Tag: loving fiercely

Moments Like This Come Around Only Once In A Super Moon

Posted on October 26, 2015 by

I feel a little outnumbered these days. It’s always been an equal gig around here- two girls , two boys. Two kids, two parents. Now, with one boy kid left at home, the balance is all out of whack. And some days I really feel it.

We’d planned to stay late at his first lacrosse game to see the super moon. It’s a once in decades kind of thing, but the cloudy evening forced us to scrap the plans and head home early. And the boys conspired against me and before I knew it, my 16-year-old driver-in-training had slipped behind the wheel and was ready to roll onto the freeway. Driving into the sun. On the night of the mother of all celestial distractions. I was out numbered. I gripped the arm rest as he guided the Prius down the wrong street towards home.

Once in a super moon

“Don’t change lanes!” My shriek came out slightly louder than I intended.

“Actually, you can get over,” my husband countered from the back seat. “Those green signs tell you where the freeway on ramp is coming up.” I know he’s trying hard to be extra calm to make me look bad. It’s a boy thing.

“Do you know about the power boost button?” I questioned as the car strained to reach freeway speed as he navigated the on ramp like he was on a giant slalom course.

No response- not even from the back seat. At least he’s got his blinker on.

Outside his window, I’m noticing a pink tinge to the sky. Not that I’m going to say anything to anyone – just enjoy the beginnings of the super moon myself.

“Cam is driving on the freeway. I might throw up. I love you ❤️,” I quickly text to my daughter. I don’t remember driving so aggressively at 16. Maybe it’s a boy thing.

“Did you know the Pope can speak six languages?” My husband asks from the backseat. No questions, I think. No music, no distractions. Nothing but eyes on the road for 30 minutes, I silently plead.

“Wow- I wonder which six? Why don’t you ask Siri?” Cameron replies. “Should I change lanes?”

“No- stay right here.” My hand thrusts out into some sort of warning gesture. “This is where you should be. Not in the fast lane. Not in the slow lane. Right here. Go straight.”

“Wow!” he exclaims from behind. “I just typed in what languages and Siri added ‘does the pope speak!'” He is so easily amused. Doesn’t he sense the danger here? “Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, English, German and Ukranian. Really?” I notice the golden glow off the Sacramento skyline. The clouds are the color of raspberry sorbet, but I keep quiet.

“Slow down!” My God, where does this voice come from? I honestly don’t mean to be so shrill. “When you see brake lights you need to brake. Always look ahead!”

Silence from the backseat is broken from the drivers side. “Mom, I know. Stop stressing me out. When you yell it distracts me.”

The sky is like stripes of pink cotton candy against the darkening sky. I can’t see the super moon from the side mirror. We can’t see a thing except the southern sky through his driver’s side window.

“The clouds look really pretty,” I say, barely more than a whisper.

“I know,” he replies, his eyes not leaving the road. “I noticed.” I swallow my comment about why was he looking at the clouds instead of driving, try to relax into the seat, and enjoy the ride. I know it will all be over soon, and not surprisingly, I’m sure I’ll miss it. Moments like this only come around once in a super moon.

photo credit: Lunar Eclipse Rising via photopin (license)

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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Honoring Our Boundaries: “No” Is A Complete Sentence

Posted on October 19, 2015 by

“No” is a complete sentence.”
Anne Lamott

That sentence used to drive me crazy when my kids were little. Remember those days when every request, every plea, every last ounce of your mommy-breath received a “No”? Do you remember their determined little faces, squeezed into such ferociousness, fists in the air?

And now I realize my toddlers had a point.

The last few weeks were a doozy. Nothing particularly earth-shattering or heart-breaking happened, just weeks when I said ‘yes’ more than ‘no’ and let my boundaries get far too loose. Weeks when I had to dig deep for courage, weeks when I was tired, hungry, and felt like I didn’t give myself a moment to catch my breath.

And I did it to myself. I have no one to blame. I didn’t say “No.” Not once.

That old adage about putting on our own oxygen mask first is absolutely true.

 

 no boundaries

I’m spending the weekend trying to re-center and re-capture the fleeting muse of Persistence – sometimes is the only way I  make it out of bed in the morning. Does this happen to you?  When did you agree to do one more thing, schedule one more meeting, help one more person when what you really needed to do was stop, breathe, and help yourself? What did you say “Yes” to when you really wish you had screamed “No!”

What happened?

“When we fail to set boundaries and hold people accountable, we feel used and mistreated. This is why we sometimes attack who they are, which is far more hurtful than addressing a behavior or a choice.”
Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are

I didn’t set good boundaries. I let other people put me in places that made me feel resentful and  frankly, worn out. I forgot to hold myself accountable for my own happiness. I lost my center.

