It seems like it was just yesterday. It was, in fact, nearly the same time of year. The garden bloomed profusely, and she was just finding the confidence to let her feet take her where she wanted to go. We were never so happy that Fisher Price created a structure sturdy enough to endure the speed with which she would race down the long hallway, wheels screaming on the hardwood floors, the beam of her smile indicating her pride. She was independent; she no longer needed dad’s strong fingers to guide her steps. The tripod shaped vehicle was all the support necessary to take her where she wanted to go. And she always wanted to get there in a hurry.

I remember questioning if she’d ever have the courage to let go of that vehicle; at one year old, I expected her to be walking like some other babies I’d seen. But she was my first, my test-child, and when she grinned from behind her handlebars I knew that she was right where she needed to be. She was taking life on her terms even then; there was no time to waste, and she needed to find the fastest course between two points. Just over a year old, full of courage and determination.

It wasn’t long after that she began vaulting out of her crib, too. Nap times? Non-existent. Life had far too much to offer to waste any moment behind bars. She wanted to explore, to climb, to be surrounded by her people. It no longer mattered how soothing her nursery was, or how cozy I made her nap time ritual. When she swung those long, skinny legs over the side, we knew life was about to change. I think I even spent a night or two on the floor beside her crib, hoping that it was a fluke but knowing that if she vaulted, I would be there to break her fall. At that age, she already knew where she needed to be-and it wasn’t in her crib.

We weren’t quite ready for life with a toddler, but in reality, who ever really is? I’ve written countless times about the absolute inadequacy I felt at becoming a new mother, and how I’ve had to learn to rejoice in every moment. It’s kind of a cruel trick that life plays on some of us, those who get so caught up in the minutia of the moment that we miss the true beauty happening right in front of us.

And today I find myself equally unprepared, fighting nearly identical feelings of inadequacy about letting her go. The more I look back, the more I know that all that we have done, and all that we have experienced, has prepared us both for the moment yet to come – the moment when we wave goodbye, tears trickling down our cheeks, and walk away. The moment when she is right where she needs to be, on the precipice of her new life, ready to take it head on. She’s almost eighteen years old, still full of courage and determination.

This post was inspired by the novel Dad Is Fat by comedian Jim Gaffigan who riffs on his adventures co-parenting 5 kids in a two bedroom Manhattan apartment. Join From Left to Write on April 22 we discuss Dad Is Fat. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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 doing a monumental amount of looking forward by looking back lately. I’m absolutely certain it has to do with this indefinable space of my life right now, were I’m learning to let go of everything I’m comfortable with, everything I’m used to, and being forced to look forward for the magic that is sure to come.

Something really surprising has happened during this process. Something that has really made me stop and think about motherhood in a new way. Something that has caused me to question what memories I’ve chosen to hang onto, and how I choose to define the new path motherhood is about to lead me on.

Looking back on my first born, I vividly recall the sleepless nights, the insecurities, and the absolute amazement that I would be responsible for this little six-pound creature for the rest of my life. And I also remember the screaming.

She was what I considered a difficult baby. She rarely slept, nursed often, and always wanted to be on the go. She followed everything with her eyes, and struggled mightily to get what she wanted. After a few months of sleep deprivation and the desire to make life just a little bit more bearable, I realized that if instead of trying to set up a nursing schedule, or hoping that the bouncy chair would last long enough for me to get the dishes done-if instead of trying to make her fit my needs, I tried to fit hers, life would, or at least could, find a better rhythm. I discovered that if she looked forward, she was happy and content.

It wasn’t until I was flipping through my old photo albums recently that the impact of this change really resonated with me. All she has ever wanted in her life is to look forward. She never liked being confined or fitting into someone else’s dreams. It wasn’t so much a selfish outlook on life; what she was really asserting, from a very young age, is her desire to move through life looking just ahead of where she was at the present moment. She wanted to see it all, not wait for life to pass her by.

