Summer is finally over. Parents are secretly smiling as they shoo their kids out the door, snap a few first day of school photos and sigh. Yes, some of you might shed a few tears over the passage of time and the impending high school graduation – even if it’s still five years away. And some of you try to walk your kids to their first class in middle school (a big no-no) and even more of you hover in the parking lot or your local coffee shop and quietly wonder what’s happening to your kid inside the walls of their 7th and 8th grade classrooms.

As I start my 25th year of middle school, I thought I’d give you a sneak peek. And one thing your kids say might just be true: the first day of school can be a real snoozer. Far too many teachers fill their first moments with kids drilling them with rules and consequences, with syllabi and seriousness.

Fortunately, I came to my senses and gave that up long ago. Middle school is about relationships. It’s about smiling, about showing you care, and letting kids know that school can actually be fun – even when it’s not lunch or passing period.

On the first day of school, I like to mix it up and actually do an activity that gets kids thinking, analyzing and moving straight away. One of my favorites is called “Post the post it on the poster”.

My motivation here is two fold: I want kids to know what I’m thinking about as I start the year, and I also am surreptitiously watching how they move, who they gravitate towards and of course, how they respond to my questions.

How would you answer these?

One of my favorite (and most common) responses: little did I know I’d have to channel my inner entertainer when I began teaching middle school!

Do you think this kid is serious, or just trying to make nice with the new teacher?

No, this wasn’t the “what kind of a teacher do you want” question – this one was about what kids should be doing in the classroom. Ha ha!

I love when they tell me what to do – and boy, do they love to tell me…

And yes, they definitely have their priorities straight about why they’re there:

Of course, I have to bring it back around to the beginning of the year, and have them think about themselves (middle school kids LOVE to think about themselves!):

No pressure, huh? Can you believe how many of them set goals around their grades? Is that their parents talking?

This one was my favorite. I wish I knew who wrote it, but then again, it doesn’t really make much difference. Be the best we can be. Be open to new things. If we can accomplish that goal, we’re going to have an amazing year.

I’ll let you know how it goes!

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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“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?

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…”

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.

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.

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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He said to me the other day, “Mom, I don’t get it. Sometimes you’re totally chill, and then sometimes you want to know everything. You need to trust me. I’m not crazy, you know.”

That one got me thinking. Am I that inconsistent? Or is he just smart enough to see what’s really going on beneath the surface?

Parenting is sort of like going to battle without a plan. We start off as new parents overjoyed with the idea of life ahead, and for the most part, joy is the overriding emotion of my parenting experience.

And then life happens. Infants turn into toddlers, then third graders, thirteen year olds, and suddenly the teenage years smack us over the head when we weren’t looking. The skirmishes begin in full force.

Let the parenting battle begin-and parents, you’d better be ready.

Some days the plan of attack is subtle, but not without strife, to be sure. Get your homework done before video games, complete your chore list without complaining, and study for finals. That’s the easy stuff.

It’s the harder issues that lead to full engagement, wondering if a ceasefire will ever be possible. The ones that leave you with the ache in your gut. The ones that make you dive for the parenting handbook and leave you breathless with worry. The ones that you just need to ride out and trust that things will work themselves out.

Yesterday’s choice wasn’t one of those legendary philosophical decisions. For many people it would have been quite simple. It was normal kid stuff, things that maybe some parents don’t even blink at. But I do.

It really was about teenage decision making – trusting that his frontal lobe was keeping up with his intelligence. This is something I’ve been taking into consideration this year, now that he’s 15 and full of confidence.

Last summer, I had finally come to a place where I felt ok with him living away from home. I felt comfortable with his community, with his coaches, and with his friends. I felt like he was on a strong, health path. He was young – but he knew what he wanted.

Then came the phone call last August, when he broke his leg and I changed my ‘chill’ attitude. Suddenly, he was vulnerable again, and I fell into mamawolfe mode and all the doubts, the ‘proof’ that ‘things happen’, and now I’m caught in the mental battle of how far to let him go, how do I trust that he will be safe.

Watching the news sure doesn’t help – just last night I reminded him that if we listen to the stories, none of us should walk out of our house, light a firework or travel to a big city for the 4th of July.

Terrifying, if you think about it too hard. Terrifying to think about the battles going on in our world, let alone within the mind of a teenage boy full of hormones.

And this is where my angst set in, where I struggled with the parenting battle lines. What do you stand up for, what do you let slide? When do we trust that all those years of hand holding and teaching and boundaries pay off in their solid decision making? Where does the intersection of our own fears and our common sense lead us, when we come to a four-way stop and need to decide what is best for our child?

When do we let our kids just be kids, and push away all the fears – rational or irrational – and trust that everything will just be OK?

This is perhaps one of the most formidable parts about parenting – the struggle between throwing down the gauntlet, honoring the change in our children, recognizing the growth they’ve made from preschool to high school, and taking that deep breath, holding it for just a second, and releasing it with a quiet, “yes”.

Because when you think about it, the most indomitable parenting battles are really within ourselves, aren’t they?

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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One hour later…

A new email vibrated my phone. “The police are checking the campus. They will come to your room. You must open the door.”

Are you kidding me? Open the door to what? The curtain is enough of a false sense of security – I don’t want to open anything. We’re safe here, in the dark, on the floor. They’re quiet. They have their games on their phones and cards and chess and they’re not making a sound…and they feel ok. They trust me.

I knew my room would be the first one checked. Whispering a warning to the class, I softly stepped around bodies and bags and board games. I’d done everything I could to take their minds off of the fear. Now I had to open up to the outside.

