Tag: family

Friday Photo: A Last Gasp of Summer

Posted on September 7, 2012 by

A quick bike ride down the lake led us to one of our favorite gazing spots.  We parked and climbed out onto the rocks.  The sun, rising quickly, warmed our faces and beckoned us with possibilities.  The wind whistled through the pines, and the waves lapped gently against the granite.  The hum of a boat radio drifted in the air, breaking the silence.  We sat, transfixed with the the horizon.  Crystal clear, icy cold water rippled and went still.  My breathing slowed and my heart expanded.  Gratitude for all we have had together, and all that is before us, led us back to our bikes, eager to go home.

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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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Jumping Online: Is Facebook Really Part of Puberty?

Posted on June 29, 2012 by

I got a text message last night from my son.  That in itself isn’t unusual – he’s pretty good about checking in on a regular basis.  He’s been away at camp for a week, and he fills me in on what he’s doing, what the weather is like, the quality of the food, and how he can’t wait to come home and play baseball, and that he misses me.

What was unusual about last night’s text is that out of the blue, he asked to join Facebook.  It took me by surprise – he hasn’t indicated much interest in the past, and in fact, when I asked him in the spring if he had any friends who had it, he said no.

I guess he’s made some new friends at camp.

I immediately texted my daughter – being the 16-year-old social network expert that she is – and asked her to remind me how old she was when she “got” Facebook.  7th grade.  That didn’t give me much ammunition against his foray into the networking world.  Where can I find online reputation management for 13-year-olds?

The texting from my son continued with clever attempts to sway me with promises of all the fun we’d have once he was online, and how we’d be more connected, too.

Hit me where it hurts, kid.  What mom doesn’t want to be more connected to their teenager?

And after all, he pleaded, he’s the only family member who cannot get “tagged” in photos or “checked-in” whenever we visit some exciting locale.

It’s not that I wasn’t expecting this – I actually am surprised it took him so long to ask.

I told him to ask his dad, who apparently was obliviously sitting beside him in the van while he was chatting with me, unaware of the uncharted waters we were about to dive into.

Ingeniously, my boy responded that it only matters what I say, and that I’ll see everything he’ll be doing.  It’ll be fun, he urged, knowing that I was close to the breaking point.

OK.

And with those two little letters, our conversation ceased with a “Goodnight, mom. I love you.”

That’s it.  He’s passed through the innocence of childhood and entered that frightening arena that all parents dread.

Give me puberty any day – I’m much more prepared to discuss issues of young love than deliver the woes of social media.

Can’t wait for all that fun.

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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Justin Cox: A First Time Dad We’re Having A Baby!

Posted on March 27, 2012 by



There are moments in life that never seem to leave our memories.  For newlyweds, finding out about a pregnancy is one of the most incredible experiences there is.  Please enjoy today’s guest blogger, my friend and fellow writer Justin Cox, as he shares his emotional experience of learning he will soon be a father.


Bianca and I got married on August 6 of last year. From that day forward, we began fielding this question semi-regularly: “So, when are you gonna have a kid?”


Bianca’s answer always came before people could even finish asking. “We’re going to get a Golden Retriever before we have a baby!” she’d say with confidence.

After a few months of listening to her answering this way, I started doing the economic math on the situation, which is this: We currently live in an upstairs apartment, and although I’m super excited by the idea of owning a dog, I’d rather wait until I can provide it some ground upon which to scamper freely. Given the reality of our lives and the trajectory of our careers, that could take some time.

I wasn’t telling Bianca that I wanted a baby right away; I just wasn’t sure I wanted to wait until we had a dog first, which was the plan we hatched together in the early months of our engagement. When I put it this way to Bianca, she fully agreed. It’s as if she had gotten caught up in her own Golden Retriever excitement. Or she just enjoyed answering the baby question this way. Either way, we happily moved forward in the absence of a plan (both in terms of babies, backyards or Golden Retrievers).

And then we went down to her family’s house in Orange County for a Christmas vacation.

We had been down there for more than a week, and although we absolutely love her parents, we were ready to go back home. We decided we would cut our trip short and head back up north for new years, via Big Sur, where we would camp for a night.

The evening before we left Bianca’s family’s place, I was standing in their kitchen talking to Bianca’s dad, Oscar, who was swirling a glass of red wine and conversing loosely. While we had this conversation, a 9-month old baby girl, Evelynn, was bopping around somewhere in the house (or she was sleeping). Evelynn is Bianca’s brother’s baby – Oscar and Nuria’s first grandkid.

