Tag: Salt Lake City

Happiness Hacks: June 2017

Posted on June 29, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

I LOVE podcasts. They fit my Type-A personality, my need to always feel like I’m satisfying the hungry curiosity that runs at warp speed through my brain. I love all sorts of podcasts, from political to storytelling to teaching tips to personal growth.

This month I’ve been plowing through the podcast “Happier With Gretchen Rubin”.

You should check it out. She publishes two types of podcasts: one that is super short ‘happiness’ tips often in the form of a quote or anecdote to give you something to think about. She calls these “A Little Happier” – you might like this one called “We Don’t Always Know When Children Are Wasting Their Time”.

The second type of podcast she publishes is her longer series (she’s up to podcast #121, so you have some to look forward to!) – for example, I just listened to this one about how to get more reading done, and an interview with Sam Walker: http://gretchenrubin.com/happiness_project/2017/06/podcast-121-reading-sam-walker/

Gretchen’s name might sound familiar to you because several years ago she wrote the best-selling books The Happiness Project and Happier At Home. You can read my essay inspired by Happier At Home here.

Cover of "The Happiness Project: Or, Why ...

Cover via Amazon

Gretchen’s writing and podcasts inspired me to create what I hope are monthly lists of ‘happiness hacks’ – small, simple acts or moments in life that bring me happiness and maybe they’ll rub off on you, too.

Happiness Hacks June 2017:

Biking to work

Ummmm…yeah. My students/family thought I was hilarious. I thought I was a blue and gold Viking!

Last year a teacher/friend/neighbor and I started a biking to work challenge. We decided that we would commit to trying to bike to work every day. Now, biking to work is something I did regularly anyways, but I was noticing I was finding more and more excuses to take the car. I’d arrive home tired/hot/stressed, and completely unmotivated to exercise. Even my little doggie couldn’t always get me going after a long day.

The biking to work challenge worked, mainly because I love a challenge and when I start something I don’t like to give up. I started to notice how relaxed I felt when I got to work and got home after a 15-minute bike ride. I found I was listening to more podcasts, and taking home less work. Once I started I couldn’t stop – even when northern California experienced one of the rainiest winters ever! I simply bought a bike poncho and kept on pedaling.

I know not everyone can bike to work, but if you’re looking for more relaxation and exercise, is there a way you could commit to 15 minutes once (or twice) a day?

Happiness Hacks June 2017

Cleaning the fridge and freezer

Stay with me here: I love to organize my refrigerator and freezer. I can’t say that I love it when the juice has spilled and stuck in a gooey mess all the way down the side, or when I discover that package of fancy Brie molding in the cheese drawer. No one loves the smell or rotten kale or moldy sour cream, right?

But I do love knowing what I have and where it is because it makes life so much easier. Cooking and baking are relaxing to me, but not when I don’t have the right ingredients or something has expired. Plus, I love being able to open the doors, have the cold air hit my face and see the neatly arranged frozen bags of fruit, the containers of extra sauce or meatballs, and the easily accessible Trader Joe’s Salted Caramel gelato staring back at me.

For that, I’ll gladly clean the fridge and freezer at least every other month!

Happiness Hacks June 2017

Upcycled children’s books into journals

I recently took a trip to Salt Lake City to have a ‘staycation’ at my daughter’s college apartment. I love just hanging out in SLC, checking out the cool spots to eat and drink (coffee), walking through the beautifully landscaped neighborhoods, and shopping at a few of my favorite places: the Sundance outlet and Uptown Cheapskate.

One of the best parts of Salt Lake City on a Saturday is going to the HUGE downtown Farmer’s Market. I love the yummy food trucks, the produce vendors, and the beautiful homemade craft booths.

I went back for a second year in a row to this awesome food truck!

This year I discovered the breathtaking book journals made by Red Barn Collections. you can follow them on Instagram here https://www.instagram.com/redbarncollections/ I got so excited to see how they cleverly upcycled books into journals that I posted this video on my Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/p/BVc4n1jhL8F/?taken-by=mamawolfeto2

I can see how they would make awesome graduation gifts, birthday presents, new baby gifts, recipe books, or just to write in! And I hear they do a “Christmas in August” sale, so be sure to check them out.

I forgot to mention that Red Barn Collection does adorable light switch covers, too! Recognize this guy?

