It was a normal Thursday afternoon. I pulled my red Prius into the garage after a long day at school, ready for the weekend. Our car ride chatter was nothing short of normal – with my teenage son, I’ve learned that some days are talking days, and some are best to be left quiet – and that words matter. Today we talked about the day, his classes, homework, and what he needed to do that night. As the radio clicked off and he swung his long legs onto the garage concrete, I heard him whisper, “Whoa, deja vu.”

“Whispers from your former life, bud,” I commented as I pulled my bulging bag of papers out of the back seat.

“No-not a former life, Mom. This has happened before. It’s the same thing,” he snapped back. Guess he’s not ready to  believe in past lives just yet.

“Seriously, Cam. When we have deja vu it’s you repeating what you’ve experienced in another time. It’s part of the Universe,” I patiently tried to persuade him.

“No, it’s not. I’ve done this before. In this life,” he shot back as the door closed behind him.

And we were done.

I’ve noticed that conversations with him require intense concentration. They are short, deliberate and to the point – or they’re not. Sometimes they’re full of hidden meaning, of twists of language, or simply a game of trying to appease my questions and get me out of the room.

As a writer and his parent, this does not satisfy my quest for stories, to use language to share emotions, to delve into the insides of his brain, or even to recount how he made his chicken/pasta concoction taste like something from a Food Network chef.

But it does start me thinking about words, and what happens when we focus on what we’re saying. In my classroom, I’m forever telling my 8th graders that English class is to learn to communicate – to use written and spoken language to understand each other, to share history, to create an understanding of the human experience.

I want my students AND my children to feel the urgency to use words to learn and move forward with the magic of life, and to always remember where we came from.

For writers, the written language is our sustenance. Moving pen on paper or fingers on a keyboard brings vigor to our veins and joy to our world. Writers teeter between words gushing out and over and tumbling down our bones as a waterfall carries the current, debris tossed in with beauty. We then sort and shift and question every single word, each letter becoming part of a canvas for our emotions and thoughts and stories. We can squeeze out language in the most excruciating fashion, hovering for days to capture that precise moment stuck in our minds and begging release into the world.

This consciousness of language, of purposefully and deliberately thinking about the words we put into the world, becomes at times both painful and pleasurable. Head down, we squint to see a story take shape, to illuminate the shadows of our world with words chosen with calculating concentration. We seek to be understood, to create community with our words, searching for the beautiful connection that comes when the reader pauses, looks up to wipe a tear or breaks into giggles. And we struggle with the pang of unkind comments, misunderstood intentions, and careless words flung thoughtlessly into the universe.

Writers know how much easier it would be to dismiss our thoughts, to brush them off and become part of the unconscious masses who struggle to put together 140 coherent characters. We understand the ease of dashing off an idea, pushing submit and walking away, and yet we continue to push through the pain of process. Why? To nourish our souls, to spread joy and understanding and passion and consciousness and hope that someday, in that deja vu moment, someone will call forth an experience and smile, reach out their hand, and make the world just a touch more beautiful.

That’s what happens when we focus on our words. We compose a wholehearted life. We create the kind of world we want to live in, for now and forever.

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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“Most often, after you have completed something you didn’t want to do, you wonder why you were so worried in the first place.”

~Madisyn Taylor, Daily Om

I feel like I live a double life – the life of an introvert forced to become an extrovert. As a teacher and leader at school, I’m constantly expected to stand up, speak up, and innovate. I love experimenting with lessons in my classrooms, integrating new technology into my teaching, and finding exciting, experimental ways to jazz up my teaching. Not much phases me in my work life. After 24 years, I’m comfortable with who I am, what I do, and that I can get the desired results. It doesn’t take much courage; it’s natural.

 In my personal life right now, it’s a different story. I feel most comfortable in old routines, sinking into the safety of the predictable and sure thing. I default to pattern, to embrace only the tiniest amount of change. This year has tried me to the core, pushing my acceptable comfort levels to the bursting point. I breathe in change and exhale a need for consistency, but it’s slow coming. I’m parenting differently, I’m living differently. Some days it feels almost normal; others, I wonder how I landed here. It takes extraordinary courage some days just to make any sense at all.