With that being top of mind, Oscar initiated a very casual conversation about babies. Not my future baby; just babies in general. He probably doesn’t even remember the conversation.

He told me about his brother and sister-in-law, who had kids while they were quite young, although I’m not sure how young. He said that this allowed them to raise their children while they had plenty of energy and then, years later, it freed them up to enjoy their empty nest when they retired.

That wasn’t something I had never thought about. I’ve always been so focused on enjoying my life and furthering my education and doing my job well that I’ve always felt like I was just a few steps away from being prepared to support a child. I mentioned this feeling to Oscar, at which point he told me something I already knew, deep down: You’re never really ready. You just do it.

The bottom line is this: You work with what you have and you allocate your love and energy in the right direction. That’s it.

Now, before I get to the part where my wife becomes pregnant – Ahhh! – let me acknowledge that everybody lives life on their own timetable. My mom was 10 years younger than I am now when she had me. Many people wait much longer Bianca and I are. Others choose not to have children at all. Every option is totally legitimate. I can only tell my own story, so here it is:

We escaped Orange County early and were excited to drive up the coast, camp in Big Sur, and then have a low-key New Year’s back home in Davis. While sitting next to a fire outside of our tent-cabin and drinking wine from plastic water bottles that we had cut in half with a pocket knife, I told Bianca about my conversation with her dad, which made her laugh and smile. But it resonated with her in the same way that it did with me. We also laughed about the Golden Retriever plan. We fell asleep that night with a total openness to the idea of starting a family.

I’ll skirt the nitty-gritty details here and get to the part where Bianca suspects pregnancy. (Safe to say: This happened a bit faster than we had anticipated). She was sitting on a couch in our living room when she told me she was a day late with her period. She then added that she had a feeling she was pregnant, and that she hoped that was the case. We drove to the Co-op and bought a pregnancy test that evening, but decided she would take it the following morning, because that’s what the test recommended.

She woke up at 6 a.m. and told me she absolutely had to pee, and she asked if I wanted to come to the bathroom while she took the test. I told her to go ahead pee and to tell me right when she was done so that I could get out of bed and watch the + or – show up on the test. (I imagined her shaking it like a Polaroid picture and staring at it for a while until it showed up).

Shortly after she started peeing, she said, “Do you want to come see?”

The + was written all over her tone, which carried a blend of surprise, excitement and shock at how rapidly the test had delivered an answer. I popped out of bed and went in to give her a hug and to see the + for myself.

It was a very exciting morning. We went back to our bed and talked about the uncharted territory that now awaits us. She was almost a month pregnant at that point. At the time of this writing, she’s three months in, and just now feeling the first signs of pregnancy: She’s consistently tired. I keep assuming I have nine months to prepare for my baby’s arrival, but the truth his I only have six. And that’s crazy!

When we told Bianca’s parents about it, they were extremely excited to have another grandchild in the family. Her dad laughed when I told him that he was the one who nudged us in this direction. When we told my parents the following day, their excitement was more emotional, I think because this will be their first grandbaby. 

Now we’ve seen an ultrasound and we’ve heard a heartbeat. Bianca told me yesterday that the baby is currently the size of a peach. When we took our first ultrasound the baby was the size of an olive. And when we took that pregnancy test, it was the size of a poppy seed.

Soon, it’ll be the size of a baby!

Justin Cox is a writer and editor of Davis Patch.  He enjoys playing music, reading, and eating two-scoop ice-cream cones. 

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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Flying Alone

Posted on February 23, 2012 by

Last week I did something new.  It wasn’t as delicious as trying a new flavor of ice cream, or as adventurous as flying down a zip line.  It wasn’t as bold as a new hair color, or as daring as quitting my job.


Last week I flew alone.  Solo.  No friends, no kids, no spouse, no colleagues.  Just me, my overstuffed suitcase and a carry-on bag full of papers to grade, books to read, and stories to write.


Flying alone meant trying something new.  I could get myself out of the house quickly because all I had to worry about was me. It meant that for the first time in a very long time I didn’t forget a thing.


Flying alone meant it didn’t matter where I stood in the boarding line because it was just me.  I wasn’t concerned about entertaining anyone, or making sure I was close to the window or the bathroom.  It meant I could be the very last person aboard because I had a confirmed seat and I didn’t need overhead luggage space.


