Tag: college

In Times of Challenge

Posted on June 26, 2014 by

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

– Martin Luther King, Jr. –

In the big picture, my life is pretty awesome. I live in a country where I have access to everything I need. I experience equal rights as a woman and a voting citizen. I have a family who brings me happiness. I have my health, a house to live in, plenty of food – fresh, wholesome food at that – electricity to keep me cool in the hot valley summer days, friends, and a job that provides me with enough money to make ends meet.

So when I find myself in times of challenge, holding a pity-party-for one, I need to take a serious reality check. Does this ever happen to you?

I’ve written extensively in the last few months about the angst I feel with my daughter graduating and leaving for college. The pain is real. The emotions are, at times, excruciating. I feel like part of my world has been ripped up, tossed around, and thrown back onto the ground in shards and pieces that do not resemble anything that I have experience with.

Life is very different for me right now.

Life is very quiet. I’m certainly not used to that.

These are most certainly my times of challenge.

Graduation is over. The graduation party happened. I managed to take her shopping, help her pack, and then leave for the weekend – not the timing I would have planned, but it certainly helped to rip the metaphorical band-aid off quickly.

familyWhen I came back home, she was gone. She took her gear, her skis, some sunscreen and hopefully a wide brimmed hat, and headed off to work at Mt. Hood, Oregon for the rest of the summer. She left her room in its typical state-towels draped across a chair, dirty clothes strewn about, faded flowers in a vase, bed unmade and makeup on the dresser.

The tears trickled down my cheeks at the sight of it all.

I tried to pull all my mantras together to remind myself that it’s not that bad. That this is what we prepared her for – what we prepared ourselves for. It’s her time in life to head out and tackle one adventure after another. It’s times of challenge that create our stories.

And then the dishwasher started leaking. I tried to ignore it – maybe someone spilled some water on the floor. Maybe it was the dog…but as the water seeped up from the linoleum in a continuous stream, I knew we had a problem. And when the plumber couldn’t fix it right away, and when the dishwasher was in the middle of the kitchen floor, and the fans were going full bore to dry everything out asap – that’s when my pity party began. All my feel-good self talk about times of challenge came out in foul language as I lugged wet, stinky rags to the laundry room.

Oh wait-did I mention that’s when my son got strep and an allergic reaction to his meds?

And the AC couldn’t keep up with the smell of 60-year-old wet floorboard? And the replacement part sprung a hole? And the linoleum started peeling up?

So I did what any 21st century mom would do – I popped a cold IPA, lit a candle, and wrapped myself up in my own pity-party-of-one.

And in a moment of quiet, my reality check came to call. First world problems, she whispered. She reminded me of gratitude, and perspective. She reminded me of my friends in Nicaragua who avoid these challenges by simply having a dirt floor and no indoor plumbing. She reminded me of myself at 18, a woman no where near as capable or confident as the one who lives – or lived- down the hall. She reminded me of my 14-year-old summer, the one that I can’t actually remember much about besides how important my friends were.

And then the message came that no one wants to hear: one of my former students, while celebrating his college graduation, had tragically died. He was a quiet, sweet boy I remember well. His death wasn’t due to reckless behavior,but the shock tipped me over and consumed my thoughts. His parents, his siblings…his friends. His life, on the brink of a new chapter. Like an overloaded circuit, I shut down. I was angry at myself, at the universe…at a world that can so quickly pull our center out from  under us in a cruel, gritty display of reality. At a universe that would so painfully remind me of my own life.

Northern Mockingbird (Mimus polyglottos) taken...

Reality check. Oh yes, she reminded me, I have comfort and convenience in my life. I have many blessings and I have two children I can touch and hold and cherish and watch as they tackle life’s challenges. I have deep gratitude for all that I have been given, and all that I have worked to create. Shut down that pity party, she screamed.

So I tossed the empty IPA bottle in the recycle, blew out the candle, kissed my boy goodnight , texted my girl I loved her, and listened to the mockingbird singing outside my window. It is dark. Tomorrow will come. The pity-party has ended. Times of challenge will ebb and flow – they’re our ultimate measure of gratitude, after all.

And you, dear reader? How do you pull yourself back to reality in times of challenge? I’d love to hear from you.