Happiness Hacks June 2017

Finding and using gift cards

My last happiness hack for June 2017 is finding and using gift cards. This will take some upfront time – you’ll need to go through your purses, wallets, drawers, mail – anywhere you have stashed gift cards. Put them all together in an envelope or just slap a rubber band on them, and take them on your next shopping trip or vacation. I’ve done this two years in a row with my Salt Lake City trip, and am amazed at how much fun it is to try to pay for everything with a gift card! Consider it a way of ‘forced saving’ if you want – but I was able to indulge us with new clothes, books, frozen yogurt, burgers and a mani-pedi without forking out any cash!

Taking this happiness hack a step further, consider looking for sales on gift cards – sometimes the grocery store has a special deal or card resale sites like Gift Card Granny. You could but a card every now and again and tuck them away for next summer!

I sure hope these happiness hacks from June 2017 gave you some ideas – and please, let me know if you try them – or better yet, what your favorite happiness hacks are! I’d love to include them in my July Happiness Hacks post!

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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Don’t You Think Age Is Only A Number?

Posted on June 17, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

I was skimming Facebook today- because I’m on vacation and that’s what you do when you don’t have to wake up to an alarm, right? Sitting in my daughter’s college apartment, I saw a post from a mom who was at the beach with her three young children. It was a shot like many I take when I’m enjoying the moment– legs stretched out, book balanced on her lap, sand and surf and the horizon in the background. Her caption made me laugh: “I’m reading a book on the beach with my boys. No floaties or crying or buckets or arguing over sunscreen. I’ve dreamed of days like this”.

Funny how time works, isn’t it? I remember feeling that way, too. I remember ticking off the milestone ages in my head, dreaming about this little tiny, often crying, baby girl I was holding, wondering how she would ever grow up and grow away from home – and away from me.

Just below hers was another post from a dear friend, frantically traveling to see her father before he passes.

She didn’t make it in time.

She shared a simple photo of her with him, no caption, just the two of them smiling and hugging. I saw her son in father’s face. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, let her know that on this day that we dream of and dread I’m here for her.

That’s the thing about motherhood, and growing up, and growing old. The years pass, time trickling by whether we know it or not – whether we document the moments or wish them away.

I wear a silver cuff around my right wrist- actually several, one for each of the years that my motherhood has shifted.

They’re instead of a tattoo. My mother is much happier this way.

Engraved with my mantra for the year, Be Here Now, it’s my daily reminder to stop and pay attention. To look up at the sky and down at the shadows. To notice what is right here instead of worrying about what is ahead or what I’ve left behind.

Not to regret or second guess or future trip.

Just before I left on vacation, my son reminded me that he’s almost the same age my daughter was when she went off to college. He still has one more year at home.

I reminded him she was actually six months older, and he scoffed. I smiled. Those six months between 17 and 18 can make a huge difference.

Or is age only a number?

I’m not sure how old the woman’s children were as she lay on that beach, coveting her quiet time.

I know my friend is in her thirties- too young to lose a father she adored, so many years ahead to parent without his guidance.

This vacation is all about soaking in my daughter’s life – her friends, her lifestyle, her new home. I breathed deeply as she, for the first time, order a glass of sangria last night. It was her first ‘official’ drink with me since she turned 21. Sitting at an outdoor cafe, we were enjoying a warm Salt Lake City evening just after she finished her volunteer job.

pc: Matt Chirico

Of course, she got carded- and as the waitress scrutinized her ID I couldn’t help blurting out “It’s legit! I’m her mom. She just turned 21. She was born June 2 1996 at 11:37…”

Wait-where did that come from?

The waitress just laughed as my daughter wryly smiled. Maybe she’s used to my obsession with her growing up; I’m not sure.

She sipped her sangria slowly as we ate. “I’m enjoying it,” she quipped at her boyfriend as he teased her deliberateness. I noticed her carefully spoon out the alcohol-soaked fruit, enjoying every last bit.

She was here. Now. And so was I.

I wasn’t with her the moment she actually turned 21. She was somewhere in the mountains of South America, surrounded by friends and coffee farms, hiking and laughing and enjoying life. It wasn’t exactly how I imagined this milestone- sort of like most every parenting moment I’ve had, actually.

I’ve dreamed of days like this, I’m sure. I’ve wished they wouldn’t come at strongly as I wished they would. I’ve held onto her hand and let her go more times than I ever thought possible.

I know that age is only a number, that turning 51 and 21 really just mark the moments we have lived, milestones of memories and not anything to fear.

