Category: Parenting

Another Day

Posted on December 22, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

Her face is turned toward the window, nestled on a deep feather pillow. Long dark lashes flutter as I kiss her cheek, brushing back soft strands of hair from her forehead. It is dark out, yet she will rise and greet another day.

His face is face up, eyes closed, arms thrown back over his head in the same position as when he slept as an infant. I reach down to kiss the sweet spot between his jaw and neck, and he groans and pulls the covers tighter. It is dark out, yet he will rise and greet another day.

Sleepily she pads downstairs, honey colored hair still in a messy braid. Too early to eat, she sips cold orange juice as she pulls on long underwear and ski socks. It is dark out, yet she will go and meet another day.

Groggily he pulls on his fuzzy black and white skull patterned bathrobe and gulps down fresh water. He trods down the stairs, too full of chatter for such an early start. It is dark out, yet he will go and meet another day.

She dresses quickly yet deliberately. No worries about appearances, she thinks only of the snow that awaits her. It is cold out, yet she will be brave and face another day.

He pulls on his layers, sweet grapefruit juice dribbling down his chin. Thinking only of the countdown to Christmas, he hugs me in anticipation. It is cold out, yet he will be brave and face another day.

Methodically she unscrews her ski helmet face bar in the dark lodge, preparing for the morning workout ahead of her. Layer upon layer upon layer she bundles up and heads towards the lift, tousled braid whipping in the wind. It is dawn out, and she gets to have 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.

It is bright out, and I get to have another day.

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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Prom Night At Our Place

Posted on December 13, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

I am definitely not a person who is into cliques. As a result, I’ve never been much of a joiner of clubs, groups, or anything that labels. I even resisted junior proms and senior balls as a teen. I don’t think at 16 I was thinking that I was being ‘true to my authentic self’; I just knew that something didn’t feel right, and prom wasn’t the place for me to be.

As a middle school teacher and survivor of the teenage years I know the damage kids can do to each other by labeling, stereotyping and making exclusive groups. As a mom, however, I was really pleased to be nominated as the “cool” place to hang out and prepare for the junior prom. As it turns out, kids in our town don’t need to have a date in order to go to the prom-what progress since my high school days! As a result, I had ten sophomore girls arriving to my house in waves to primp, polish and prepare for the first big dance of their young lives.

With iPod speakers blaring the young ladies began to polish toes and fingers in anticipation of the slightly tippy, strappy sandals most would be wearing, despite the 30 degree weather outside. It was an amazing sight to see that their texting ability wasn’t slowed down a bit by wet paint on their fingertips!

Next, the hair. Straight locks are out this season-with coordinated teamwork worthy of a football playbook, one after the other the girls strategized the curling process to result in Taylor Swift-worthy tumbling tresses.

Then, the food. In-n-Out was the request-what girl doesn’t need a big burger and fries before dancing the night away, right? Washing it down with sparkling cider served in my great grandfather’s tiny crystal wine glasses surely added class to the menu!

Dresses? Can anyone say micro-mini? Sheesh…these girls tugged and pulled to ensure no accidental wardrobe malfunctions! Some of the dresses were very, ahem, sophisticated.

The boys arrived next. Surprisingly there were a few ‘dates’-the sophomore boys seemed to wait until the last minute to ask the girls. Were they building up courage, or hoping that their last minute plea would be desperately accepted? Maybe they were just traditionalists trying to do prom the old fashioned way. Regardless, there didn’t seem to be any problem with only four of the ten girls having escorts-aside from the fact that none of the girls really knew how to act or entertain them while they waited. Standing awkwardly in their new suits, squeaky shoes and fresh haircuts, the boys waited patiently in the living room for the ladies, while mamawolfe acted as a human buffer between them and the hallway to the bedroom.

Finally, the photos. With flashbulbs that would challenge any paparazzi, the girls dazzled in a variety of photo combinations. Yes, there were the awkward groupings of those with dates, those who had been friends since elementary school, the whole group, and the shoes to show off the pedicures.

After all the memories were captured and we all piled in cars to drive to the high school, one of the girls commented, “Wow, you must feel really popular, mamawolfe, to have everyone want to hang out at your house tonight. It’s the place to be!”

Her comment stopped me cold. Popular? Not the word my adult brain would use. Special? Definitely. Recognized? For sure. Thrilled? Absolutely.

For me, this year’s prom night was so much more than all the pageantry. Sure, watching my little girl transform into a young woman before my eyes was beautiful. Feeling the excitement, the anticipation, and the energy was contagious. 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.