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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Deep Gratitude

Posted on June 17, 2014 by

Lily's graduation

There was deep gratitude in our garden Sunday night. All the people who love her were there to celebrate. Never quite sure who was coming, each time the front door opened, a new face of someone who played an enormous role in one aspect of her life entered into our space of celebration. There were spirits who helped her through her education, her athletics, or just those who helped her grow into a fabulous young woman. The common thread? Smiles. There were smiles everywhere, and with each I felt a shudder of deep gratitude run down my spine. I realized how the creation of a life of meaning takes so many of us, so many spirits contributing to molding, nurturing, and forming the young woman we are celebrating.

cupcakes

There was deep gratitude as I remembered the hours of planning and preparation by my family to celebrate her graduation. The  menu was thought out well in advance, created to please her with all her favorite flavors. The house was cleaned, the decorations purchased, and the garden tidied. The young boys strung twinkle lights, raked leaves, and scrubbed garden chairs. My sister arranged patio furniture and hung hand made balloon masterpieces. My niece and her boyfriend clipped endless snapshots to jute string to decorate a blank wall. Her best friend gracefully decorated vanilla cupcakes with the precision of a trained baker. My mom, in command of it all, moved from garden to kitchen without forgetting the smallest of details.

adventure maps

I was there, too, scanning my memories, fighting back tears of joy and sadness. Maps of important places were juxtaposed amidst adventure quotes to decorate the tables. I thought about all the journeys we’ve taken together since her birth, and the adventures she will have without us. Deep gratitude rose up as her girlfriends asked for Sharpies to calculate the miles that would separate them in college, their scribbles of loyalty became manifestation of the changes soon to come.

friendships

As darkness fell and the kids gathered around the fire pit, there was deep gratitude, again, for friendships. Children I’ve watched for a dozen years are now ready to take their life lessons to task. Friendships of women who have helped me navigate the challenges of motherhood. Families who have enveloped her with love and shown her that it isn’t only blood that ties us together. Friendships of those last to leave, relaxed into their chairs, faces lit by candlelight, and recalling the deep gratitude for girls who survived the crises of adolescence together as we sipped champagne and cherished the last moments, knowing it could be years before we all gather again.

gratitude for Lily

My dear friend Dawn Wink writes of her life’s journey as searching for a ‘rainbow between storms‘, and as I think about my own travels through motherhood, I find solace in her metaphor. Graduation, growing up, and going away to college are the rainbows all parents hope for, but they don’t come without a bit of struggle. But it is the deep, deep gratitude that I feel now more than anything – gratitude for her life, for friends and family, for achievements, and for possibilities yet to come.

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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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The Words Get Stuck

Posted on June 5, 2014 by

I keep thinking about how I should sit and write this all down

about how there must be a poem or some sort of way to

explain,

express,

or at least remember what I’m feeling right now

these moments that are slipping away

 

But they don’t come

I’m still frozen in place

pen poised, heart full,

but still

the words get stuck in my mind

 

Every morning I wake early

pour my coffee, pick up my favorite pen

open my journal

and stare at the page

immobilized

the birds outside my window attempt to rouse me with their song

the moments thunder through my mind

but the words get stuck

 

It’s all in there, I know

the feelings and memories and hopes

but still, I just stare

maybe afraid that if I write it down

it really is real

you’re really growing up

graduating

and beginning the next chapter of your life

without us

 

Sometimes you wake up right in the middle of it

the staring momentarily interrupted as you pad down the hall

your hair tousled from sleep

you’re quiet, and mumble ‘I’m tired”

we hug and I kiss your forehead

as you quietly pour coffee

and head back to your room

 

Sometimes just that is enough

to make me weep

to remind me of what I’ll miss

your spirit

your eyes, cerulean against your freckled skin

but, still, I stare

the words stuck in my heart

 

I’ve even tried writing at night

convinced the melody of that country music song will drift down the hall

and trigger something

help me make this moment something tangible

determined that the words are there

waiting

 

But still,  I just stare at the page

hopeless

helpless

afraid

that it really is real

 

Sometimes you walk in mid-thought

the pen poised, the words on the brink of explosion

you’re breathless from track practice

your smile spreading across your face

you’re happy

you tell me about your day

you show me something on Instagram

and hiccup

and head down to your room

 

Sometimes I tell myself this will be the day

the words for this indescribable, exhilarating, devastating feeling will come

even if the tears fall alongside the page

even if it reminds me that yes,

this moment, like so many others

is real

and fleeting

and powerful

 

I tell myself this will be the day

I will make it happen

I will create words to look back on

to mark this moment, to revive all the moments

you’ve been here

you’ve been my baby

you’ve been my girl

 

I’ll mark this moment forever, I think

so that next year, when the quiet surrounds me

and your bed stays neatly made

I’ll hear your hiccup

and smile.

