I’ve always been a pretty quiet person.  I love the silence of the morning, the quiet only punctuated by the cawing of crows heading east towards the fields, the spurt of the coffee maker, and the rhythmic splat of the sprinkler as it sprinkles my garden before the sun comes up.

I love the quiet of reading books snuggled under a soft down comforter, the scratch of my pen on journal paper, and the hiss of the candle welcoming me into the daylight.

I never much enjoy talking on the phone, talking in groups or talking at parties.  I think it’s odd that I chose a job where talking consumes so much of my day.  I’ve been told that my teacher-talk is like a kindergarten teacher, explicitly outlining each step of a lesson and highlighting expectations.  I explain  that teaching middle school is just like teaching kindergarten.  When I stop talking, they notice.

I enjoy talking with my children the most.  The times when we’re driving in the car and they see something that reminds them of a story from school, or when I need to explain something very serious, or when we just giggle together are my absolute favorite.  The way they talk as teens is so different from when they were little – in many ways, it seems like the stakes are much higher now.  They need me to listen more now than ever.  There is a shift going on – a time to carefully choose my words, softly encouraging them to listen.

When my children talk to me, they share little bits of their soul.  Sometimes those bits are broken-off shards, sharp, piercing and painful.  Other times they are soft, pillowy bits of fluff that slip from their mouth and bounce around the room.

Sometimes when they talk it is hard to hear them – especially when their words tumble out at warp speed, piling on top of each other like wooden blocks poised to crash to the ground.  We stop, pause, and take our turns at being heard.

Their words matter to me.  When I listen to their young voices I hear my hope for their future.  I hear their curiosity about the world, and their questioning human morality.  When I listen to their words I see their children speaking, years from now, asking for their wisdom.  I hear their minds whirr as they process what they see and who they have heard.  I hear myself in their words.

I know the quiet is coming soon.  They will be gone, moving into their lives and exploring the world more quickly than I would like.  They will use their voices to share, teach, and understand.  They will deepen and stretch and take in so much more than I can imagine, more than I could ever tell them.  I will hunger for those car rides and late night conversations when I had their attention, when I could teach them what I thought they should know.  And when those days come,  I will drop everything for their phone call, eager to hear their voice, desperate to listen for my words coming through their soul. 

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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As summer winds to a close I’m getting that fluttering feeling again-anyone involved with education knows what I’m talking about. Students, teachers, parents – we all feel it.

 If you’re a student, it’s that butterflies-kind of feeling that sets your body trembling at the thought of one last day at the pool, one more night hanging out under the streetlight on your block, and the last time you can sleep in as late as you want without worrying about all your homework, studying, or chores that need to be done.

 If you’re a teacher like me, well, it’s something similar, but a bit different. It’s that panicky-kind of feeling at the thought of the to-do list still undone, the novels not quite finished, the essays you want to write instead of grade, and the last time you can wake up early and do exactly what you want to do without worrying about all your students, your grading, or chores that need to be done.

If you’re a parent, it could be a mixed bag.  It’s that sorrowful feeling of days gone by, kids who’ve grown up before your eyes.  It’s wishing you had one more night to just cuddle instead of going to bed early, and the day doesn’t operate on a schedule.

Or I suppose you could be excited to have your kids out of the house and let someone else deal with them – no more arguing over TV time, restocking the fridge every other day, or groaning when your teen doesn’t wake up until the day is half over.

Summer is supposed to simplify my life. I want June again.  The smell of roses, the sun powdered gold. Rolling dizzily down the grassy slopes, never worried about what was at the end. The possibilities.

You remember what it was like, right?  It WAS simple then.

 Did it thrill you to go ‘back-to-school’ shopping, buying new Keds and a backpack ready to organize your way to straight As?

 Do you remember choosing your new binder, notebooks, and a pencil box, if you were lucky?

 Did you agonize over the Pee-Chee folder versus the one with the puppies, or the Scooby-Doo lunchbox over a paper sack?

I wish it were this simple for me now.

The teacher in me doesn’t know how to operate on any other type of calendar-if September came and I wasn’t in a classroom I think my world would spin off its axis.

The parent in me doesn’t want to lose the priceless minutes I have just being a mom-not a worker, or a helper, or the one responsible for anyone else’s kids.  Just mine.

Summer is supposed to simplify my life.

Instead, I feel torn in half.

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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Have you ever had an idea that you wondered if you could make it work?

Did you lose sleep at night running it over and over in your mind, searching out the pros and cons, the rights and wrongs, the hows and whys?

Did you share it with your friends, ask for advice on Facebook, or search out an expert?

Did you try jumping in all at once, or take baby steps to test it out?

We teach our children to be adventurous, to raise their hand and share their thoughts, and to try new foods.  We expect them to do things we never did ourselves, to speak for us when we cannot find our own voice, and to teach us how to use the newest technology that we do not understand.

For many of us, change is scary.  We like the known over the unknown.  Taking a chance means risking making a mistake, failing, or facing ridicule.  Taking a chance means we might need to show our weaknesses. Taking a chance is also how we learn our life lessons.

I like to think that the older I get, the wiser I become.  I let loose my inhibitions and step into situations that would have paralyzed me ten years ago.  Sometimes it’s more of a physical challenge: I cast out on open water, soar through the air, or push myself to exhaustion.

Other times the mental task seems just as daunting:   applying for a new program, sharing my thoughts, or taking on the terrifying task of parenting teenagers.

This week, two of my writer friends are taking on their own new challenge by bringing their idea into reality.  Val and Kathy have created a website, Bonbon Break, designed to provide a space to share their thoughts, wisdom, humor and ideas with like-minded women, and I am honored to be one of the contributing writers in their first edition with my parenthood post on teaching social responsibility.

If you’re looking for a little inspiration, some interesting thoughts, and a great example of making your ideas come true, visit Bonbon Break!  You’ll be happy you did.

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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I searched for signs of that lily this year, hoping that baby blush would emerge once more. Five weeks of waiting, wishing, missing her, dreaming of what she would be like when she reappeared. Fleeting images of blue-eyed beauty flicker in my mind’s eye as I think of her as she used to be, preparing myself for what she has become. Tomorrow she will reappear, the tender blush will bloom again, a strong base supporting her into the next season of growth.

image courtesy of rosaflora.com

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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