I know that if I can just be here, now, that age is only a number on a day and what matters are the ordinary, extraordinary memories in each one.

Don’t you agree age is only a number?

Jennifer Wolfe

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Turning 50: My Transformation Into Wholeness

Posted on May 30, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

Two little girls nestled into their father in the pew in front of me, catching my eye as they jostled for position. The littlest one, no more than two years old, bounced on her daddy’s sturdy leg while her older sister, closer to five, curled her chubby fingers around his arm. The littlest one, blonde, wearing leggings and a pullover top, looked like she insisted she dress herself. Her undone back button and slightly mismatched outfit screamed, “I can do it myself”. Her sister’s sundress was a bit more pulled together, her honey-colored hair was gently braided to the side, and I watched as she fiddled with her headband during the sermon.

I wondered how long they would last, while at the same time, smiled silently in solidarity with a dad who could get two wiggly little girls not only to come to church but to sit quietly.

They honestly didn’t make a peep.

Within a few minutes of their arrival, the eldest removed her purple hairband and began running her fingers through her mid-length hair. Fascinated, I watched as she attempted to re-braid, then twist and contort her tresses into one up-sweep after another. When she tired, or when her hairband gave out, she would so tenderly stroke her sibling’s head as she laid on her father’s lap. I found myself wanting to reach out and braid their hair myself, to recall the memories of running my own fingers through my baby girl’s hair as she wiggled and struggled to get free.

Instead, I sat quietly and watched. I wondered what their story was. Where was their mother? Who helped them get where they were? How was their father, sitting so calmly, going to handle their squirminess when it got physical, as most siblings do?

It was their tenderness with each other that stunned me, really. As we sat, part of a bigger collective of people, I closed my eyes and listened; I thought about all that we humans do to each other when we get ‘tired’ of the way we are, or the way we look, or how our neighbor is acting. I thought about the lack of tenderness in our society and the blatant disregard many people have to simply stop, pause, look, and listen to others.

I thought about the common goals we all have, and how I see them in my middle school classroom every day.

The search for wholeness. For identity. For belonging. For authenticity.

When my kids were little, I remember often wondering what would be the measure of a successful day; sometimes, the simplest acts of survival were filled with such satisfaction. Getting up, getting dressed and figuring out how to balance mothering and teaching and marriage were my survival tasks. And on the days when it was good, I tried to set an intention to enjoy it.

And on the days when it wasn’t, I felt alone. I felt as if I must be missing something – that here I was, this educated, white woman living in a safe home in a peaceful state with two healthy babies, a job, and enough money to buy the food we needed, and yet still, my story wasn’t complete. I was now turning 50; this transformation into motherhood, I felt, should have been simpler.

Some people told me I was thinking too hard.

Some told me to relax, not to worry.

But I kept telling myself that someday, I would get there. That all I had was all I needed. That this transformation to the next chapter in my story would take time.

I was impatient. Like the five-year-old in front of me, I twisted and twirled and wrapped myself into all sorts of shapes, hoping that with any luck I’d find the one that stuck. I didn’t realize that what I was right in the middle of was what I needed. I was in the process of shaping wholeness; I just wasn’t seeing it.

Salt Lake City hike, half-way up.

Turning 50 has felt like a tipping point this year; mid-life, I can see the horizon in front of me with such an acute clarity. I feel firmly planted in my life. I’m learning to pay attention, to not only listen to my story but to share it, to pay it forward.

Maybe that’s why I reached out to help the little girl in front of me, clumsily attempting to part her hair and twirl it into a messy bun. My whispered offer of assistance denied, I sat back and breathed in. The hidden wholeness I wouldn’t have seen, couldn’t have seen, when my baby was five years old settled around me like a warm shawl. I felt it as the memories radiated through my being, resting so comfortably, so comfortingly, around my heart.

A daily reminder to be a possibilitarian.

And in that moment, I set an intention to look for signs of transformation around me, to twist myself outside of my comfort zone, to make myself acknowledge the wholeness that I’ve been searching for, and that is right here in this ordinary day.

Jennifer Wolfe

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I’m Flying

Posted on April 12, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

It’s that uneasy feeling in my core that momentarily makes me shudder. I try not to sit over the wing, but this time I must have gotten too close. It’s grey outside LAX – an uncommonly rainy day in southern Californa, to be sure.

As the plane gathers altitude and begins to shake, my head swerves from left to right as if I’m stuck on a spinning teacup ride.