Santa Cruz Beach

Santa Cruz Beach

 

 

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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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Wednesday Morning Musing On Mockingbirds, Motherhood, and Time

Posted on May 28, 2014 by

“There are two kinds of people in the world, observers and non-observers…”

John Steinbeck

I could sit here all day, window cracked, listening to the mockingbirds chatter to each other from across the treetops. It’s silent in our house for the moment – late start morning, and everyone’s still tucked into their beds. Safe. Relaxed. Quiet.

The sprinklers just finished misting the garden. Is that a baby hawk I hear? Oh, the coffee tastes like perfection today. Real cream makes all the difference, doesn’t it?

Cola’s wandering up and down the hall, tags jingling as his nails click on the hardwood floors. A dog barks outside-no response inside. Good. He barks too much, anyways. He’s busy surveying the scene – 16 pounds of fierce guard dog protection.

garden bellsDoves coo. Why can’t I see you? Something is keeping you away from my garden; is anyone else awake to hear your gentle musings? The garbage truck breaks the silence with a piercing beep-beep-beep. Scooping up my garden discards; I really should be spending more time deadheading. Time. Please, stop for a minute-or forever.

It’s going to be 100 degrees today. Should I water the pots? The tender basil, just planted, needs attention. Better bring an ice chest to the track meet tonight. Grapes. Strawberries. Whatever my girl needs.

Yep, that’s definitely a baby hawk. But it couldn’t be in our tree – not nearly tall enough. Morning doves-who are you calling to? It’s going to be a busy day. Train whistle in the distance. Muted cacophany outside my window. Almost time to break this reverie and head into the real world. 8:00 meetings suck. Wednesday morning musings are so much more productive.

Pause to sip coffee. What if we could pause time right now?

Airplane overhead. That’s right – she’ll be on one soon. Gone for most of the summer,then gone for freshman year. Shiver. A car door opens and closes next door. Engine jumps to life. Wonder where college kids drive to this early in the morning? Maybe they’re driving home…I don’t want to go there. Not even close to ready to think about #reallifeofacollegestudent.

at Tor House

Baby hawk again. Stop to sip from my Steinbeck mug. I love Steinbeck. Those were great field trips we used to take. It’s been awhile since we went to Salinas and Monterey. I’m so glad we have our last mommy/daughter trip last weekend. It’ll be awhile before we’re alone like that again – #collegesucksformoms. Really, please don’t go. Stay here. Thanks for taking two AP tests last week, now don’t go. I was just kidding about turning your room into a craft room. I won’t let Cam bust out the wall to double his space. You don’t have room for all your ski gear in a dorm room anyways – #skierproblems. Where will you keep all your Spandex? It’s cold in Salt Lake City, you know.

Morning doves again. I hear you. Why can’t I just stay here all day? You’re both tucked in. Safe. Relaxed. Quiet. Mockingbird, stop. You’re making it hard to leave. It’s just Wednesday. It’s not time to celebrate.

Wait.

It is time. It keeps ticking. Can’t stop it, even though I said I would. But I can feel it.

Wednesday morning musings. Close the notebook.

One. more. sip. Stop. Savor. Breathe.

Oh…why does life have to change?

Carmel Beach Rocks

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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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Don’t Ever Let Go Of The Thread

Posted on May 23, 2014 by

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change. People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread. But it is hard for others to see. While you hold it you can’t get lost. Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old. Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding. You don’t ever let go of the thread. ~ William Stafford

Spool of thread

Spool of thread (Photo credit: Jano De Cesare)

Time is unfolding at warp speed around here. Normal end of the school year movement, the bustle of ‘wrapping up’ as each day flips into the next…I try to hang on to what is here, right now, what is ‘normal’ and be as present as I can, but the thread is slippery, and silken, and so hard for me to see, let alone grasp. My breath comes in spurts and suddenly I notice that I’m holding it, I exhale, and tell myself to breathe. Deeply. To let it sink in, to let it unfold, to let it….be.  To be here, with what is, and know that what will be will be, and the thread, so fine, nearly ethereal, will hold us together. Don’t ever let go of the thread.

 

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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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