Tag: From Left to Write

A Mother’s Love

Posted on October 28, 2013 by

A Mother's LoveA mother’s love isn’t easy to express

without a multitude of cliches cropping up

or trying to sound like I know something special.

The idea of a mother’s love, to me,

is commitment, dedication, and respect.

It’s a thankless, painfully difficult job

if you do it right.

 

A mother’s love is confrontation, holding firm, letting go and

trusting things will work out.

It’s boundaries

celebrations

hand holding, back rubbing and

tear wiping.

It’s believing in your child, their potential

and unlimited possibility.

 

A mother’s love is taking a backseat to their dreams,

driving them to be courageous

grateful

and kind.

It’s balancing everyone else’s needs,

and when those needs come head to head,

backing down or finding another way around.

 

A mother’s love is smiles, bubbles, long walks and road trips.

It’s doing whatever it takes to get it done.

It’s growing up, facing responsibilities, and

allowing them to fail.

It’s knowing what’s wrong and right and when the lines get blurred.

It’s holding them close, pushing them away, and

reeling them back in again.

It’s setting an alarm to get them out of bed,

and another to make sure they’re safely home at night.

 

A mother’s love is cooking, singing, digging, traveling and

trying to keep up with their emerging and varied personalities.

It’s holding their hand during a shot, caressing their feverish forehead and

wiping away tears of regret as they slide down their cheeks.

It’s nurturing dreams and quietly cultivating new ideas for their future.

It’s harnessing talent, releasing failure and helping navigate life’s lessons together.

It’s teaching them to trust and to love, to find joy and dare to be themselves.

 

A mother’s love is perseverance. Dedication. Honor.

Whatever it takes to bring forth a human who can walk through this world

with grit, grace and courage.

It’s convincing them they are worthy of everything the universe has to offer.

It’s showing up to life.

The-Dinner-By-Herman-Koch-194x300This post was inspired by The Dinner, a novel by Herman Koch. Two brothers and their wives sit down for a tension filled dinner to discuss a tragedy that can change both families’ lives forever. Join From Left to Write on October 29 as we discuss The Dinner. 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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Mothering By Faith

Posted on October 14, 2013 by

Emmalee pulled another mug from the cabinet and poured more coffee. She handed it to Cora. “Can I ask you a question? But you got to promise to be honest with me, even if it means hurting my feelings.”

Cora nodded and took a sip from the mug. “Sure.”

“It’s just that you know so much about babies and mothering, and I was wondering if you think I can take care of a baby on my own?”

“Of course you can, sweetie,” Cora said, sitting her mug on the counter and reaching for Emmalee’s hand. “But you ain’t alone.”

Emmalee brushed away another tear.

~from The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore

Mothering By FaithDo any of us really know if we can take care of a baby on our own?

Eighteen years into motherhood, and I still find myself asking that question on a regular basis.

Motherhood, for many women, is the ultimate mission in their lives. It is the transcendent goal they strive for, feeling that with the birth experience complete, their lives will somehow magically fall into place.

Many of my friends carefully planned motherhood. Some wanted to be young mothers, feeling that if they were able to give birth in their early twenties that they would be ‘young enough’ to enjoy their children – I’m sure some felt their youthful bodies could more easily survive childbirth and keep up with active toddlers. Numerous girlfriends, like me, chose the college and career path first, deciding that the stability of accomplishment would surely be the golden ticket for a successful parenting experience. I was confident that if I took care of myself first, I would be well-equipped to deal with the uncertainties of mothering.

Some women I know simply tumbled into motherhood, like many experiences in their lives, without any inkling of how they got to that place where they had to choose between what was right and best for their child, and what felt right and best for themselves. I have friends who have endured the torment of infertility, their bodies battling against every maternal instinct they feel, only to end in crumpled dreams and a reconfiguration of self. And I know women who calculate the ticking of the biological clock, never having cast their bet at deliberate conception but feeling each second tick by in real time, sure that if it doesn’t happen soon, it never will.

