Tag: family

Moms at Work

Posted on January 25, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’ve always been a working mom. I was one of those women who thought that I could do it all – full time teaching, ever present spouse and greet my kids after school with a tray of freshly baked cookies.

Life didn’t exactly turn out that way.

When my daughter was born, I was sure I could return to my 7^thgrade English teaching job. It only would require a 60-minute round trip commute and leaving her home with her dad all day. And, I could still breast feed.

Luckily, the sleep deprivation got to me, and I realized not all that was going to happen.

After six months home with her it was time to return to the classroom. I settled on a 5^thgrade position that would allow me to work closer to home and have fewer papers to grade. I could zip home on my lunch hour to feed the baby, zip back for the afternoon and be home in time to bake cookies for my husband.

Life didn’t exactly turn out that way, either.

Trying to time a feeding for the 10-minute window I had available didn’t sit well with my stubborn daughter. The tears when I left didn’t sit well with my husband. Fifth graders were sucking all my patience – they were so clingy. And the cookies? That was just a fantasy.

The following school year I tried something else – a 7^thgrade position in a town about 10 minutes away. The plus side was the curriculum-my comfort zone-and my schedule-8-12. The down side was the commute-15 minutes each way might have well been crossing the state line. But she was growing up, and didn’t depend on me quite as much. My husband mastered the art of the long walk to tire her out, and she adjusted.

Then life presented baby #2.

This time I gave in. Stay at home mom I would be. The pendulum swung, my husband took a second job, and I spent every waking moment with both kids. I baked cookies-but he was too tired to eat them when he got home. Baby #2 didn’t seem to know who this man was that stumbled into the house every night, too exhausted to play, laugh or go to the park.

Going back to work was at least familiar, if not exciting. Teacherwolfe went into full gear. I decided that the commute could be a time for myself, and found that by the time I got home mamawolfe had reappeared and was excited to re-enter the home. My husband left his second job, balance slowly reappeared, and so did the cookies.

Life never tasted so sweet.

primark

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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What Martin Luther King Jr. Means To Me

Posted on January 16, 2012 by Jennifer Wolfe

I was just barely three years old when Martin Luther King Jr. was killed. That makes my life one that has really never had a first hands understanding of what his struggle was like. I have never known a time when there wasn’t such a thing as the Civil Rights Movement. I have never seen ‘separate but equal’. I have never seen signs for ‘coloreds’ or ‘whites’. I have never known a world when I couldn’t have black friends, go to school alongside black schoolmates, or date a black man.

That’s not to say that MLK’s dreams of a day when ‘children will be judged not by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character’ plays true in every part of our American society, let alone our world.

But what it does say is what Martin Luther King Jr. means to me.

1. History

With his death, I learned not to let history repeat itself. I will not live my life allowing others to demean or discriminate based on race, sex, religion, sexual preference or any other criteria.

2. Family

After MLK Jr. died, his daughter Yolanda began the crusade to keep his legacy alive. Much of what he stood for revolved around his dreams for his family. He taught them well – Yolanda’s dream of a national holiday in honor of his father is the reason we celebrate today.

3. Service

Martin Luther King Jr. was a man who served his country. Not every man or woman serves the same way, for the same reasons. MLK taught me to work for social justice and to carry that value on to my children, and the children I serve every day in the classroom.

4. Opportunity

As a white woman I have never experienced racial discrimination. I can only imagine the incredible frustration and anger one must feel when denied opportunity due to the color of one’s skin. Because of MLK opportunities were opened for those who never imagined they would.

5. Wisdom

MLK made people think. He made people act. He made people remember him. He made people wiser.

6. Education

Before MLK education was not equal. Black children were held hostage due to lack of equal access to knowledge. Students were empowered to act and demand the right to the same quality of schooling being given to whites. Now, other underrepresented groups are standing up to be heard.

7. Hope

Martin Luther King showed the world that if you dream it, you can become it. He provided hope for minorities, women, men and children who knew that they could be better, could do better, could live better than they were.

So today, as we honor a man who truly inspired a nation and influenced generations to come, please pause and think of what Martin Luther King Jr. means to you. Give thanks for his life and vision and lessons of peaceful protest. And, if you can, try to imagine what our world would be like had he never held fast to his dreams.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Friday Photo: Giving Thanks

Posted on December 2, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

http://masonimages.com/

Yes, I know it’s the first week of December, not the third Thursday in November. Today’s Friday Photo has no turkeys, pumpkins, corn or cranberries. There’s nothing here that looks similar to a traditional thanks-giving post. But that’s exactly what it is. These photos of my son were taken by my dear uncle the day before Thanksgiving as we walked around our neighborhood, looking for nothing in particular. What makes them so special to me are the memories that lie within them. You see, this year my son anticipated the arrival of our out-of-town family members like it was the night before Christmas. He couldn’t stop talking about how much fun it was on Thanksgiving because everyone was together, it was warm, cozy, and just felt great. He couldn’t wait to go geocaching with his aunts, uncles and cousins. He knew board games in front of the fire were a sure thing. And of course, the dogs. Lots of new dogs to cuddle made him a very happy guy.

So today, I’m giving thanks for all that and more. I’m giving thanks for family that likes to be together and feels comfortable around each other. I’m giving thanks for a safe and peaceful home where everyone gathers. I’m giving thanks for abundant feelings of love and support from people near by and far away. And I’m giving thanks for C-Fly, who teaches me every day that it doesn’t take a holiday to remember what a lucky mom I truly am.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Tribute

Posted on November 17, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

His laugh, low and husky, always makes me smile. Not a man to rush, he enjoys the moments of his life, no matter how big or small. ‘Things have a way of working themselves out,” he always tells me.

For a little northern California girl, Los Angeles is a city of magic. PSA shuttles me to Burbank during the summer, never disappointing my expectations. The burgundy Buick feels slow and safe, just what a small granddaughter needs to feel welcomed in the big city. The short drive to Sherman Oaks holds the anticipation of Christmas morning at the end of the road. Down one endless avenue to the next, right up to the little yellow house. His strong hand reaches for mine across the beige upholstery.

The radio in the front bedroom quietly broadcasts the latest news as Nanook the Husky softly nuzzles my welcome. Push up pops appear from the freezer. The bullfighter still graces the bedroom wall. Joan of Arc gazes from her perch. The bean bag offers a nest to sink into.

He slows down with time, his feet shuffling down the street and heavy on the pedal. My turn to drive now. Eyeglasses no longer slip from their case tucked into his breast pocket. My turn to read aloud the news. Clarence Thomas on the front page evokes his sense of morality, long honed through years in the legal profession. His hands strong, skin thin, grasp mine gently across the kitchen table. I settle into the moss green upholstery, trying to plant myself in the moments I know are few to come. The clock talks to him now, announcing the loss of minutes left to spend together. “Go, Abuela, I’ll stay here,” I urge, clamoring for another precious moment.

Later that night, strains of ‘Gone With The Wind’ float through the apartment. The phone rings in the dark. ‘Please come,’ the voice pleads. ‘He’s gone.’

We arrive in the darkness. More stoic unsettled, she draws the long silver Cartagena scissors to tenderly snip a lock of his hair. So still. The tears flow silently, slowly.

His hands clasp in tranquility. I slump to his side, tenderly kiss his cheek. No rush now. He has enjoyed the moments of his life. I savor this last one we spend together. Somehow, I know things have a way of working themselves out.

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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