Flying alone meant I wasn’t worried about sitting next to a chatterbox or a screaming baby-I had my earphones, my iPod, and a book to bury my face in.  I didn’t even have to check who was sitting in front or behind me, just in case they received an accidental kick in the seatback or a quick seat recline in the face.


Flying alone meant I could actually watch the entire movie from beginning to end without interruption.  My tray table only had my drink on it, and I didn’t worry about elbows flying over to spill it.  It meant could read my book, write an article and listen to music for five glorious hours.  I only had to pack the snacks that I liked, and didn’t have to ration them. And if it wasn’t 7:00 a.m. I could have even indulged in a cocktail without guilt.


Flying alone meant that in Dulles airport I didn’t have to take small companions straight to the bathroom, or wait for anyone to catch up with me.  It meant that I actually had one hand free to maneuver through the shuttle, and arrived first to the baggage claim area.  And when my luggage came off the carousel, I was completely free.


Flying alone meant that the next moves were all mine.  I got to choose what I ate, where I went, and how I got there. It meant I could browse the gift shop and the bookstore for as long as I wanted.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have a hand to hold on take-off and landing, or anyone to watch my bags while I went to the newsstand.  It meant that I had to eat lunch alone, and keep my thoughts to myself.


Flying alone also meant that I didn’t have anyone to ask for advice or opinions.  I had to decide which shuttle to use, and how much to tip the driver.  It meant that I didn’t have anyone to exclaim to as I spied the Pentagon or crossed the Potomacfor the first time.


Flying alone meant that I had a lot of time to myself to think.  I had to wonder what my family was doing, and if they got to school on time.  It meant that I couldn’t see their faces as they raced down the ski course or before they fell asleep.


Flying alone made me realize how much I wished I wasn’t flying alone.  It meant that I missed my family.


Next time, I’ll take a kid or two with me.

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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Nourishment

Posted on February 1, 2012 by

I jumped off the treadmill today.  Well, maybe it was a slump.  Or a thump.  Actually, it was nothing like a jump.  To jump one must have energy, force, and determination.  Today I just felt like sliding off the hamster wheel that has been my life lately.

It’s part of my promise to myself.
I still couldn’t slow down my monkey mind when I woke up.  Teachers live bell to bell, and routine is in our blood.  Sometimes it feels awkward not to be going to work.  It feels like I should be doing something, anything, except deciding what to do with my day.
As I lay in bed long before dawn, I thought about how I got myself into this state.  Meditation wasn’t anywhere near an option – the only solution was making a list.  The act of writing down my worries, my stresses, seems to push me forward and make the unmanageable seem manageable.
As I padded to the kitchen, I thought of what I really missed about being a working mom.  Pancakes.  I missed making pancakes in the morning.
Much to the delight of my family, we were soon feasting on fresh blueberry pancakes – not our typical school day, for sure.  I started to settle.
The next longing came to me – taking my son to school.  I missed riding bikes together and sending him off on his day.

Certainly not as exciting for my son as pancakes, the cold, foggy trek cleared my head and provided me the clarity necessary to tackle the to-do list. 

I started to move.

Then I realized what taking care of myself needed to manifest in.  And I started to cook. 
First came the chili in the slow cooker.  Ground turkey browned on the stove, flavored with fresh onions and garlic.  Beans, celery, tomatoes and a beer completed the mix, and soon the house filled with the scent of dinner. 

I started to feel.

Next, oatmeal honey bread.  Warm yeast mixed with sugar and flax combined with flour, salt, oats and butter in the bread machine.  Two hours later the sweet aroma of bread layered with the savory chili wafted upstairs. 

I started to breathe.

Scottish Shortbread Pictures, Images and PhotosAs the clock rolled towards the end of the school day, I thought about one more thing I missed: being at home when the kids return from their day.  And that made me think of cookies.  I missed baking cookies.
Butter, flour, salt, sugar, lemon zest and lemon juice gently joined together into crumbly shortbread dough.  Pressed into a dish and baked for 50 minutes, the lemony goodness put a grin on my son’s face as he walked through the door. 

I started to smile.

When the day turned to dusk and the kitchen returned to order, I beamed at myself.  The simple act of preparing food not only nourished my family, but also nourished my spirit.  The treadmill seemed far away, the open arms of my home embraced me.

I jumped in. 

It’s the other promise to myself.

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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