Tag: memories

5 Years of Decembers

Posted on December 23, 2015 by

It’s been five and a half years since I started blogging; five Decembers that I’ve shared my stories with all of you, and 50 Decembers that I’ve been learning life’s lessons.

This December, I decided to look back and see what themes popped up during the final month of the past years, and I was both surprised and reassured when I saw my progression – and devastated that while I followed the thread of motherhood and memories in my posts, I also realized that every year has brought the loss of children.  Stepping back, I see the hopes and joys and sadnesses that parallel our ordinary lives.

I hope you enjoy my favorites from 2011-2015. Maybe you’ll re-read some favorites; perhaps you’ll discover we have more in common than you realized. Above all, may you experience the beauty of living the extraordinary in the ordinary, of loving fiercely and thinking deeply. Happy holidays, and thank you for sharing this journey with me.

2011: A Year Of Feeling Time Shift

Prom Night At Our Place 

“But what prom night really taught me this year is that belonging happens in many different ways.  The girls learned that they don’t need to be joined (literally or figuratively) with a boy to have fun.  The boys realized that if they ask, they have hope.  And now I know that I don’t really need to join anything to be important in my daughter’s life – by being myself she and her friends feel comfortable. Actions speak louder than words.  My house really is the place to be.”

Shifting Gears

“After driving through the mountains in the predawn hours, my son and I pass Donner Lake, and in that moment, as the water and sky met and steam hissed from its surface, I quickly stop the car. My brain pauses and we drink in the tranquility of the water before us. Silently I breathe deeply, wait, and shift back into gear with a new sense of calm.”

When You Wish Upon A Star

“As the sun rises over the mountain tops and the moon and stars fade for another day, once again I am challenged.  It is up to me to make my wish come true – no genie with a magic lantern or fairy godmother is in sight.  My wish remains inside my heart, but my actions I wear on my sleeve for everyone to see.”

Another Day

“Slowly he prepares for the snow, insisting on doing it alone.  His fuzzy brown head disappears beneath a royal blue helmet and goggles, contrasting the lime green and black of his jacket.  We kiss goodbye, my assurance I will be waiting for him when he returns.  It is dawn out, and he gets to have another day.

Yet as I sit by the window watching the sun crest the snow-covered hills, I cry for the mother and child who are apart, who will never feel their arms around each other again, and who cannot brush away each other’s tears.”

 

2012: Reflecting on Memories of Childhood and Tradition

Lily’s Apple Tart

This year, we decided to go simple yet elegant, and adapt a recipe from one of our favorites, Ina Garten.  Her apple tart just seemed like the perfect complement to a heavy dinner: sweet apples, flaky crust, and a tang of apricot jam make this simple dessert one you’ll want to try for any holiday gathering.  So grab your favorite baking partner, crank up the tunes, and have some fun!”

Just A Moment In Time

We stopped, you posed, we snuggled you between our legs, holding you tightly.  Never wanting to let go.  You raised your face to the sky and grinned with rapture. It was just one moment, really.  But I remember every detail.”

Christmas Tree Traditions

“I used to be a freaky mom.  Sixteen years ago, when I had my first child, I thought I could do it all.  Control it all.  Be the perfect parent.  I certainly had seen enough examples of what I considered ‘bad parenting’ – those kinds of adults who would make excuses for their kids, send them to school without their homework, and blame their teachers and the school for everything wrong in the world – plus some.”

47

My kids officially grew taller than me this year… I learned that letting go is growing forward. As I end 47 and open the chapter of 48, I think of all that I’ve experienced:  the children, parenting, family, teaching, education, memories and motherhood that blended themselves together and brought such lessons to me.”

Spending Time In The Snow

“And despite the struggle, the frustrations, and the hours and hours of driving – not to mention the ski race that was canceled, we ended up with a white Christmas after all.  And a whole bunch of memories, too.”

spending time

2013: A Year of Ski Racing and Empty Bedrooms

Morning Ritual of a Ski Racer Mama

“The alabaster snow catches a glint of moonlight out my window…savory bacon and eggs fold into warm flour tortillas with cheese as kids stumble downstairs in ski socks and fleece….boot bags bulge with gear.  Speed suits stretch over strong legs, and heavy parkas with hoods zip up as we push open the door. It’s time. Morning ritual of a ski racer mama.”