What more could a mom ask for?

Jennifer Wolfe

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Parenting 101 – guest post by Kathy Radigan

Posted on December 10, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

Life lessons through pigs? Today’s post just goes to show that education happens everywhere-especially when you’re a parent. I’ve often wondered why someone hasn’t written a parenting handbook-if there was such a thing, I think my guest blogger today would have a perfect chapter! Read on for parenting tips from Kathy Radigan. And be sure to check out her blog My Dishwasher’s Possessed for more!

I was thrilled when Jennifer asked me to guest post on her wonderful site. I was really excited to get a chance to re-post a piece I wrote last year when I was just starting my blog on Blogspot. This piece originally ran last February and is one of my personal favorites. This argument remains one of the worst my son and I ever had, but since he turns 13 in two weeks, I’m sure it will not be our last. Jennifer, thank you so much for letting me share this piece with your readers.

My father taught me one of the best parenting lessons I ever learned, and I was only five at the time.

One of my favorite things when I was a little girl was to go to Eisenhower Park with my family. The park had a small petting zoo that included a pig pen.

Any time my two sisters and I disobeyed our parents, we would be warned that we would be sent to live with the pigs.

It was a threat that was made in a way that we knew they weren’t serious, but just in case they were, we better do what we were told.

I can’t remember what made me buck the system one fateful day after my father gave me his usual warning. But this time I decided to show him just how smart I was.

“That’s fine daddy. Send me to live with the pigs.”

My poor father didn’t know what to do. This clearly was never a result my parents thought they would encounter. But once he made the threat, he had to follow through.

He made a big show of getting ready to take me to my new home. He got his coat… and his hat….and his keys. He hoped this would put an end to this and that I would realize that the inmates were not running the asylum.

I wasn’t giving in.

I was having a grand time insisting that I was ready to go to my new home. I confidently said goodbye to my sisters and mother. Not knowing what to do, my dad took me to the car. I kept waving and laughing playing the game I knew I was going to win.

We got into the car and I was still waving goodbye and feeling pretty darn good about myself.
Then my dad pulled out of the driveway… and onto the street.

I am still 99.9% sure he wasn’t going to let me live with the pigs, but I knew at that point that someone was going to have to end this. And that someone, was going to have to be me.

My father stood his ground that day and without yelling or laying a hand on me he let me know who was in charge. And it wasn’t me.

I think of this story often whenever I’m tempted to ground my soon-to-be, 13-year-old until he turns 30. He is an amazing child and I dearly adore him. As I did with my own parents, he knows he is loved and is very confident in that fact.

But he is starting to spread his wings and is determined to test the limits.

“I didn’t go to chorus rehearsal today, I’m going to quit.”

That was the opening salvo of one of our biggest battles last year.
I did my usual spiel of the need to keep commitments and deal with the consequences of our actions. In this case, it meant missing homework club. Unlike chorus, homework club requires no commitment and is just a fun place to do your homework and hang out with friends.

As the battle was heating up, I saw a letter from the school’s principal. Thinking that this form letter congratulating him on his hard work at the concert they just had was a sign from above, I laid the letter down to where he was doing his homework.

Suffice it to say, this did not bring the epiphany I was hoping for.

Quite the opposite. I can honestly say the Bill Cosby quote, “I brought you into this world I can take you out of it,” came to mind. Especially when he started waving the letter in my face while threatening to tear it up.

I surprised myself, as well as my son, when I calmly took the letter from his hand and tore it up.

I’m not sure if I was right, but his behavior was clearly out of bounds and I felt the need to let him know who was in charge.

He continued to protest but listened to me and went to his room. When the dust settled, he came out and apologized. He was also looking for an apology from me. I didn’t give him one. I told him that I loved him enough not to worry about his approval. I was his parent, not his friend.

The next day the pieces of the letter were still on the table. He looked at them and said, “I guess the letter meant more to me than I thought. I am sorry.”

Being a parent is not for the faint of heart. Setting limits and following through can be the hardest part. It is also the most loving thing a parent can do.

I learned this at five when I almost joined a family of pigs.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Even 6th Graders Hug Their Moms

Posted on November 14, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

In 2002, when my son was just turning three, all he wanted to be when he grew up was a firefighter. Well, maybe Bob the Builder, too. Dreams of saving structures and the people trapped in them was his kind of a dream job. Cameron had it all-the firefighter suit, the plastic ax, and even a pedal powered metal fire truck that his big sister had outgrown. I guess firefighter fantasies run in our family.

