cheerful? Pulling out conversation with you is oftentimes the most difficult part of my day.

“No, I’m doing homework. I want to get it done before I eat,” came your reply, your eyes never leaving your notes.

“Ok, I…umm…” Defeated, I backed out of the room.

“What?”

Your voice was just a touch softer as if you knew.

“Nothing,” I softly replied as the door inaudibly closed between us.

In the kitchen, I wrapped the now cold cinnamon rolls in plastic and walked back up the stairs.

Jennifer Wolfe

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