Tag: high school

Unlocking Her Personal Code For College

Posted on February 18, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

13 1 Lily lake

It’s February….the sun is shining, the flowers are blooming, the birds are chirping, and…the mailbox is overflowing with college recruitment letters?

Her weeks are spent in a juggling act between school, skiing, and a social life. Training on snow four days a week requires discipline and dedication, not to mention time management. Student first, athlete next.Wait – how can this be? She’s only a junior! She doesn’t even know what she wants to be when she grows up!

13 2 L and Dilara

I’m proud of her.

It wouldn’t be so bad if they were letters actually recruiting her-offering her money, I mean. These full-color mailers are an advertiser’s best effort to capture everything good about their college-and to make it personal.She’s working towards her future, but the mail is getting ridiculous.

She took the SAT in October, and now we’re inundated with offers from the east coast, the mid west, the northwest, and even some more ‘local’ California schools. All the flyers boast offers of a ‘personal code’ that is sure to provide prospective students with the persuasive elements to convince them that this school is the one. Even when the prospective student has no clue?She’s our oldest, so this is all new territory for us. I’m a teacher-I know all about admissions: test scores, application essays, and a-g requirements. Last fall we enrolled her in an SAT prep class-that’s something we never did back when I was in high school. Twice a week she went to an SAT tutor who helped her with test preparation, study skills-you name it. Kind of like the endless other self-help type of classes designed to get kids ready for life after graduation. Our plan was to have her take the SAT first before ski season, then again afterwards.

I remember feeling that way. I was more focused on completing high school than enrolling in college; I simply couldn’t see that far into my future. It took me a few years, a few failures, quite a few part-time jobs, and changing majors multiple times. How can a seventeen-year-old possibly know what they want to do with their life?

Sadly, the college stakes are much higher now. Kids need to have a plan. They need to have a strategy. It’s not enough to just muddle your way through high school and expect that there will be a multitude of colleges opening their doors to you.

Right now, all I can do is encourage her. Make good choices. Study hard. Think about what you like, what you’re curious about, what gets you excited about getting up in the morning. I’m pretty sure that’s how I chose my college and my ultimate major, English.I wish I knew what to say to her. I wish I knew how to help her see all the options she has in life. I don’t want to be the mom that plans out her kids’ lives by filling out their college applications and holding their hand until….that’s the problem. It never ends.

I can do all that, and keep a box with all the personal codes that may help her unlock her future. Once she gets off the snow, of course.

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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When Life Doesn’t Turn Out The Way It’s Supposed To

Posted on February 13, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

We met when we were only eighteen and nineteen; I, a three-semester college girl, he a high school graduate. It was love at first sight. Our parents were thrilled we had found someone that would love us, piercings, dyed hair, dreadlocks and all.

Nine and a half years later, we married. Probably one of the wiser decisions we ever made-no teenage elopement or early pregnancy. College graduates, employed, and homeowners when we finally took our vows, but edging closer to that magic number: 30.

After dating for so long, my goal was to be 30, married and pregnant.

Despite my non-conformist lifestyle, something inside me knew that I needed to make this milestone. My twenties were chaotic at best, but eventually had smoothed out and created a life path that I had planned: marriage and motherhood. I was of the generation growing up after the women’s movement, but before many of our mothers followed an nontraditional path. I knew how it was supposed to go.

I made my goal, and after that, nothing went as expected.

Turns out, working and mothering are an excruciatingly hard combination. What I thought I could handle ended up rocking my world upside down and sideways. Navigating an infant, a breast pump, a husband and a classroom full of fifth graders proved to be…challenging. Full time motherhood and full time teaching didn’t seem to be a great fit. I wanted them both. I felt my dreams crumbling away.

The next year I took a chance and changed jobs, thinking that 80% employment would be better. I was right; working with my more familiar middle school aged kids allowed me to focus less on the curriculum and more on my baby, but…there was still no free time, no long nap times to get papers graded, and the household responsibilities were still there, waiting. The 12:30 baby handoff allowed us to escape childcare, but our couple time disintegrated into late-night dinners and frantic eye-contact while trying to rock the baby to sleep. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I grew frustrated that I couldn’t handle it all: job, marriage, motherhood. Didn’t I have exactly what I’d always dreamed of?