It’s A Different Kind of Christmas

“And every time I’ve walked through the door this month, I’ve plugged in the lights and sighed. I just can’t do it. The boxes of ornaments are still stacked in the dining room, unopened. And it’s December 23. This has never happened before. And I can’t blame it on holiday business, too many parties or anything else-except for one thing.”

retro Santa

2014: A Year of Change and Possibilities

Home

“The sun streamed in through her sliding glass door. It was mid-morning, and she already looked like she had never left for college. A wet towel hung over her pink desk chair, and her fuzzy sky-blue bathrobe still lay carelessly tossed on the floor. Her closet doors were flung open, and she rummaged around as she replied, “I don’t know. I didn’t pack much. I’m trying to figure out what to take home.”

My breath caught in my throat. Home?”

home

Birthdays

“I’m open to possibilities in this last-year-before-the-half-century. I’m open to quiet, to listening, to requesting and to hearing the Universe answer with guidance. Zora Neale Hurston wrote in one of my favorite books,Their Eyes Were Watching God, that “there are years that ask questions and years that answer.” I’m not sure what this year will offer me, but I’m ready to receive her whispers.”

birthdays

Two Kinds of Quiet

“There are two kinds of quiet. The kind of quiet when I hear the candles flicker, feel the crumbs drop onto my plate, and the Christmas music plays on and on and on. The kind of quiet that mothers dream of, and the kind they dread, one in the same.”

Interlude

“No, Mom, look.” Again and again his plaid Detroit Tigers sleep pants spun as he raised and lowered his body on one leg. “I’m getting there. I’m balancing, Mom – can’t you see? I haven’t been able to do this since the accident!”

She’s Nineteen, and She Doesn’t Live Here Anymore

“I keep thinking that one day, you’ll understand the exquisite pain and pleasure of being a mom, and all my emotional antics will make sense. I hope that one day, when that thrill hits your heart when you see your baby living their life full of happiness and joy, you’ll understand why I have such trouble letting you go.”

me and my girl

In The Holiday Spirit

“Today, as the rain pours down the windowpane and the wind whips the trees around my house into a frenzy, I breathe, and pause, and think of them. I remember their love for each other, and for their families. I call in their spirits as my pen scratches gratitudes into my journal, filling the pages with small moments of the extraordinary ordinariness of my life, feeling their love, grateful for 50 years with their spirits by my side.”

50 years

primark

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

Let’s Start A Reading Revolution

Posted on July 23, 2015 by

 

“Again, Mommy, again,” they chimed in unison, their warm little bodies spooned to either side of me. Freshly bathed and jammie clad, the scent of Burt’s Bees lingered in the air. Turning right, I buried my head in his golden brown hair, breathing in his scent as if I would never catch my breath again. To my left I could see her trying to sound out the words on her own, her tiny finger tracing as she whispered. I don’t want to end this magic, I thought. But can I possibly read how George swallowed the puzzle piece and had to go to the hospital and was a naughty little monkey but everything turned out ok in the end one more time?

Curious George

Of course I can.  How could I resist those sets of baby browns and blues staring up at me? And if I nodded off, what would it matter? We were reading, and I was in my happy place.

“Ok, one more, and then lights out,” I yawned, and began the next adventure from memory. “This is George. He lived with his friend, the man with the yellow hat. He was a good little monkey, but he was always curious…”

IMG_9633.JPG

Honestly, if I only knew that would be the last time…

While parenting teens certainly has its happy moments, I desperately miss these stretches of time I took for granted, hours spent reading aloud with my babies on each side, eyes rapt on the page as I attempted to make the words come to life. For years we pored through Curious George, Babar, Lemony Snicket and even Captain Underpants (I’m a ‘whatever-it-takes’ kind of reading mom). These are the sparkles in my day I assumed would change shape with time, but ultimately never end.

English: Alternate coat of arms of Hogwarts sc...

The motto translates to “never tickle a sleeping dragon” (PC: Wikipedia)

Ventures into chapter books opened up the world of Junie B. Jones and Magic Treehouse. We read all the Percy Jackson and Harry Potter series, and then listened to their magic come alive on CD. Those moments, before phones and social media and boyfriends and skateboarding, before too many sports and homework and SATs, were truly magical. They were the realm of the possible, the world before we knew what their world would be.

I think I need to start a reading revolution.