There is a certain sense of possibility in the unknown. The first moment our child is placed upon our chest is glutted with possibility and hope. We feel powerful, exhilarated, and terrified all at once, knowing that life as we knew it before has forever altered. Our insecurities, our inadequacies, and our aspirations pile into the six pounds of sticky, squirmy flesh that has suddenly become ours alone to nurture for a lifetime. And we wonder, can we do this? Are we enough? How will we know when they ________ or __________ what to say? To do?

And somewhere along the way, we realize the secret. We hear the words of those wiser than we, words that remind us that we all we really need to do is practice mothering by faith.

“Our crown has already been bought and paid for. All we have to do is wear it”― James Baldwin

We realize that we are not alone, that all those mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers that have come before us have set the course for that pocket-sized little person we cradle in our arms. We realize that we carry with us in the very center of our soul everything we need to take care of this baby on our own. We realize, that if we stop long enough to peer right into our hearts, that we really do know the answers.

We become conscious of ourselves. We exude the instincts bred into us. We wear the crown proudly, sometimes pausing to push it back into place when it teeters precariously, or drop to our knees to scrape it up off the ground when it falls.

But we smile broadly at our child, feeling every bit the queen of the world. We trust. We are mothers. We CAN do this. We are not alone.

We are mothering by faith.

“When nothing is sure, everything is possible.” ― Margaret Drabble

 No one has ever entrusted impoverished Emmalee with anything important but she takes it upon herself to sew her mentor’s resting garment in The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore. Join From Left to Write on October 15 as we discuss The Funeral Dress.  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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Mother, Mothering, Motherhood

Posted on September 18, 2013 by

My babies

My babies

I rode my bike home at dusk today, far too late for mothers and children to be playing at the park. From a distance I could hear the pee wee football players running their plays as the coach barked inspirational suggestions of improvement. Nearby, the pee wee cheerleaders pivoted and jumped in unison to some hip hop song I couldn’t quite make out. As I rode the familiar path towards home, my mind ticked through the mental checklist that pops up far too frequently: dinner? homework? lessons? laundry? I wondered what my teens had been doing all afternoon while I was at work, and hoped for the best. My heart felt that tinge of loneliness that happens only when I’ve been away from them too long. His birthday is tomorrow. Fourteen years of blissfully mothering him. Crossing the bike overpass, I dipped down towards Sycamore Park as images flashed in my mind; we’ve been mothering together for 15 years. How could that be possible? Two thirty-something moms, both bulging from the last trimester of pregnancy in the scorching summer heat, we dreamed of a few moments of shade while our three-year olds dared each other down slides and monkey bars. We chased them down, secretly hoping the jostling would push us into labor. Juice boxes and goldfish marked our territory, shared stories and sympathy sealed our hearts. We searched the pages of the parenting handbook, sure that the advice we sought must be somewhere out there. Mothering toddlers together helped us feel less alone, less unsure, and more hopeful that just maybe we’d get it right.

My teenagers.

My teenagers.

I see now what they meant -those women who said, “Someday you’ll understand when you have your own.” Funny how that pops into my mind these days. I remember standing in our blue and white kitchen, my two teenage brothers pulling food out of the refrigerator like bears just out of hibernation. I couldn’t understand why my mother always complained that she had just gone to the store, and lamented about the empty cupboards left at the end of the day.Suddenly, with my own two teenagers I get it. I hear her voice when I pick up the towels from the bedroom floors, when I straighten their unmade beds, and when I wash the peanut butter crusted knife left drying in the sink. ‘Season the chicken more than you think you should’, and ‘Don’t work too hard’ ring through my mind when I find myself alone, silent in the moment. Mothering teens often feels treacherous, as if I’m teetering on the next big catastrophe. I breathe deeply, and Motherhood pulses through my veins, bringing forth all those lessons passed down from one to the next.

She couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Curled in her kangaroo sac, snug against her mother’s chest, Fiona coiled her chubby little legs tight against her torso, happy just to be pressed securely against the most important person in her world. I felt the weight on my chest, just looking at her, remembering my own first months of motherhood. I’m not sure I would have had the courage-or confidence-to bring my newborn into a work meeting. Life then had very separate lines, motherhood and teaching. Like flipping a light switch, I would move in and out of my roles with intentional distinction, not yet knowing that that movement was truly impossible.Not realizing that, like Fiona, my children would be forever on my chest, eternally positioned over my heart. I didn’t realize that, yes, I would make mistakes and wish words could fly back into my mouth and yes, I would occasionally miss a page from the parenting handbook. I didn’t understand that as my children aged and moved away from my reach that I would have to stretch my arms to reach out to them, never wanting them to leave and yet simultaneously thrilled to see them go out on their own.

Motherhood. Something learned, yet innate all the same. An experience to be cherished, not squandered. A gift to safeguard, not consume with personal neediness. Meant to be shared. Meant to be savored, every last second.

A controlling mother, a missing daughter, and a family who is desperate for love. This post was inspired by the the psychological thriller Mother, Mother by Koren Zailckas. Join From Left to Write on September 19 as we discuss Mother, Mother.  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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Raising Our Rainbows

Posted on September 4, 2013 by

Calliope Hummingbird / Stellula calliope - fem...

 “Parenting is hard as hell.”

They come into this world with something to prove. At least, mine did. Both decided to make early, dramatic entrances that seriously showed me that what I expected was not in their plan. All those birthing classes, those books, the lectures from well-meaning friends and grandparents who definitely have done this before – I listened and thought I had it all figured out. I thought they would arrive on schedule, eat on schedule, and certainly sleep through the night. I thought my parenting would fit nicely into a lesson plan, with strategically placed instruction, some practice time, a bit of review, and that then they would pass the test with ease. Little did I know who was testing whom.

“Sometimes we don’t owe anybody answers, sometimes we don’t have answers, and sometimes we lie like celebrities.”

I thought my girl was going to be a boy, and my boy would be a girl. I thought that I could handle working full time and mothering, and that my husband and I were invincible, that nothing would rock our parenting. We were clear on how we would raise our children and what they would turn out to be. I was positive my girl would play with any toys she preferred, except Barbie – she was banned around our house. I knew that my kids would try every enrichment class, every sport, every opportunity that they were curious about, and I would let them choose which they liked best. I knew for sure that my son would never hold a toy gun, pretend to hold a toy gun, or do anything remotely related to guns.

“The joke is on me. Just when I think I know my child, he surprises me.”

As those experienced mothers, grandparents, aunts, grocery store clerks and just about anybody who ever told me anything about child rearing knew, children are anything but predictable. They sleep on their own schedule, they eat, play, dream and imagine life on their own terms. They frustrate us with their choices, and astound us with their ability to tackle life in ways we never thought we could. They play with Barbie when their six-year-old friends bring her to birthday parties, then push her under the bed when they’re done. They read book after book about wars and guns and create amazing paper replicas, even when we say they shouldn’t. They follow their dreams, they make new friends, they try and fail and try again. They join teams and take classes and go places and test out who they want to be and what feels right to them. They choose their outfits, cut their own hair, and live life on their own terms.

Rainbow

“It was like watching somebody come alive, watching a flower bloom, watching a rainbow cross the sky.”

And then suddenly, somehow, that magical moment happens when it all clicks. When the new friend becomes the best friend, and afternoons stretch into evenings and they never want to leave each other’s side. When they discover the magic of a piece of clay and some glaze, and transform it into something only their mind can see. When they get their first ski helmet and goggles, and sleep with them on all night long. When the Christmas list transforms from paper to reality. When their library card has their very own name on it, and their report card actually echoes their efforts. In those moments, those small seconds of time when the world pauses and it suddenly makes sense, those are the moments when grabbing my camera just isn’t enough. Those are the moments when I realize that no matter what I do, no matter what I thought was the plan, their joy transcends all that and becomes their own.

“We are mindful every day to teach our sons that hate should not breed hate, fear should not breed fear, and prejudice should not breed prejudice.”

But it is also in those moments when I realize exactly what it’s all about – that my children are living as they were born to be.  My children are living life as they think they should be. It is in these small moments that I realize that what we have taught them doesn’t always manifest in the ways we think or expect it should. Sometimes parenting is hard as hell. Sometimes it feels like we’re walking the path without a GPS to guide us, and the handbook has been left at home. Often times parenting feels like trusting in something you cannot see, but feel deeply in your soul. But like those experienced grandparents, friends, aunts and well meaning strangers, one thing I know about parenting is that if we’re mindful, if we love our children unconditionally, and if our eyes light up each moment they walk into a room, we’re on the right track to raising a human who believes in themselves and the power to be whoever they want to be.

Raising-My-Rainbow-by-Lori-Duron-201x300This post was inspired by the memoir Raising My Rainbow by Lori Duron as she shares her journey raising a gender creative son. Join From Left to Write on September 5 as we discuss Raising My Rainbow.  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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She’s Only 17, But The Decision Is Hers

Posted on August 7, 2013 by

            “Last night I dreamt I was returning
            and my heart called out to you
            to please accept me as you’ll find me
            Me kealoha ku’u home o Kahalu’u.”

-from “Ku’u Home O Kahalu’u,” a popular contemporary Hawaiian song written by Jerry Santos 

Lily at 5, preparing for kindergarten

Lily at 5, preparing for kindergarten

She’s feeling a bit anxious now. The summer before senior year, and the glow is slowly fading. School is no longer in the rear view mirror, and as September days inch closer and closer, she knows she doesn’t have much longer.

She’s only 17, but it’s time to think of leaving home.

Watching the college application process from the passenger seat feels a little bit like those first few days of elementary school, not knowing if we made the right choices, or if she would make it through the day by herself. We always knew she was independent, not terribly shy, and was an eager learner. But something about dropping her off on those first few days left me twisted up in knots. I couldn’t wait for her to come home.

Kind of how I feel right now.

When it was time for kindergarten registration, we chose where she went to school. She had no idea that her entire day would be taught in Spanish, nor that any other school was different. It was just what we thought was best, so she went. Things went well. She learned, she made friends, she laughed, and at the end of the day, she was happy to be home.

Now that it’s time for college choices, it’s really up to her.

She’s only 17, but it’s her time to decide where she wants to go next.

I sense her anxiety. It’s palpable as we click around websites and look at campus after campus.  So much to take in, making the decision that much more complicated. Intense. Insurmountable.

She hasn’t really changed that much since kindergarten-she’s still independent, social, and eager to learn. But something about the thought of dropping her off at college takes my breath away. I want to scoop her into my arms, make the choice for her, make the fears go away. I want to know that no matter what, she can come home at the end of the day and it will be OK.

But I can’t – she’s really 17.

Seventeen years spent nurturing her every interest, protecting her, creating a home for her to sink into when she needs it – has it all led up to this? GPAs, test scores, extra-curriculars…I can’t help but cringe at the extraordinary complexity of the decision, and wonder if it has to be this way. Can’t she just plug it all into some sort of app, and the perfect place will spit out at her on her computer screen, guaranteed to be her happy place?

Lily at 17, preparing for college

So we’ll make a list, do our research, and hop in the car to tour schools clear up to the Canadian border. We’ll walk the campus, take notes, and soak in what it feels like. She’ll try to imagine herself there, alone, independent, social, and eager to learn. Things will go well.

She’s only 17, but the decision has to be hers.

I’ll try to imagine myself next year, alone, missing her, but proud that she made her choice. And I’ll be there, next year, back at home, dreaming of when she returns.

Because she’s only 17.

No decision is forever. She can always come home.

This post was inspired by the novel This Is Paradise by Kristiana Kahakauwila, a collection of short stories that shares a view of Hawaiians few tourists ever experience. Join From Left to Write on August 8 as we discuss This Is Paradise.  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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