Tag: Childhood

What To Do On A Rainy Day When You Miss Your Kids?

Posted on March 14, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

I love rainy days. I swear I should live in the Pacific Northwest – when I wake up to clouds and drizzle I feel so peaceful. I never wonder what to do on a rainy day – I open the windows just a crack, enough to let the soothing sound of droplets send me into a state of zen. I throw open the curtains, grab my book (right now I’m reading The Book of Night Women by Marlon James) and a cup of freshly brewed Sumatra with cream, and snuggle up.

I’ll admit, though, that when my kids were little, rainy days weren’t always spent in such peaceful pleasure. Keeping two active athletes busy was a trick – and if we weren’t chasing them down the ski course, I was attempting to wrap them up and snuggle them close with promises of Curious George, Madeline, Harry Potter or Percy Jackson and the Olympians. It didn’t matter if we were at home or in a bookstore, those moments of feeling their small bodies nestled next to me, tiny hands pointing to George as he swallowed the puzzle piece and eyes wide open when the Deatheaters appeared are etched into my heart as placeholders of the love I have for my boy and girl.

One day, not too long ago, I found myself alone on a rainy day in a bookstore, and the memories came flooding so fast I found myself in the children’s section, finding comfort in the familiar book covers. While my kids no longer fit on my lap, these moments of what to do on a rainy day fill my heart like a flash from the past.

Today, my story of that Rainy Day In A Bookstore is featured on the Good Mother Project – you can click here to read it.

And to all those moms who are wondering if El Nino will ever end, please pause, pull out your favorite book and take a moment for yourself. Cuddle up with your baby if you still can, and remember that someday you’ll be alone on a rainy day, wishing you had taken that moment when you could.

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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Kindness Matters

Posted on February 21, 2015 by Jennifer Wolfe

Six months ago, I wrote an essay about my son’s injury at Mt. Hood. I called it “Broken”, and you can read the original piece here. It was hard for me to write; I was going through some emotional times during the summer, and, as with any time a parent sees their child injured, his accident really shook me up. I needed to figure it out.

As with all my writing, I wrote it for me. I wasn’t out to impress anyone with his injury or our story. I didn’t intend to make my life seem harder/more painful/more dramatic or fill-in-the-blank with whatever word you would like. I was simply telling my story, my experience, and sharing how it made me feel. No judgement, no pity party, nothing but sharing my love for my son, and no evaluation or proclamation that our situation was more traumatic than any other.

My story was about healing, change, and adapting to the ‘new normal’ – something I was dealing with on several levels in my life. At the same time this happened, I was reading a blogpost by one of my favorite writer/bloggers, Katrina Kenison, who so eloquently pens the exquisite agony we feel as mothers adapting to different experiences with our children. It felt like the Universe was speaking to me, sending me ways to cope with my situation.

I ended my story with healing, with gratitude, and with thoughts of moving forward.

Today, the Huffington Post published the same story, with the title “The Phone Call No Parent Wants To Get”. Provocative title, I agree – that’s what happens when stories get published online.

Within minutes, there were dozens of comments. Surprised, I clicked over. I didn’t think it was the kind of post that would garner much commentary at all. It was just a retelling of an experience of motherhood.

What I saw was full of hate.

I fully realize that the Universe deals out trauma much more intense than what we were experiencing. No one wants to see their child – or any other child – experience pain, fear, or injury. I know that some have more than their share of heartbreak, suffering, and agony. I would never presume to understand the pain of losing a child, or watching a child suffer through any trauma.

But that’s not what my essay was about.

It’s too bad that those people who clicked on my post were “infuriated”, as one reader expressed. It’s too bad that they felt they just wasted their time reading it, or that they somehow had to insert their ego/story/opinion into mine.

Why they would waste more of their time spewing hate and vitriolic comments to me is amazing.

Kindness matters, people. Read closely:

You absolutely have the right to say what you think, just like I do. But please, think about how you say it.