Being a teacher mom is a delicate balance, especially at stressful times of the school year – like the beginning and ending. And grading periods. The anxiety and busyness families feel at the start of the school year is definitely felt at my house, too. I still have to get my family back on a routine, make sure that my kid is ready for classes and homework and studying and sports. I have to get myself out of summer mode and suddenly, after 8 weeks of being mostly at home, I’m gone all day long. And sometimes into the night, too.

Teacher moms get the double back-to-school whammy. We get the sometimes unexpected bliss of watching our own children walk out the door and into new adventures alongside sometimes expected unhappiness of watching our life go back to bells and grading and teaching routines and behaviors and meetings and meetings more meetings.

We’re trying to make everyone else’s school year start off smoothly, and oftentimes around mid-September, we crash.

How much time do we give to our jobs versus our families? It’s why I’ve never become an administrator. I cherish the eight weeks of summer, the weekends and evenings when I don’t have to technically be responsible. I get to choose.

During this school year, I’ve been choosing to work late Friday nights. It’s quiet time for me – time when I can think, breathe, spread out and center. It’s my way of setting my weekend boundaries; if I leave it school ready to go for Monday, my brain spins much less over the weekend. I give up a few more hours on Friday to allow myself to get more space to choose.

One of my ‘extra’ jobs is training new teachers; this year, I’m working with two adults who chose teaching as their second career. All three of us have families and responsibilities at home. I’m reminding myself to walk my talk – teaching them to set personal and professional boundaries is so important as they begin their careers. I want them to learn not to promise too much – it just ends up disappointing everyone.

“If your boundary training consists only of words, you are wasting your breath. But if you ‘do’ boundaries with your kids, they internalize the experiences, remember them, digest them, and make them part of how they see reality.”
Henry Cloud

jumping sunset unsplash

Ultimately, it swings back to me. How do I teach my children to live their life within their own boundaries? How do I model for them a life that balances work and home? How do I show my kids how to follow their passion and not lose the trail back home?

I think it goes back to Anne Lamott – I think I’ll teach them that “No” is a complete sentence.

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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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This is Sixteen- Happy Birthday to My Boy

Posted on September 21, 2015 by

sixteen

sixteen and six

Yesterday he turned 16. I woke up early and made sure the house was festive, turning on the birthday lights and making French toast in the dark. I waited. Finally, with 15 minutes to spare, he emerged dressed and ready for school. He gulped down his breakfast, opened his cards and left. He’s 16 years old.

I texted him at exactly 11:47 a.m., telling him I was so, so glad he was born and that I loved him. He’s 16 years old – I got no response.

I kept teaching. I accidentally wrote 9-18-99 on the board. My students, confused, shook me back to the present-16 years later.

Eventually I gave up texting and called his phone, old-school style. I heard laughter and skateboard wheels grinding, and his voice sounded like he was having fun. He said he didn’t know his plan-sounds like sixteen.

I rushed home to start the five pounds of chicken in the slow-cooker; he wanted soft tacos, and sixteen-year-olds like to eat. I needed to be ready. Even though it’s Friday night, they would skate by the house, making a pit stop on the way to the first football game of the year. At 4:34 I texted, “Any idea when you guys might be here to eat?” “IDK,” was his reply.

It’s 6:42, and no skaters in sight. “Dinner is ready,” I sent.

7:26. “Where r u?” went out to the ethers.

7:45. I gave up and called. Voice mail. Damn iPhone battery. Called his buddy; the crowd cheering in the background. We’re close enough to hear it out our windows, too. No pit stop after all. Maybe later.

We ate without him. 16-year-old birthday party for two.

sixteen camera

Where he’s happiest

The clack of his board skating down the street woke me. 10:15? How could I have dozed off that early? He smiled as I opened the front door. “Want some tacos?” I asked, trying to remain festive. It’s his birthday, after all.

“Yeah, I’m starving. Sorry-the guys had to go home after the game. Smells amazing in here, though. I had such an awesome day, Mom. Ryan took me out for lunch, then after school we skated and hung out and…I love high school, Mom. I had a great birthday. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, bud.” I stood on my tiptoes to kiss that sunggle spot just below his chin. His sixteen-year-old cheek, no longer soft and chubby, absorbed my nuzzle. His arms wrapped around me, hugging me close.

“Happy sixteen, bud. I love you.” Releasing his arms, he smiled as he walked down the hallway, humming to himself as he closed the bedroom door.