Sixteen years and one more child later, I’m learning that actually, it went exactly as it was supposed to. That’s how life is. I learned I am living out my dreams. I have what I wanted, and actually, much more. But more importantly, I’m learning that women like me, all throughout history, have and continue to walk this line of confusion in the search for their ideal life.

While we share the same desires and dreams for the milestones in their worlds – love, family, success, fulfillment, and comfort – today’s women face challenges like never before. The centuries of liberation which benefited women have come with a price, and today’s we’re charting a new course. We have more options, more choices, and more demands than ever. We try to balance it all, while maintaining that sense of what women are supposed to do with what we know we need to do. Our mothers and grandmothers had no idea what a blessed curse they were bestowing on their daughters and granddaughters as they fought for equal rights, and with them, the absolute blossoming that would come decades and centuries later.

Today’s women push non-conformity in interesting, dynamic ways, all the while grapping with what happens to women who bend today’s rules of propriety and customary behavior? We wonder how we will have to pay for blurring the lines between what is expected of us as wives, mothers, and women and the urge to have it all, to do it all, and to blossom into what we were meant to be? Can we chart the course for our own daughters, who themselves will be past the image of stay-at-home moms as the norm?

Sixteen years ago, I had no idea this is what life had in store for me. Sixteen years from now, will my baby girl blossom into a kind of woman I could never imagine?

I certainly hope so.

This post was inspired by Saturday Night Widows by Becky Aikman. After being kicked out of her widow support group for being too young, Becky creates her own support group with an unusual twist. Join From Left to Write on February 14 as we discuss Saturday Night Widows. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. Click here to purchase your copy of Saturday Night Widows at Amazon.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Glimmers of Hope

Posted on November 12, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

“If you keep on doing what you’ve always done, you’ll keep on getting what you’ve always got.”

I always share this quote with my eighth and ninth grade students at the beginning of each school year. In August, they’re filled with promise, with messages of hope and faith from their parents, and confidence that this will be their year. That change will happen.

Progress grades after four weeks usually show improvement. They can commit to change, and are seeing results. They are starting to feel good. Their parents are proud.

Four more weeks go by. Tests, projects, essays, and life start to blur their focus. They’re not getting enough sleep, and it’s hard to see the end of the quarter. October is a hard month.

Eight weeks later, when quarter grades come out, their little balloons burst. Some have slipped back into old habits. Their calendars are sparse, their backpacks stuffed with paper, unfinished assignments, and smelly gym clothes. parents have begun to nag, panic, and in desperation, sometimes blame the teachers.

It’s my job to pick up the pieces. Rebuild their shattered hopes, and cheer them towards the finish line. You can do it! Look at your progress in the long run! You’ve come so far! Don’t let that one test/paper/homework/detention slow you down!

I often wonder what really holds kids back. Is it the fear of success? Are they more comfortable in that middle place of a “C” or “D” grade, when they’re still passing but no one puts too much pressure on them to be ‘perfect’? Is it a lack of trust that what teachers and adults are suggesting will really work? Or maybe it’s all a natural developmental phase; kids trying things their way, regrouping, and trying again?

Is school really getting that much harder? Or are we just approaching it differently? Are the stakes raised for kids, families, teachers, and colleges? What exactly are we expecting from our children?

Finding a balance for teachers and parents is tricky. We want to hold up high expectations, knowing that they have ‘potential’. We want them to strive to do better, work harder, and get into a ‘good’ college. We hire help – economics tutors, SAT prep, math courses, and whatever we can do to say we’ve done our best.

I always come back to the kid, and that intangible, unteachable asset that seems to mark those that make it through the bumps, hurdles, and hard times of middle school: intrinsic motivation. I saw it during my trip to Indonesia last summer – those kids wanted nothing more than to learn English and make it to the U.S. for college. They understood, “No Pain, No Gain” like many of my students cannot. They couldn’t afford tutors-they just had to work hard.

The bottom line is, the kid has to want it. They need to have a supportive base, caring people who will encourage and not accept responsibility for their actions. They need to have people who are firm, consistent, and unconditionally love them. They need to celebrate the small victories and regroup after the defeats. They need to see the glimmers of hope for their future – to see who and what they can be when, diploma in hand, they walk into adulthood.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Friday Photo: Holding On

Posted on August 18, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my children growing up and away from us.