I need to recapture those days of magic, to sprinkle some pixie dust on their smart phones and secretly plug them into reading instead of rapping. No one will know the difference if they’re laughing out loud to the latest best seller or wiping away tears from John Green’s newest tear-jerker, right?

Do you go through ‘seasons’ of reading? I vividly remember trying to find the perfect position to nurse my baby and balance a book at the same time. When they were a bit older, I craved a stolen moment on the green metal bench at the park while they ran and jumped and swung in safety. I’ve read on ski hills and at track meets, in karate dojos and before gymnastic meets. I’ve snuck minutes during math tutoring and while the rain poured on my Prius in countless parking lots. I read on planes and trains and lunch breaks.

As my children grew, I tried to have a “grown up” reading revolution. I’m an ex-member of two book club failures – I guess you could say I just wasn’t that into the whole idea of reading as a social event. And besides, no one wants an English teacher in their drinking club – I mean reading club. I’m just too picky about what I read and how I spend my reading time – I don’t like settling for something I’m not interested in, and have a really hard time not finishing a book. Or maybe I’m just stubborn.

Sometimes I satisfy my craving by reading aloud in my classroom. My attempt at characterization often elicits an eyeball roll from my teenage students, but more often than not, a calm settles over the room as they settle into the story, following the rhythm of my words with eyes both open and closed.

I guess it’s my own attempt at a “teenage” reading revolution, you might say. I want to throw out the line, hook them at the climax and by the time we’re done, they’re begging for  sequel.

But despite all this, and even though I’m an English teacher, my kids are not fanatic readers. They read online, and will do the required reading for class – but as far as laying back on the cool grass on a summer day, that’s not happening in their lives right now. I’ve got to make it happen – I’m my own personal reading revolutionary, united with all those other introverts that would rather put their eyes in a book than spark a conversation with a seatmate. There must be revolutionaries like me, willing to put down their smart phones and pick up a real book? Will you join me?

If only J.K Rowling would just write one more….maybe I could start this revolution right now. I could lay down some blankets, gather them on either side, and sprinkle some pixie dust on their busy teenage brains. I could tempt them with snacks, or even try the ‘I want to spend quality time with you’ plea. At this point, I’d do anything to have one more night together, each oversized baby on my side, carried away to that magical place that only a good story can take us. And at the very least, I’d get a snuggle out of it.

Let's Start A Reading Revolution

 

 

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

Rose Colored Memories

Posted on April 28, 2015 by

Point Lobos

Point Lobos, CA

The first time you took me there I couldn’t have been more than 12. My brown hair was cut shoulder length, signifying my emerging teenage angst. It was the 1970s, and stripes were all the rage. I remember that sweater, the pale yellow, rose and powder blue horizontals didn’t do anything for my pudgy frame, but it was comforting and soft against my skin as we walked along the shoreline.

Mom really looks like you, you know. I never realized it when I was little, or course, as children so often forget to notice the details. I remember your tiny, tiny feet, almost doll-like – I guess I thought everyone’s grandma shopped for shoes in the kid’s section. Visiting with you almost always involved a quick trip to Macy’s, and almost always resulted in a special addition to my wardrobe. Today I sometimes wear that heavy rose colored cardigan you made – the one flecked with gray and big enough to wrap around me like a warm hug from you when I’m freezing cold. My family teases me when I have it on, but I’ll never give it up.

Double Delight beauty

Double Delight rose

We always had to detour to say hi to Father Serra when we rolled into town, even though it was you I couldn’t wait to see. The last time we visited – a few months before you died – you held my boy on your lap in that rose armchair in your kitchen and smiled right into the camera. I’m sure he knows you loved him, even if he can’t remember. Lily was old enough to delight in the hidden treasures of your garden, skipping along the path, exclaiming with glee with each cement bunny or seashell treasure she uncovered. It was fairyland for her. Remember how she stood on tip-toe to smell your roses?

My son loves shortbread, you know. I wish you were here; you’d love feeding his lanky teenage body. You always had something delicious ready when his dad and I were dating; I’ve heard stories about Mom’s boyfriends always wanting to eat at your house, and now I realize why.   I know the shortbread recipe was really grandpa’s secret claim to fame – it was nice of you to let him have that little part of your world. You stacked the flaky, buttery shortbread squares right next to your dainty strawberry jam thumbprints. Oh, the cookies that came out of your kitchen. When we’d sit down for tea there was never a lack of sweets, always hiding in some sort of British tin you pulled out of the pantry. It made me feel like you baked them just for me, but I suspect that, like most everything in your life, you baked them just because you loved to.