Last month, about two days before the deadline, I took a deep breath in and hit ‘submit’ on a live spoken word production called “Listen To Your Mother: Giving Motherhood a Microphone”. I’ve wanted to audition for years, but always found it too inconvenient to commit to something that big at this time of year – normally a time when I’m in and out of the snow, driving up and down the state to ski races on the weekends and watching track meets during the week.

But this year, all that changed…so I decided to change, too. I went with courage.

And to my absolute surprise, my essay made it through the first cut, and I passed the in-person audition. No excuses anymore – it’s official. I am part of the 2015 Listen To Your Mother cast in Plumas County, California. You can read all about LTYM here, but for now, I need to get comfortable in front of a microphone; no hiding behind the keyboard now. I’ll be reading my essay, Extraordinary in the Ordinary, live on April 30, and it will be taped and broadcast on the LTYM You Tube channel this summer. Ack!

In an effort to embrace change and live in courage, I’m stepping out into new territory today…my first attempt at vlogging. This piece was originally written after I read the book The Execution of Noa P. Singleton by Elizabeth L. Silver. The book was about survival, and how we create stories to help us muddle through life and make sense of the world around us. It reminded me of three distinct times in my life where the theme of power was prevalent: in my childhood, in my twenties, and recently, as a forty-something mom.

Step one complete. Less worried now than I was before…and luckily, I still have a month to rehearse.

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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Get ready, weekend.
My boys are both in their beds. When I check on the little one, he still looks like my three-year-old Bob The Builder. I’ll still make him an Easter basket today.

My furry 16 pounds of fury is curled up, quietly snoring by my side.

Fresh Sumatra steams within arm’s reach.

My girl is waking up in a tent in a Utah state park, ready for a day of climbing and paddle boarding adventures. I’m gazing at her senior portrait and trying not to wish she was here. 4 more weeks, but who’s counting after 12…

The crow’s cacophony woke me up – I’m glad they’re off on their adventures, replaced by the morning song of the mockingbird wafting through my open window.

A train whistles in the distance.

The wind has stopped for now; a reprieve before the storm rolling in tonight-just in time for Easter. Soon, Mom will arrive with a ham and potatoes and her beautiful smile. The boys will be happy.

Get set, weekend.
One girlfriend is baking 60 apple pies today to send her boy to China this summer. Another friend is missing her daughter’s 21st. My ski mama bestie is tearing it up on the mountain we love for her birthday.

Today, my weekend to-do list shouts out laundry and dishes and fill the bird feeders and grocery and mail L a package. Ironing (seriously, who irons?). Clean the house. Walk the dog. Hard boil the eggs and make pull-apart cinnamon rolls for Easter morning. I’ll probably dye them all by myself this year.

And those virtual piles of never-ending Steinbeck essays (58 to be exact, but who’s counting after 93). Crap. That’s 6.76 hours right there…

And then there’s church. And weekend baking. Maybe yoga and a bike ride if I’m lucky and have some free time…

The sun is up now. Damn, I missed the lunar eclipse. The boys are all still sleeping. The dog is still snoring by my side. The mockingbirds are still singing, but my coffee mug is empty.

It’s an ordinary weekend. But chicks with coffee can do anything.

I’ve got 48 hours…is it just like yours?

GO!

photo credit: DSC_0088 via photopin (license)
photo credit: Mocking Bird via photopin (license)
photo credit: Easter Eggs III 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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I was chatting with an online friend the other day about the German plane crash and all the scary situations going on around the world, and she confessed that by the end of the day, she just wanted to step away from everything. I could completely relate. At times, the news absolutely sends me into such a state of sadness and worry it becomes overwhelming. To think of the suffering of families who are in the midst of loss and terror triggers that emotional part of me, completely overriding my logical side that tells me statistics are on my side, that my family is safe, and all will be well.

Being an emotional person can be seriously challenging – especially as a parent.