“I love you too, Mom,” he replied, just before it clicked shut.

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 Reasons Why I Didn’t Write A Book Last Summer

Posted on September 9, 2015 by

“What I want most this summer is simply to spend time with the ones I love. To have more days just like this one. Enough presence of mind to pay attention. And enough presence of heart to make gratitude my song, acceptance my refrain.”

Katrina Kenison

I didn’t write a book last summer. In fact, I didn’t even write a single word of a book. The boxes of letters remain untouched, unopened and unread in the same position that they began the summer, eager for my attention and begging to release their stories. But like so many things during the eight weeks or so when I detached from teaching and attached to myself, the book never materialized. The stories remained in their envelopes.

This was going to be the summer I finally did it, the summer when the story that’s been forming in my head for decades would finally find its way from my ruminations to my laptop. I’d even taken those first steps – I’d declared my intention, out loud, to a few friends and even some strangers. I’d moved the storage box from under my desk to my writing space, thinking that if I looked at it every day I would obviously make it happen.

June coast summer

But somehow, as usual, life got in the way. At first it was because Lily was home for only a week in June, and we needed to adventure to the coast and take long walks along the creek and go for Dutch Bros coffee even when we really didn’t need it. I told myself it was OK, I was just ‘detoxing’ from teaching and that the summer days would hover in front of me, intimidating me with their silence just as soon as she left for Oregon. I convinced myself, as I counted down the days until she left, that I would straighten out her room, lay down the letters and get to work. I bought a new journal and found my favorite writing pen, and instead of writing my words, I finished reading stories written by Barbara Hambly and Tara Conklin and dreamed of what the Civil War must have been like.

Carmel surf summer

And it was July, and the heat smacked us over the head like a battle weapon. So hot I couldn’t think or breathe and instead of settling down in front of the air conditioner to write, I bolted for the beach – I took my boy and my dog and sat in the fog and watched him board and swim and somehow even managed a little sunburn. I devoured Robin Oliveira’s book about Mary Sutter, a Civil War nurse, and cried through Lee Woodruff’s retelling of her husband’s tragic accident in Iraq.

And then John started to feel ill and life turned inwards as it often does when he can’t manage or work or talk very much. We went inside for a few weeks and spent our energy figuring out how to navigate chronic illness when it consumes your life. It felt a bit like hell. I read some more – Kim Edward’s The Lake of Dreams helped me disengage when I needed to step away.

Chelsea market summer

Still, the journal remained unopened, calling to me in a voice I couldn’t answer. I went to New York City for the first time, hopeful that surrounding myself with writers would ignite the story, would retune my ear to her whisperings and somehow, something would appear on the page. Instead, I walked Central Park in the heat, devoured gelato in Chelsea Market, went to bed early, and filled my head with thoughts about equality and kindness and my introversion kicked in big time. I escaped the city with my oldest girlfriend, watched the fireflies at dusk, hiked a mountain and ate Thai food with her sons. Oh – and I met an actor on the airplane home.

Big Sur Summer

In August, I covered my new journal with lavenders and blues and sea glass and butterflies. I read about the somewhat scandalous hidden life of Edith Wharton. I stayed in bed late, listened to NPR and when Lily came home, I relished every single ordinary moment together. August 3 came and went, and I celebrated one year of healing since Cameron broke his leg and ten days of both babies sleeping under the same roof. My girl and I escaped to Carmel and Big Sur, riding with the windows down and hiking in the sun. I spent a peaceful night alone at Tahoe and dashed off to a long weekend of hiking, family and gratitude in Yosemite.

Utah summer

And before I knew it we were loading the rental car, driving across the desert and depositing Lily back at school – this time in a house. We spent a few days shopping and unpacking and hiking and laughing and suddenly it was time to go. Those ten hours driving home across the Salt Flats were long and tedious and when I walked into the house I simply cried, not only because she was gone, but also because the summer was, too.

Then, I cleaned. Every room in the house. I cleaned her room and moved in new bookshelves and lugged the boxes of letters onto her desk. I placed the journal alongside and vacuumed the floor, straightened her duvet cover and cleaned the glass on her dresser. I walked out her sliding door into the garden and noticed the Russian sage alive with honey bees and a red-breasted hummingbird just leaving the tall crimson tube of a Canna flower.

summer Big Sur

I breathed and reminded myself of all that I did do this summer, and realized that those things, as small and ordinary as they may seem, were exactly what I needed to do. They were exactly what I wanted to do; those moments of paying attention, of walking alongside those I love, and of feeling gratitude for the gifts the Universe has presented me with. This was supposed to be the summer I wrote a book, but instead, I created the stories of my life, every single extraordinarily ordinary moment. And for that, I am truly grateful.