This essay wasn’t a piece about politics or religion. It wasn’t a controversial topic. This was a reflection, a memoir, a snapshot of time. It was my experience, not meant to be evaluated or judged against anyone else’s. What would be the point in that? How could one possibly believe that their pain is any greater than another, that their suffering is any stronger? We never know each other’s back story.

While the internet offers an amazing opportunity for people to communicate and connect, why not do so with kindness and seek to understand and be understood? Why hide behind anonymity, freely condemning people for their ideas? Would you yell at me like that in person? Would you hunt down a book author, and plaster your words all over their home?

I’m not impressed by your hate. I’m not even agitated enough to write back and engage in any sort of debate. It’s pointless. I’m even laughing at much of your poorly written, ignorant assumptions you make about me and my son. You have no idea. You don’t know me, you don’t know my story – and to engage with you would be to proclaim that I know yours. Your assumptions make you look like an ass, and give you no credibility. Who are you to judge me?

Life is hard. We all have different challenges. In no way would I equate my son’s accident as anything even close to what many parents deal with on a daily basis.

THAT’S NOT THE POINT.

We are all on this life journey together. We all have a voice. I use mine to communicate, to understand others, and to make the world a kinder place to live in. By spewing your commentary, it makes me wonder what else you do in life that pushes us all backwards in anger, instead of forwards in compassion.

Remember, kindness matters. Maybe I could learn from you – but not if you try to teach me with your hate.

Jennifer Wolfe

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A Rainy Day in the Bookstore

Posted on April 4, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

Most moms dream of a day like I’m having today. I’m on vacation, absolutely no obligations besides catching my flight home this evening. I slept in and woke without an alarm. I didn’t rush out of the motel room, instead I moved at my own pace. I downed several cups of coffee before I even got out of bed, slid into comfortable clothes, and headed out for the day in Salt Lake City.

Alone.

Attempting to avoid the rain, I found refuge in a bookstore. I browsed every stack with pleasure, not feeling like I needed to be anywhere or pick up anyone. Hours ticked by, the rain poured outside, and then it happened. That moment that knocked me out of my reverie, sent the tears to my eyes, and forced me to scramble for cover.

The children’s section.

When my babies were younger, we spent hours in bookstores. I found the brightly lit space lined with title after title so enticing, and so full of possibilities for their future. Weekly we would park the stroller to the side, bags of Goldfish crackers in hand; I loved the chance to snuggle up with them, choose a new book to look at, and hope their imaginations sparked and they would grow to love the comfort of books as much as I had.

Magic Treehouse books My shelves at home still retain the evidence of our visits; I cannot bear to part with the Puppy Place, The Magic Treehouse, The Diary of A Wimpy Kid, Harry Potter, Nancy Drew and the escapades of Rick Riordan. To me, it never mattered what they read, simply that they were reading. When interest waned, I lovingly lined another space with their cherished titles, hanging on to the hope that someday they would pick one up again, call to me, and settle in for hours of dreams of their futures.

Those bookstores have closed now, and I must admit, my teens and I rarely spend time searching for dreams together amidst the stacks anymore. Sports, social lives and academics have replaced the stroller and sippy cups, and I find myself today, alone with my memories.

My children are growing up and away, spending their days in the snowrather than safely snuggling against their mother. College visits have replaced our family vacations, and the piercing reality of the end of our life under the same roof attacks in the most unexpected moments.

Like the rainy day I’m alone in the bookstore.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Dia De Los Muertos Memories

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Jennifer Wolfe

“To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.”

― Thomas Campbell

Frida Kahlo, “My Grandparents, My Parents and I”

“We all have an inner voice, our personal whisper from the universe. All we have to do is listen — feel and sense it with an open heart. Sometimes it whispers of intuition or precognition. Other times, it whispers an awareness, a remembrance from another plane. Dare to listen. Dare to hear with your heart.”

― C.J. Heck, Bits and Pieces: Short Stories from a Writer’s Soul