When they were born, I never wanted to let them go. Sliding their precious bodies into another’s arms was reserved only for moments desperate for solitude. Sleeping side by side, we monitored their every movement, every breath.

When my son started kindergarten, I was excited. He was so ready to formalize his education – he loved learning, loved socializing, and eagerly anticipated learning Spanish like his big sister had. He smiled all the way to school, and babbled about his adventures all the way home.

When my daughter started middle school, I was elated. Finally, she would be on my campus, and all the regrets I had about not volunteering in her classes or driving on field trips might be soothed by knowing I could see her every day. She immersed herself in friendships, studying, and never missed a dance.

When my son left elementary school, I was saddened. Eleven years spent between the two suddenly evaporated without even being able to take one final bike ride to pick him up from school on the last day. He was so ready to move on with his education – he loved his friends, loved socializing, and couldn’t wait to ride his bike with his friends all the way to the middle school.

When my daughter started high school, I was nervous. This is when it all comes down to the end, the grades, the transcripts, the test scores and college admissions. She would get her driver’s license, go to the prom, and before I knew it, leave home.

The clock in my heart began counting down.

When my son starts middle school this year, I am still half-way holding on. I can’t quite let go, can’t pass him off to what’s next even though I know it will happen despite me. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope for it to happen painlessly, for it to slip through my awareness without having to feel the drop of my heart, the skip of my breath.

I’ve been thinking about them both lately. I’ve been hoping that the days will stretch on endlessly, the mothering will just shape-shift into some kind of form that I can still cling to even when they’re not here. I’m not ready to let them go, not eager for that kind of solitude. I’ve been trying to cast every moment in bronze, and not let them slip through my fingers.

Jennifer Wolfe

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The Sixteen-Year Test

Posted on June 2, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

Sixteen years ago today I was waiting to give birth to my first baby. Today, I’m waiting for that baby to take her first SATs. The words of my grandmother ring loudly in my ears, reminding me of how fast the time goes.

I always thought that was old people just complaining, whining about missed opportunities and broken promises. I wondered if they wished they had done life differently, had spent more time pushing their kids in the swing or reading them bedtime stories. I briefly considered how that would feel, and tucked it away inside that long list of things I would never do as a parent, a list carefully created over years of trying to correct other parents mistakes that ended up in my classroom.

She was probably in her eighties when I started noticing the pain in her voice as she recalled her glory days of pigtails, freshly ironed short pants and dinners around the oval oak dinner table. Most vestiges of her children were long ago relics of days she cherished, only the occasional tear in her eye as evidence of when she felt truly happy.

Sixteen years ago, I was not thinking of the memories that would be building from the moment she was born; I was thinking of how strong I could be to make it through the labor, and not much else. I worried about how life would change and could I do all the right mommy moves to make sure she was safe, nourished, and nurtured. Never did I think this far into the future that she would be walking out of my car and working towards leaving me.

As I sit here, watching car after car pull in, I tense as the clock ticks towards the starting time. Kids continue to pour in even after they have no hope of admission through the testing door. I watch them come back, rejected, and notice a mom not willing to take no for an answer. Her son protests as she resolutely marches him back in, determined to give him another chance. Minutes later when she returns alone, I see love etched into every fiber of her face; the kind of strength it sometimes takes to be a parent.

Sixteen years ago, I had no idea what it would take to be a parent. I knew it was something I wanted for my life, not understanding the determination, dedication and sheer will it would take. I didn’t understand why it would be so hard to watch her ride off on her bike alone, to let go of her hand at the corner of the school building, or let her take over the car steering wheel. I did not imagine the pain of watching her cry or struggle through friendships that had ended or defeats on the ski hill. I didn’t comprehend the many, many hours I would lose sleep to hold her tight, rock her gently, or support her through the different phases of growing up.

Sixteen years ago I never imagined the tests my baby would put me through, or how she would help me grow into a better human. When she walks back to me today I will welcome her with the swirls of my grandmother’s voice running through my head, and realize that what she said really is true: they do grow up so fast, and the years pass by far too quickly. I will lock this memory into my mind, knowing all too well that when she finishes this test, another will present itself, challenging me to dig deep and take it on.

Jennifer Wolfe

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