A Rainy Day in the Bookstore

Diary of a Wimpy KidMost moms dream of a day like I’m having today. I’m on vacation, absolutely no obligations besides catching my flight home this evening. I slept in and woke without an alarm. I didn’t rush out of the motel room, instead I moved at my own pace. I downed several cups of coffee before I even got out of bed, slid into comfortable clothes, and headed out for the day in Salt Lake City.

Alone.

Attempting to avoid the rain, I found refuge in a bookstore. I browsed every stack with pleasure, not feeling like I needed to be anywhere or pick up anyone.  Hours ticked by, the rain poured outside, and then it happened. That moment that knocked me out of my reverie, sent the tears to my eyes, and forced me to scramble for cover.

The children’s section.

When my babies were younger, we spent hours in bookstores. I found the brightly lit space lined with title after title so enticing, and so full of possibilities for their future. Weekly we would park the stroller to the side, bags of Goldfish crackers in hand; I loved the chance to snuggle up with them, choose a new book to look at, and hope their imaginations sparked and they would grow to love the comfort of books as much as I had.

Magic Treehouse booksMy shelves at home still retain the evidence of our visits; I cannot bear to part with the Puppy Place, The Magic Treehouse, The Diary of A Wimpy Kid, Harry Potter, Nancy Drew and the escapades of Rick Riordan. To me, it never mattered what they read, simply that they were reading. When interest waned, I lovingly lined another space with their cherished titles, hanging on to the hope that someday they would pick one up again, call to me, and settle in for hours of dreams of their futures.

Those bookstores have closed now, and I must admit, my teens and I rarely spend time searching for dreams together amidst the stacks anymore. Sports, social lives and academics have replaced the stroller and sippy cups, and I find myself today, alone with my memories.

My children are growing up and away, spending their days in the snowrather than safely snuggling against their mother. College visits have replaced our family vacations, and the piercing reality of the end of our life under the same roof attacks in the most unexpected moments.

Like the rainy day I’m alone in the bookstore.

Enhanced by Zemanta

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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookLinkedInPinterestGoogle PlusYelp

What You Grow To Be

“It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be.”

~J.K. Rowling

20130816-195436.jpg
Visiting the track at Southern Oregon University in Ashland, Oregon.

Sitting in my garden tonight, watching the sun set, with my dog on my lap. An evening of reflection and gratitude after 1,800 miles driven over six days, visiting colleges from Ashland, Oregon to Bellingham, Washington. I’m so thankful we were able to spend this time together, just us two. From the day she was born, I’ve watched over her as she attempted all her ‘firsts’, soaring through life with grace. This time, I’m watching differently.

This time, I observed my first born take it all in, her blue eyes scanning the campuses for reflections of herself, searching for that connection that would whisper to her, Yes, you belong here. This is where you will grow.

As the sun sets on her high school career, another life-episode calls to her, nudging her closer to the woman she is destined to be and farther from where she was born. I can see it in her eyes- the twinkle of slight recognition as she returns home tonight just a little different than when she left. She is no longer the child she was days ago-now,she is reaching for the light when before, just as she reached out, she shivered.

It doesn’t matter what she was born to be…she is creating, choosing, forming herself every day. The decision is hers. This time, right now, I’ll sit back, support her, nurture her, and marvel as she grows and blooms into something spectacular.

Enhanced by Zemanta

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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookLinkedInPinterestGoogle PlusYelp

Happy 17

In Harry Potter’s world, seventeen is the coming-of-age for wizards.  Is that because they also need 17 Sickles to make one Galleon, and can buy their first Butter beer?
17 is regarded as the ‘least random number’ by MIT-so if you’re worried about a secure pass code, try another combination of digits. 
The song ‘17’ by Smashing Pumpkins is 17 seconds long with no vocals.  It is accompanied by a poem that when read aloud will not only conclude at the end of the song, but might use all 17 muscles in the tongue.
People afraid of the number 17 are diagnosed with ‘heptadecaphobia’ or ‘heptakaidekaphobia’.  In a psych hospital, patients are called ‘17’.  Hmmm.
In Italian culture, 17 is considered an unlucky number.  Maybe that’s because in Roman numbers, 17 is written ‘XVII’, which when rearranged to ‘VIXI’ means “I have lived” in Latin.
haiku Pictures, Images and PhotosTo write a Japanese Haiku, the poet needs to create 17 syllables.  No wonder Italian poets only use 14 lines in their sonnets.
The band, The Cure, titled their second (and one of my favorite) albums ‘Seventeen Seconds’.  Really-they’re not a Goth band.  Lucky for me, the album lasts a lot longer than that.
Seventeen, to me, is nothing to fear.  It’s something to celebrate!  I actually loved being 17- I graduated from high school, went off to college, and was driving a convertible VW Thing.  I never much liked to write Haiku, and if two of my favorite bands use that number in their music, it’s fine with me.

But the best part of seventeen for me is that is symbolizes the number of years that I’ve been married to the man that makes me laugh, that fathered my children, and that tries every day to do his best for me and his family.  Happy 17.

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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookLinkedInPinterestGoogle PlusYelp