There was deep gratitude in our garden Sunday night. All the people who love her were there to celebrate. Never quite sure who was coming, each time the front door opened, a new face of someone who played an enormous role in one aspect of her life entered into our space of celebration. There were spirits who helped her through her education, her athletics, or just those who helped her grow into a fabulous young woman. The common thread? Smiles. There were smiles everywhere, and with each I felt a shudder of deep gratitude run down my spine. I realized how the creation of a life of meaning takes so many of us, so many spirits contributing to molding, nurturing, and forming the young woman we are celebrating.

There was deep gratitude as I remembered the hours of planning and preparation by my family to celebrate her graduation. The  menu was thought out well in advance, created to please her with all her favorite flavors. The house was cleaned, the decorations purchased, and the garden tidied. The young boys strung twinkle lights, raked leaves, and scrubbed garden chairs. My sister arranged patio furniture and hung hand made balloon masterpieces. My niece and her boyfriend clipped endless snapshots to jute string to decorate a blank wall. Her best friend gracefully decorated vanilla cupcakes with the precision of a trained baker. My mom, in command of it all, moved from garden to kitchen without forgetting the smallest of details.

I was there, too, scanning my memories, fighting back tears of joy and sadness. Maps of important places were juxtaposed amidst adventure quotes to decorate the tables. I thought about all the journeys we’ve taken together since her birth, and the adventures she will have without us. Deep gratitude rose up as her girlfriends asked for Sharpies to calculate the miles that would separate them in college, their scribbles of loyalty became manifestation of the changes soon to come.

As darkness fell and the kids gathered around the fire pit, there was deep gratitude, again, for friendships. Children I’ve watched for a dozen years are now ready to take their life lessons to task. Friendships of women who have helped me navigate the challenges of motherhood. Families who have enveloped her with love and shown her that it isn’t only blood that ties us together. Friendships of those last to leave, relaxed into their chairs, faces lit by candlelight, and recalling the deep gratitude for girls who survived the crises of adolescence together as we sipped champagne and cherished the last moments, knowing it could be years before we all gather again.

My dear friend Dawn Wink writes of her life’s journey as searching for a ‘rainbow between storms‘, and as I think about my own travels through motherhood, I find solace in her metaphor. Graduation, growing up, and going away to college are the rainbows all parents hope for, but they don’t come without a bit of struggle. But it is the deep, deep gratitude that I feel now more than anything – gratitude for her life, for friends and family, for achievements, and for possibilities yet to come.

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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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I don’t need a day to remind me of why I love being a mother. I don’t need a corporate sponsored, scheduled celebration time. I don’t need an arbitrary day of obligation to prove to me you’re glad I birthed you. What I do need is a quiet morning, the wind blowing through the trees outside my window, the chocolate brown sheets pulled softly against my skin, my favorite mug filled with warm French roast, and my mind silent enough to drift back to all the moments that changed my life because of you – the moments that turned me sideways, pitched me forward, and made me realize that being a mother has irrevocably shifted my spirit into another dimension.

From the first moments I felt you wiggle inside me, from your luminous eyes gazing up at me from my chest, from your tiny hands grasping for mine, and your ethereal, miniature body nestled in slumber next to mine, I knew instantly that every day would be Mother’s Day.

In those first few years I learned, in the words of Anne Lamott, “….that children fill the existential hollowness many people feel; that when we have children, we know they will need us, and maybe love us, but we don’t have a clue how hard it is going to be.” I experienced the joy and despair of motherhood as I watched you learn to climb the stairs, ride a bike, rip down a ski hill and fly over a vault. I realized that Mother’s Day was celebrated as much in the moments of ‘no’ as the moments of ‘yes’, and that, as the sage Maya Angelou says, “Please – be their supporters, be their protectors and let them know that. That doesn’t mean that you indulge and condone mismanagement and bad action – but you can say, “I’m on your side. Now, this is not acceptable. And the reason it’s not acceptable is that you might get hurt in the management of the interaction. But I’m on your side – I want you to do well. I love you. That doesn’t mean I indulge you – I have sentimentality and it means I really love you and I want you to live a good life.” Oh, yes, my darlings, I really love you, and every day I am on your side.

And today, as I wait for your teenage bodies to wake, I fantasize about the Mother’s Day moments yet to come; the day I watch you accept your diploma, the day I hear the news you found your first job, the day you shout the words “We’re getting married” or “We’re having a baby” – those are the days I dream of, the days that bring motherhood full circle and explodes my happiness into tiny, glittering shards as you step into  the ecstasy that has become my every day, my Mother’s Day.

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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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The snow glows white on the mountain tonight

Not a footprint to be seen

A kingdom of isolation,

And it looks like I’m the queen.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside

Couldn’t keep it in, heaven knows I tried

I could hear you singing “Let It Go” through the walls last night. It wasn’t hard to notice-you were belting it out like your heart would burst if the words didn’t come forth. Then giggles, a bit of commentary, and you started up again. You two didn’t care that you were slightly off key. And if I had slightly squinted my eyes, I could imagine you, standing tall in sparkly dress up shoes, light brown bedhead hair, silky Little Mermaid nightie, adorned with Mardi Gras beads and maybe  touch of mommy’s lipstick.

When’s it my turn?

Wouldn’t I love, love to explore that world up above?

Out of the sea

Wish I could be

Part of that world

Barely reaching my shoulder, your blue eyes sparkled as you twirled, a song tucked inside your for a private audience. For just that instant, you were seven years old in my mind’s eye, just about to realize the power of your voice.

Don’t let them in, don’t let them see

Be the good girl you always have to be

Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know

Well, now they know

Let it go, let it go

Can’t hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn away and slam the door

Now you’re seventeen. You’re so much taller and stronger, and have replaced silkie nighties with Nike spandex. I gaze up, not down, when we talk. Bed head is hidden behind a messy bun, a delicate silver monogram pendant encircles your slender neck, no lipstick in sight. You are strong and beautiful and everything I ever imagined my daughter could be. And you have found the power of your voice.

It’s time to see what I can do

To test the limits and break through

No right, no wrong, no rules for me

I’m free

Let it go, let it go

I am one with the wind and sky

Let it go, let it go

You’ll never see me cry

In the start gate

Let it go, little girl. You’ve done the work you needed to do. You’ve listened and loved and learned what we’ve been here to teach you. You’ve kept your eyes on your goal, even when you weren’t sure exactly what shape it was going to take. You’ve learned that life isn’t all about taking the same path as everyone else. You feel the power of living life with a balance of fun and dedication. You’re in the start gate of life – a life on your terms. You’re at the top of a challenging course with no chance for inspection. You’ve trained on difficult terrain. You’re well equipped, and now, it’s finally your turn. Let it go, baby girl.  As always, I”ll be on the side of the course, cheering you as you fly by. Kick start and let it go. You’ve got this.

My power flurries through the air into the ground

My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around

And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast

I’m never going back,

The past is in the past

Let it go, let it go

And I’ll rise like the break of dawn

Let it go, let it go

That perfect girl is gone

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’ve been doing a monumental amount of looking forward by looking back lately. I’m absolutely certain it has to do with this indefinable space of my life right now, were I’m learning to let go of everything I’m comfortable with, everything I’m used to, and being forced to look forward for the magic that is sure to come.

Something really surprising has happened during this process. Something that has really made me stop and think about motherhood in a new way. Something that has caused me to question what memories I’ve chosen to hang onto, and how I choose to define the new path motherhood is about to lead me on.

Looking back on my first born, I vividly recall the sleepless nights, the insecurities, and the absolute amazement that I would be responsible for this little six-pound creature for the rest of my life. And I also remember the screaming.

She was what I considered a difficult baby. She rarely slept, nursed often, and always wanted to be on the go. She followed everything with her eyes, and struggled mightily to get what she wanted. After a few months of sleep deprivation and the desire to make life just a little bit more bearable, I realized that if instead of trying to set up a nursing schedule, or hoping that the bouncy chair would last long enough for me to get the dishes done-if instead of trying to make her fit my needs, I tried to fit hers, life would, or at least could, find a better rhythm. I discovered that if she looked forward, she was happy and content.

It wasn’t until I was flipping through my old photo albums recently that the impact of this change really resonated with me. All she has ever wanted in her life is to look forward. She never liked being confined or fitting into someone else’s dreams. It wasn’t so much a selfish outlook on life; what she was really asserting, from a very young age, is her desire to move through life looking just ahead of where she was at the present moment. She wanted to see it all, not wait for life to pass her by.

In nearly every photo I have of her during her first six months she is smiling, a strong arm securely wrapped around her middle, facing forward, bright blue eyes shining.

In a few months she’ll embark on her first great adult adventure. She’ll have chosen her home for the next four years, her life ready to unfold in front of her. And I can relax a little now; I can exhale the air I’ve been holding for so long. I can trust that this grown up creature will make good choices and will let her wishes be heard. I can release my grip just a bit now, knowing she’s secure enough to go in the right direction alone. And I know she’ll face college just like she’s tackled every other challenge in the last 18 years – facing forward.

This post was inspired by the novel Reasons My Kid Is Crying by Greg Pembroke who captures frustrating yet hilarious parenting moments through perfectly captioned photos of unhappy kids. Join From Left to Write on April 15 we discuss Reasons My Kid Is Crying. 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.

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Parenting: Simple, But Not Always Easy

Having a child seems like a simple enough decision. It’s a fulfillment of lifelong dreams for some; others agonize over the decision as if they can predict just exactly how a child will fit into their well-orchestrated lives. As if a child is something like a new couch or a vacation that can be scheduled neatly into our busy days, and we will not only know exactly when it will be delivered but are assured that we will meet all our connections and the hotel room will be ready when we arrive.

I was one of those people, I must admit. I was that woman – a natural born organizer, a teacher used to lesson planning, assessing, and holidays right on schedule. How could a baby be that difficult for someone like me, right? It should be easy if I plan it right.

Even the delivery nurse tried to warm my mom shortly after my firstborn entered the world. “It’s women like her,” she whispered, “that have the most trouble, you know.” Little did I know how true her words would become.

I never thought, really, that when that first little person, and then another, entered my life, I would be so shaken. I never thought about how hard all the transitions would be for me-it just seemed like I should know how to handle it, just as if it was a disruptive student in my class. I could surely lesson plan for this little being to become a part of the fabric of our daily lives, couldn’t I? If I could handle a room of tweenagers, surely a child of my own would be simple.

It turns out, simple is relative. Did my maternal instincts kick in? Absolutely. Did I realize how painfully difficult and gut-wrenching parenting could be? Not in my wildest dreams.

I surely didn’t plan for the abundance of love I would feel for these two beings-a love that would create strength I never knew I had. I didn’t realize that every decision, every plan in life from here forward would involve them. It went way beyond the logistics of car seats and strollers; having children simply altered my perception of life and why we live it. And I most definitely didn’t plan for the heartache I would feel when, eighteen years later, my firstborn is ready to leave.

Simple doesn’t mean easy, that’s for sure. The simple part of parenting, I realized, is watching your child grow and reach and try and be curious about everything life has to offer. Sometimes, though, simple is easier said than done.

This post was inspired by the novel  The Opposite of Maybe by Maddie Dawson. At the age of 44, Rosie finds herself suddenly single and pregnant. She tries to hide in her grandmother’s home but meets two men that will change her life forever. Join From Left to Write on April 8 we discuss The Opposite of Maybe. 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.

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