I’m not sure how much 9/11 influenced this decision-probably not a huge amount at his tender age-although the media was full of heroic images of brave men and women who fought to save those people trapped in the twin towers. Out of this tragedy the “Twin Towers Orphan Fund” was born, and author Christine Kole MacLean published

Even Firefighters Hug Their Moms to raise money for the children who lost parents in the World Trade Center.

It was a perfect fit for my family – a picture book about a boy and his little sister who love to pretend play, especially fantasizing about firefighters. It became an instant favorite for my son, and as he grew it evolved into a catch phrase for us-whenever it seems like I will never get a cuddle again, I remind him of his favorite story.

Yesterday, I reminded him. Since kindergarten, my husband or I have always ridden bikes with our children to school. At first it was for safety reasons-tippy training wheels for my daughter while my son gloried in the bumps of the bike trailer, we loved the ½-mile ride to and from school each day. Often, my daughter would beg me to ‘drop her off at the corner’, but I always managed to make it into the bike racks, grabbing a last kiss and hug before she trotted off to her classroom. Later, once they were both in school and I went back to teaching my husband joyfully took over the duties. When Lily advanced to 7^th grade, she and I biked to and from our school together and enjoyed the time to talk about what was coming up in her life and how she was getting along with friends. Now I bike alone each day, missing her company.

So when I had the opportunity yesterday morning to ride to school with Cam, I jumped on it. This is our last year of elementary school, and it feels like a chapter of childhood is closing. Eager to squeeze out every moment I can, we hop on our bikes and quickly head out on the bike path. My big red cruiser is no match for his neon pink BMX bike-I have to work to keep up. After a few minutes he slowed and said, “You know, Mom, when Lily was in 4^th grade she rode to school by herself. Why do you still ride with me?”

“Well, it’s not because I don’t think you can do it, Cam. It’s because I want to be with you.” I answer. “Remember how you like me to tuck you in at night? It’s kind of the same thing. It’s just a special time when we’re together.” Silence greets my comment like the calm before a storm.

“Dad never rides all the way anymore. He drops me off at the park just before the bike racks.” Clearly he is ready to hold his ground.” And you know, I ride home with my friends now. You don’t need to pick me up anymore.”

“Really?” I reply, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. “You mean I can’t take you all the way, help you lock your bike and give you a big hug and kiss?” His cold, silent stare gives me his answer. “Even 6^th graders hug their moms.”

“Hi, Max!” Cameron yells, ending the conversation as if on cue. Sure enough, here comes his buddy riding up right behind us.

I take the hint, and quietly whisper, “Bye, Cam. See you after school” as I turn and ride towards home. The pang in my chest carries me, tears welling as I pedal. I realize that my little firefighter may not be wearing the costume, but I still adore him just the same.

Seven hours later, long after the pain had subsided and he walked in the door after school, I was welcomed with a great big bear hug. Yep, even 6^th graders hug their moms. Just not in public.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Friday Photo – The First Halloween

Posted on October 29, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

1999

Sometimes as I’m moving around in my day, an image gets stuck in my head that I can’t shake. Sometimes it conjures up a memory, a feeling, or provides an impulse to do something. Often, though, I just see something that I want to capture in my mind for no particular reason-it just speaks to me. I’d like to offer these images up for ‘thought contributions’-as a way to generate a community of ideas together.

Today’s Friday Photo is in honor of when the fun began just over 12 years ago. I think many parents dream of the time when their babies can participate in all the rituals of childhood – first steps, first words, birthday parties, Easter egg hunts, Christmas morning, and dressing up for Halloween. For me, my September baby was easily disguised in a hot chili pepper costume, while his adoring sister became the least scary witch I’ve ever seen. I’ve always thought it was interesting to see what people choose for their own Halloween costumes, let alone how they dress up their houses, pets, and children! Did my early intervention of my son’s costume predetermine his adoration of habanero salsa?

All these years later, Halloween has changed in our house. We still have the decorations, the pumpkin carving (much more elaborate than ever, thanks to the children’s talents), and they will both still go trick or treating. What’s changed, however, is that I have little to no say over their costumes. Both kids have strong ideas of what they will or won’t wear, and my advice is not given much weight. But when I really think about it, isn’t that what it’s all about? Trying on new personas, new styles, new masks, until we find the one that fits us best? And if we’re really going to be authentic, it needs to come from within. No one should tell us who we’re going to be. Not even our parents.

What does your costume say about you this year? Are you being your authentic you?

Jennifer Wolfe

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