The knock came as predicted, and I pushed open the door. He stood there, in full gear, gun drawn. “Are you ok? Is everyone here?” The words wouldn’t come. I was fixated on the one behind him, holding the bigger gun. “Yyyyyes, we’re here. We’re ok.” I looked down at the boys at my feet. Their eyes were wide open, taking it all in. I had no idea they would be able to see all this. I’m sure, like me, they’ve never been that close to a gun.

I closed the door and quickly locked it from the inside, hanging the lanyard around my neck. My breath came rapidly. Hold it together. You are safe. Cameron is safe. You can do this. I was responsible for these children. This was real.

Creeping back to my spot, reassuring students as I went past, I felt the tone change around me. They knew this wasn’t a drill. They knew something bad was happening. I prayed they couldn’t sense my nervousness. We could hear the officers banging on each door in the building, and then silence.

That was a good thing.

Two hours later…

The beanbag chair saved me. I didn’t realize how sore I could get sitting cross-legged for two hours on the floor. My mind raced as I tried to figure out how I could make a toilet – I knew that would come soon. My phone flashed with messages from my sisters, sending me news reports to supplement the little information we had on the inside. I knew the kids had their phones, but the darkness kept me from doing much. If I was their parent, I would want to know they were safe. I stayed silent.

The emails were coming every 30 minutes or so. “Stay calm. We are safe. We will keep you posted” were words of comfort, but I couldn’t help wonder if everyone else was ok. The stillness was frightening.

Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life. “The lock down is over. Please remain in your rooms until 3:15 dismissal.”

We’re safe. It’s over. I’m still not unlocking the door. What happened? Did anyone get hurt? Where is Cam?

We stood up, our bodies creaking and peeling ourselves out of our hiding places. With the lights on, I could finally see their eyes – now with a glint of relief, of anticipation, with question.  Slowly, the kids hugged and gathered their sweatshirts and lunchboxes strewn around the room. We stretched and pushed the desks back and tried to make it feel normal, like any other Friday afternoon. Fifteen more minutes together. We could do this.

We did do this. We are safe. We did made it. They will see their parents, hug them and collapse into their arms.

It wasn’t our time.

photo credit: Campus police… 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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As I sat huddled on the floor of my classroom on a sticky hot Friday afternoon, I couldn’t believe how quiet 34 12 and 13-year-olds could be. I knew it was broad daylight, but with my heavy curtains pulled and the lights off, I couldn’t see any of their faces. I imagined what they looked like; their hair would be slightly askew, their brows sweaty from playing basketball at lunch. The smiles and laughs of our afternoon class would be erased, replaced by fear in their eyes and an unwillingness to let anyone see them cry. My mind raced as I went through my mental checklist – had he made it back from the bathroom before I slammed and locked the door? Did J make it under the desk with his broken ankle and crutches? Where were my interns? In an instant, I transformed from a facilitator of learning to a commander of safety.

I listened in the quiet and then whispered, “You’re ok. We will be fine. You are safe.”

No one whispered back.

Sadly, this wasn’t the first lock down I’ve experienced in 25 years of teaching, but this one felt different. It was no drill, that was for sure. The principal’s voice over the intercom was clear and firm, but I knew something was terribly wrong.

Desperate for information, I weighed the risk of standing up to walk to my desk. I knew the news would come via email, but there was a crack of light where the curtains didn’t quite cover the window – a crack big enough for a shooter to aim and fire. And it was directly behind my desk.

Sirens punctured the silence. We could hear them stopping in front of the school. I could feel the fear in the stillness of my classroom.

My laptop glowed in the darkness, but I couldn’t hear the ping of a new email. I knew before long the questions would start. I wanted to have an answer. I wanted to have something to soothe their minds while they waited, curled up under the tables, packed together like kittens seeking warmth from their mother. The silence wasn’t going to last.

Crouching down, I crept to my desk, my eyes scanning my inbox. “Keep all kids inside. Keep doors and windows locked. Do not let anyone in or out. We’ve received a threat and will send more information soon.” Slightly reassuring; I had been hoping for something better-something that would make me feel like we would be ok.

I felt the blood drain through my body. A threat. 34 children. 3 interns. And my own son out there, somewhere. Three of his classmates were with me – I knew they’d been delivering invitations when the lock down happened. Had he made it back in time?

I grabbed my cell phone and slunk back to the floor space. The screen lit up with a text from Cameron, “Mom, what’s happening? There’re cops everywhere.”

He’s safe. Gratitude washed over my heart. “I don’t know, son. Where are you?”

“I’m in my classroom. Mom, is this real?”

“I don’t know. Stay safe. I love you.”

“Mrs. Wolfe….Mrs. Wolfe,” came a barely audible voice through the darkness. “Do our parents know? Do they know what’s going on?”

They’re 12 years old, I thought. They want their parents. They’re just children – my children, now – and I’m it. It’s up to me.

“Mrs. Wolfe, can I hold this?” I crept close to the voice and saw her dark eyes. She was holding a pink stuffed elephant. I’d forgotten that box was under the computer table.

“Of course, sweetie,” I whispered back. Now was the time to move. “Class, you are fine. You are safe. I will take care of you. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know the police are here to protect us. You must stay quiet. Your parents will know we’re in lock down. You are safe here in our room. I will let you know as soon as I find out anything.”

My stomach lurched as I navigated around the discarded backpacks back to my spot on the floor. Another email – no news. “Get comfortable,” I breathed into the dead air. “This could be awhile.”

to be continued…

photo credit: One Hundred and Thirty Five 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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