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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A Letter To Parents Leaving Their Kids At College

Posted on August 21, 2015 by

Utah hikingDear moms and dads,

People ask me what it’s like to leave your baby at college; they say they can’t imagine the time when their now-little child will leave them. In the middle of naps and Cheerio snacks and sippy cups, they can’t envision ever having their child not hanging all over them. As they pass through elementary school, the thought of not walking their child to school every day sends them into panic mode. And junior high? Well, most are OK with not having a ‘do-over’ on that one. But then high school comes, and proms and games and dating and driving and suddenly you have one year to plan college and then, graduation.

Honestly, you really shouldn’t think about leaving your kid at college. Enjoy every moment of these 18 years. Moving your baby away from home sucks.

That may be too harsh. I know several parents who say, “I can’t wait to get them out of the house. They’re driving me crazy. They eat too much. They’re lazy and messy and rude and they are READY TO GO.”

And I would agree with that, to a certain extent. But isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?

Believe me – when you’ve loaded the car and driven to the place they’ll spend the next four years, you might have second thoughts.

No hotel room has ever felt so empty as when I went back to spend the night, knowing she was in her dorm and I wouldn’t see her again for months.

And no drive home was ever so long when I thought about 10 hours in the car, alone, driving 650 miles away from my first born.

And no Friday night was ever so nerve wracking knowing it was the first weekend she would go out and come home on her own, and I would have no clue where she’d been, who she was with, or even if she made it home at all.

In those moments, moms and dads, you might regret having wished so strongly that they would close their bedroom door and leave.

The first year my daughter left for college I admittedly was a wreck. Life had added to the tumult of her leaving home that August with having to care for my son and his seriously broken leg, and a kitchen that flooded not once-but twice.

I guess I should thank the Universe, actually; in some ways it helped get my mind off the empty space in my heart.

I went online for words of advice, to friends who’d been through this before, to my sister and my mom and anyone who could possibly toss me a nugget of wisdom about how to think about her going away. After all this, I realized that there are two ways to think about your child leaving for college:

First: You conjure up the last 18 years of parenting. If you’ve done a decent job, you likely knew your child’s friends and most of their teachers. You knew their coaches and the people they babysat for. You knew their homework assignments, when they had tests and what their grades were. You knew when they left the house in the morning, when they returned for lunch (the tell tale dishes in the sink?) and when they got home from school. You watched their practices and their games, saw them get ready for dances and dates and races. You knew where they were every single night.

And then one day, you carry their suitcase and duffel bags and skis and gear and boxes and boxes of stuff into a room, give them a hug and then you’re gone. Poof. You hope for a text or Snapchat, and head home. Alone.

Or: You think about the last 18 years of parenting, and all the life lessons you’ve taught them. You think back to the friends they’ve made and the relationships they’ve learned to negotiate, and are confident they’ve learned empathy and kindness. You remember the successes and defeats of their sports activities, and know they’ve learned how to persevere. You remember all the nights of studying and the work ethic they’ve developed. You think about how they learned to manage their schedules, use a calendar and get to and from work/school/practice safely and on time. You visualize teaching them to clean the kitchen, use the washer and change their sheets. You’re confident they’ve learned self-care, self-respect and perseverance.

So then on that day, when you’re wondering how in the world can you leave your child so far from home, you have a choice. You can think about this rite of passage and worry about them. You can think about their transition away from home and worry about yourself. You can cry and hug and smile and grit your teeth and walk away knowing you’ll have all these emotions churning inside you until you see them again – Thanksgiving if you’re lucky. You can take comfort in all that you’ve taught them and all that they’ve become. And you’ll likely be like me, and many others, who when they come back home and walk in the house, feel something missing. You’ll gingerly open their bedroom door and see an unmade bed, some discarded bottles of nail polish and lotion, a few dirty towels on the floor and a leftover framed photos of high school friends, and you’ll grab a tissue to wipe the tears that start rolling down your face.

Leaving your child the first time is excruciating. Leaving them the second time isn’t any easier, just different.

So moms and dads, I leave you with one idea that I hope makes this transition easier: remember that this is what life is all about. This is what you’ve prepared them for, even when you didn’t know you were doing it. This is the moment to celebrate and witness the ecstasy of the first part of your parenting job well done. This is the extraordinary in the ordinary right before your eyes. And sooner or later, they’ll be checking back with you for advice. So hang in there. It gets better.

Love,

Mamawolfe

A Letter To Parents Leaving Their Kids At College

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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