Even today, when I walk into Mom’s house, I know you’re there. I can just feel you inside the adobe walls, I can hear your dainty feet pattering around the garden and your twig broom brushing the sand from the bricks, just like she still does today. You’re in the little kitchen when we eat – you know, the gas stove continues to  make it the warmest place in the house. Mom doesn’t make cookies like you did – but don’t worry, I use the shortbread recipe when I want to let my boy know how much he’s loved.

And just last week, right after I turned off the highway and whispered hi to Father Serra, I curled up in that rose colored armchair and thought of you.

This post was inspired by Under Magnolia by Frances Mayes, a memoir of her return to her roots in the South. Join From Left to Write on April 30th as we discuss Under Magnolia. 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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:
TwitterFacebookLinkedInPinterestGoogle PlusYelp

Friday Photo: A Day Taken For Granted

Posted on October 31, 2014 by

October, 2000

October, 2000

This is a day I cradle in the tender palms of my memory, a day taken for granted for its beauty, it’s fleetingness.

This is a day I likely smiled and laughed through part of, a day I possibly looked forward to and couldn’t wait to end.

This is a day when she was four and he was three and their entire futures were misty dreams before me, a day when there were no goodbyes or good lucks or glimpses of their life caught only on a screen.

This is a day of blessings, of bliss, of life pulling at my heartstrings.

This is a day of mothering, a day if only I could start again.

Friday Photos are glimpses into the extraordinary in my ordinary life. They are inspirations, remembrances and reflections that anchor this life, and honor all the brilliant moments that otherwise might pass me by.

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

Past and Present

Posted on June 27, 2014 by

L and C, past and present

There was a day, not so long ago. It was a warm, sunny day, full of expectation and hope. It felt like the start of something special.

She dressed that day not to impress, but to reflect her personality. First impressions count. She willfully chose a powder blue sundress, daisies embroidered on the bodice, tied in the back. It skimmed her knees. Her only adornment, a red friendship bracelet, stayed knotted around her little wrist. She tied her hair in her favorite ‘half-up/half-down’ style, slung her stiff new backpack over her bony shoulders for the first time, and walked out the door.

They wore matching shoes at the time, clunky brown sandals with huge,thick-treaded soles perfect for running and climbing in the hot valley September weather. He wanted everything to be like her; he looked up to his big sister in every way imaginable. She was everything. Squirming, he allowed me to dress him – unusual for his two-year-old sense of style. Generally he preferred the least amount of clothing possible. Anything with a dog on it would do, so we slipped the soft red long sleeve t-shirt over his rather large head, tugged elastic shorts around his waist and Velcroed his sandals tight enough to chase after sister. I inhaled his soft golden brown hair as he dashed out the front door.

There was a day, not so long ago, but 4,000 days after the first.  It was a warm, sunny day, full of expectation and hope. It felt like the end of something special, and the start of something unknown.

She dressed that day alone in her room, Pandora softly playing from her phone. I think she did her hair first; minutes clicked by as she wound her long, golden brown strands around the hot iron. Ringlets fell in place, not quite half-up, half-down. She slipped her favorite sundress over her strong, muscular shoulders – it skimmed her knees, and clasped her sterling silver “L” around her neck. I think there was a bit of black mascara highlighting her bright blue eyes. Leather and yarn bracelets from friends around the world dangle from her little wrist. Her brown leather flip-flops softly slapped the wood floors as she grabbed her backpack and ran for the door.

“Wait,” I shouted. This is really happening.

He stumbled out the door behind her, his curly, golden brown hair damp under his Detroit Tigers hat. Dark blue POC t-shirt, black athletic shorts and barefoot cover his long, lanky body as if an afterthought – or whatever was clean. His brown eyes sparkled as he grabbed her hand. She looks down at him now, I thought. When did he get so huge? Her arm tilted up as she hugged him. They smiled. “Hurry up,” she moaned. “My ride will be here any second.” I snapped as quickly as I could through the tears. This is really happening. This moment, this strange and simultaneous replay and fast forward of time is really happening.

And just like that, she was gone.

Dear readers, how has the past and present juxtaposed in your life? I’d love to hear your thoughts on this topic.

This post was inspired the prompt ‘past and present’ found on writealm.com . #writealm @writealm

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