It’s taken me years to switch my thinking about how I process the world around me – to realize that my ability to feel strongly is actually something to be grateful for.

Strangely enough I don’t often cry while watching movies or reading books – unusual for me, because in ‘real life’, just seeing a person suffering, people living in poverty or a child hurting or being bullied sends my emotions flowing quickly and freely like a river with no end.

So on a lazy Saturday afternoon, when my son and I popped in the movie “Boyhood”, I had no expectation that I should have a box of tissues by my side.

Maybe it was that this year I’ve come full circle with parenting little ones. Maybe it was that we were spending the afternoon at Tahoe watching movies instead of skiing. Maybe it was that I was tired or hungry or relaxed or….maybe it was that the movie was just what I needed to watch.

Maybe I needed to remember all the moments – the fights in the back seat of the car, the collections of rocks and sticks and bird bones, or the blur of walks and play dates and bad haircuts and tears and friendships and families and attempts, through it all, to be the best mom that I can.

Yes, the tears flowed when Patricia Arquette (who absolutely deserved that Academy Award) reminded me that when they leave the safety of our family nest, that it’s time for us to not only remember all those moments, but create what comes next. Do you remember her last lines in the film? They were awesome, emotional, and struck my heart. Fighting tears, she reminds us that motherhood is a series of ‘milestones’, and despite knowing that the time will come when our children leave home, it’s never easy – especially when they’re happy about it. Her words echoed my own, written as my daughter left for college.

She reminded me that motherhood is a series of choices – some that work out in the moment, and some that we don’t see for years to come. She reminded me how lucky I am to have those slips of time, ordinary days that add up into an extraordinary life.

For an emotional mom like me, those choices typically occur after great agonizing and then a magnitude of moments second guessing my decision-and then it stops. Real life is in front of me. Life happens, the news reminds us that life takes us full circle whether we like it or not, and that the moments we have in each day – those bits of time that might seem insignificant or overwhelming or just simply there – are our lives. And when the children graduate and move on to their next adventure, so must we.

So take a moment – step away from life for a moment – go ahead and put “Boyhood” on – snuggle up with someone you love, and keep a box of tissues handy.

I sincerely hope you need them.

photo credit: Innocent hands 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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Looking back over the last eight years, I realize I’ve put tens of thousands of miles on my cars. I’ve worn through two sets of snow tires, at least three sets of snow cables, and bottle after bottle of anti-freeze windshield washer liquid. I’ve learned to keep blankets, towels, shovels, lighters, lanterns, water and kitty liter available at all times-just in case. I’ve mastered the art of breakfast-in-the-car, preheating burritos at 4am, and how to pack enough food to keep two teens and a dad satisfied until wearily, they return home for dinner.

This year, I’ve had a shift in parenting, creating a shift in lifestyle. One of my athletes is on her own, stuffing her ski bag with Cliff bars, water bottles  and squished pb & j sandwiches. She remembers her goggles and glasses and wax and poles all by herself. She follows in our family footsteps of preparedness like a champ.

My other athlete has been sidelined, injuries forcing him to rest, heal, and reevaluate. He’s found – finally – a few new outlets for his every-present energy (I never thought I’d be so grateful for skateboarding), and is, at this moment, tossing a lacrosse ball with his buddy to try out a new sport.

Tomorrow we head up for our first – and last – ski day of the season. Broken legs and ski slopes don’t make good friends, it turns out. We’ll still wake in the dark, bundle up and tumble to the car in the pre-dawn hours, armed with strong coffee and warm burritos. We’ll watch the sun rise over the Sierras, and breathe deeply the air of our home away from home. We’ll have one more day to test the muscles ripped apart last summer. One more chance to get my athlete back where he belongs.

I’m pleased that this all coincides with a feature I have on Ten To Twenty Parenting – a post I wrote a few years ago, when these kids were in the throes of racing, when parenting an athlete was as normal as sending them off to school each day – when I never even considered doing anything else.

To read my feature article, Parenting Athletes: How And Why I Do It, click here. Maybe it will trigger some fond memories of parenting your own athletes, too.

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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