In nearly every photo I have of her during her first six months she is smiling, a strong arm securely wrapped around her middle, facing forward, bright blue eyes shining.

In a few months she’ll embark on her first great adult adventure. She’ll have chosen her home for the next four years, her life ready to unfold in front of her. And I can relax a little now; I can exhale the air I’ve been holding for so long. I can trust that this grown up creature will make good choices and will let her wishes be heard. I can release my grip just a bit now, knowing she’s secure enough to go in the right direction alone. And I know she’ll face college just like she’s tackled every other challenge in the last 18 years – facing forward.

This post was inspired by the novel Reasons My Kid Is Crying by Greg Pembroke who captures frustrating yet hilarious parenting moments through perfectly captioned photos of unhappy kids. Join From Left to Write on April 15 we discuss Reasons My Kid Is Crying. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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Parenting: Simple, But Not Always Easy

Having a child seems like a simple enough decision. It’s a fulfillment of lifelong dreams for some; others agonize over the decision as if they can predict just exactly how a child will fit into their well-orchestrated lives. As if a child is something like a new couch or a vacation that can be scheduled neatly into our busy days, and we will not only know exactly when it will be delivered but are assured that we will meet all our connections and the hotel room will be ready when we arrive.

I was one of those people, I must admit. I was that woman – a natural born organizer, a teacher used to lesson planning, assessing, and holidays right on schedule. How could a baby be that difficult for someone like me, right? It should be easy if I plan it right.

Even the delivery nurse tried to warm my mom shortly after my firstborn entered the world. “It’s women like her,” she whispered, “that have the most trouble, you know.” Little did I know how true her words would become.

I never thought, really, that when that first little person, and then another, entered my life, I would be so shaken. I never thought about how hard all the transitions would be for me-it just seemed like I should know how to handle it, just as if it was a disruptive student in my class. I could surely lesson plan for this little being to become a part of the fabric of our daily lives, couldn’t I? If I could handle a room of tweenagers, surely a child of my own would be simple.

It turns out, simple is relative. Did my maternal instincts kick in? Absolutely. Did I realize how painfully difficult and gut-wrenching parenting could be? Not in my wildest dreams.

I surely didn’t plan for the abundance of love I would feel for these two beings-a love that would create strength I never knew I had. I didn’t realize that every decision, every plan in life from here forward would involve them. It went way beyond the logistics of car seats and strollers; having children simply altered my perception of life and why we live it. And I most definitely didn’t plan for the heartache I would feel when, eighteen years later, my firstborn is ready to leave.

Simple doesn’t mean easy, that’s for sure. The simple part of parenting, I realized, is watching your child grow and reach and try and be curious about everything life has to offer. Sometimes, though, simple is easier said than done.

This post was inspired by the novel  The Opposite of Maybe by Maddie Dawson. At the age of 44, Rosie finds herself suddenly single and pregnant. She tries to hide in her grandmother’s home but meets two men that will change her life forever. Join From Left to Write on April 8 we discuss The Opposite of Maybe. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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She thought she knew exactly how it would all turn out, but it was the idea of it all really, she realized so many years later.

She planned the wedding meticulously, despite the unwanted interruptions from family members who decided to take that time, after all those years, to assert their independence and bring their own unhappiness to the table.

She knew exactly what it would look like, where it would be, and what she would wear. She knew this was right, he was right, and after a near decade of courtship, everything would finally fall into place.

No longer teenagers, they were what some would consider ‘stable’; quite a surprise after the rebelliousness they had endured. But she knew what she wanted, and wasn’t going to settle for anything less. She knew the waiting had paid off, and with any sort of luck at all, it would be the fairy tale ending she believed in.

The day broke, cloudy yet calm. Even at her young age, she realized the need for quiet as she prepared. The scent of tuberose and strong coffee met her as she walked to the six foot window, parting the lace curtains to catch a glimpse of the garden below that would host the ceremony. It’s good luck to have rain on your wedding day, she whispered to herself in quiet affirmation.