I will not get dizzy. I will not panic.

For someone who loves to travel, I despise flying. Each time I enter the stifling cocoon of an aircraft my breath begins to come in short gasps and I watch my hands as the grip and twist and fidget with anxiety.

I scramble for my earbuds, for my book, for anything to relieve the absolute panic I know is about to wash over me. It’s inevitable.

I’m flying. I’m released from the gravity that tethers me to my ordinary, everyday life. It feels like walking a slack line at first; I’m checking and rechecking for a diaper bag, I’m catching the eye of a toddler running away in my mind, I’m scanning for a plugged in teenager about to miss our boarding call. Strangely, they’re not there. I’m alone, feeling the float of lift off and gathering life from a new perspective.

It’s not exhilarating. To be honest, it’s unsettling.

This feeling of groundlessness unnerves me as we cruise along at 36k feet. Thankfully, the ride is smooth and my mind stills and wanders a bit.

I’m alone. Away from everything that tethers me to ME. I’m a stranger in a slew of travelers, incognito to everyone around me.

I could be an aging actress. A famous writer. A salesperson or an investment banker, or perhaps an editor or a restaurant chef or a politician.

I turn the pages of my novel to try and lose myself. It’s about a family of tinkers- travelers, nomads, those souls who wander but are not lost. Groundless, yet grounded. Their possessions with them always, settling briefly in one town and the next, they lead a decidedly unconventional lifestyle.

They’re outsiders, nudging the edges of discomfort as they roam.

I absolutely know that feeling.

Flying high in the sky, I can look back on my home and take in the vastness of our world. I can remove myself from my house and my street and my school and everything that is ordinary. I can become an outsider looking in.

I can see farther than I can imagine. I can revel in the anonymize of just being me. Jennifer. Mother, wife, daughter, sister, teacher, writer, friend.

The babies are crying in the back. I remember the weight of mine on my chest, nursing them to comfort so many years ago. I’m not that woman anymore, I remind myself. I can hardly remember her, it seems, outside of the visceral muscle memory of skin to skin, the sprawl of innocence spread alongside me. I’m flying and I’m weaving in and out of me, catching snippets of memories like I’ve just stumbled into a dream.

I’m flying, and I’m free of those old pulls of my ordinary self. I’m floating on my true nature, grabbing pieces of my life past, present and future.

Now, with only air beneath me, I’m unsupported, unrestricted. I’m free from my ordinary form, floating in a temporary state. It’s simultaneously unsettling and uncomfortable.

The pressure intensifies as we begin our descent to Salt Lake City and I breathe in slowly, then exhale. I pull Me back inside, I imagine the girl who will be waiting when I land. She’s a lot like me, but not quite. She’s her own, extraordinary, ordinary woman.

In and out, I prepare myself. It’s always bumpy on the landings.

Honestly, I need that jolt.

It’s sometimes hard to hit reality, isn’t it?

Jennifer Wolfe

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A Year of Change And Possibilities: May, June, July, August 2014

Posted on December 29, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

Oh, the spring and summer months, so simultaneously anticipated and dreaded. Months and years of preparation came to a head, as my children and I were thrust into turbulent change.

Lily turned 18 and graduated from high school; we saw joyful high school traditions and the rewards of hard work on the snow and the pole vault.

Senior Ball

Lily setting her high school record in women’s pole vaulting.

Lily’s graduation

At the shore, we celebrated endings and beginnings of next chapters.

Cameron at Santa Cruz

Lily at Santa Cruz beach.

I experienced a true ’empty nest’ that terrified me. So I traveled – without kids.

Bend, Oregon

Deschutes River

And in one of the most spectacularly horrible Augusts in recent memory, life turned completely and inexplicably upside down as dreams were dashed for one, opened for another.

broken leg in Oregon

Moving Lily into her Salt Lake City dorm room

This quote, by William Stafford, reflected this tumultuous time precisely:

“There’s a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change. People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread. But it is hard for others to see. While you hold it you can’t get lost. Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old. Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding. You don’t ever let go of the thread.”

Through it all, I tried to keep writing, to reflect the upheaval; as my posts were sporadic and at times, many far too difficult to write in the moment. Some of my favorite pieces from May, June, July and August were:

Every Day Is Mother’s Day For Me

Past And Present

A Month of Quiet

Letter To My College Bound Daughter

Today, I Love You

The theme of change and possibilities culminated in the fall and winter…more in my next post.