A flurry of activity punctuated the morning, as ivory satin and lace draped her body. Her grandmother’s gown fit with an exactness that couldn’t be merely coincidence; the lace mantilla framed her chestnut brown curls and trailed behind her with just the right touch of elegance.

Cautiously, she made her way to the top of the garden staircase. The fall air crackled with anticipation as the strains of the brass quintet trickled to her ears. This is it, she reminded herself. This moment, this place, this man. This is the beginning.

Slowly, notes from Pachelbel’s Canon in D broke her daydream. Quietly grasping her father’s arm for stability, she took her first step down the path like every young bride, simultaneously confident and unaware of what was yet to come.

It was the idea of it all, really. All the planning, anticipation, worry. And all these years later, after children, after illness, after struggle and dodging life’s curve balls, it is still there-not quite as she imagined it would be, but when is life ever just what we expect?

This post was inspired by the novel The Idea of Him by Holly Peterson. Allie Crawford has the life she always dreamed of-and discovers she’s stronger than she eveer imagined. Join From Left to Write on April we discuss The Idea of Him. Join us for a live chat with Holly on April 3.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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As I was driving home after a 13-hour day last week, it occurred to me that I had just hosted my twenty-fourth Open House. And boy, was I tired.

Yep-I’ve been teaching middle school for that long. I started teaching long before I had children – I wasn’t even married yet! I started teaching before cell phones, in a ‘technology school’ which boasted a cutting edge sort of network for computers, and we all had to learn how to email. When I went home, I used DOS to create spreadsheets for grades, and couldn’t even imagine an instance when my students might contact me at home after work on it.

Times have changed, but my love for my job hasn’t. I think I have a dream job. Some people think I’m crazy for teaching 7th and 8th graders for this long. They call me things like ‘saint’, and tell me how grateful they are for me – and that they could never ‘do what I do’.

To be honest, they’re probably right. It takes a certain kind of craziness to do what I do every day. to give you an idea, imagine walking into your job and being bombarded from the moment you open the door. Yes, I’m a question answering queen. I hear explanations, excuses, and sometimes even legitimate questions about what happened inbetween the time they last saw me and the moment I stopped gulping down my thermos of coffee. And then the day begins. From 8:00 until whenever I can crawl out the door (usually between 4 and 5), I am surrounded by kids in the throes of puberty. They are self-conscious, funny, silly, frustrating, and thought-provoking. They make me a better human, and most certainly a better parent.

Teaching has taught me to create strong boundaries, to protect my personal life and value my job as a mother just as much as my job in the classroom. There’s been a few times I quit teaching – both because I started to feel that I was spending so much time with other people’s kids, I was going to end up with problems with my own.

Back in the early nineties, before I had kids, every year one of my 7th grade students got pregnant. It shocks me then the same as it shocks me now-especially when I think that that child could be having their own child by now. I so clearly remember the first time one of my girls, Tiffany, brought in her baby to show me. She had always been one of those students I worried about, and I guess my intuition was correct. I can still see her round, freckled face, tousled blonde hair and bright blue eyes as she pushed her stroller forward so I could take a look at her baby. Thinking back, I can’t remember what I said. I hope it didn’t show the shock and concern in my heart.

There are still days when I question what I’m doing. I wonder if I made the right choice all those years ago. Maybe I should have gone to law school, or taken a shot at writing. I’ll teach until it isn’t fun anymore, I remember telling myself. And then what? Teaching is my dream job for a multitude of reasons…but mainly because when I’m feeling sad, or thinking I cannot teach that novel one.more.time., something like this happens and makes me remember it’s all worth it. I’m sure lawyers don’t get notes like this.

This post was inspired by the novel The Divorce Papers by Susan Rieger. Young lawyer Sophie unwillingly takes her first divorce case with an entertaining and volatile client in this novel told mostly through letters and legal missives. Join From Left to Write on March 18 we discuss The Divorce Papers. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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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