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Mothering By Faith

Posted on October 14, 2013 by

Emmalee pulled another mug from the cabinet and poured more coffee. She handed it to Cora. “Can I ask you a question? But you got to promise to be honest with me, even if it means hurting my feelings.”

Cora nodded and took a sip from the mug. “Sure.”

“It’s just that you know so much about babies and mothering, and I was wondering if you think I can take care of a baby on my own?”

“Of course you can, sweetie,” Cora said, sitting her mug on the counter and reaching for Emmalee’s hand. “But you ain’t alone.”

Emmalee brushed away another tear.

~from The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore

Mothering By FaithDo any of us really know if we can take care of a baby on our own?

Eighteen years into motherhood, and I still find myself asking that question on a regular basis.

Motherhood, for many women, is the ultimate mission in their lives. It is the transcendent goal they strive for, feeling that with the birth experience complete, their lives will somehow magically fall into place.

Many of my friends carefully planned motherhood. Some wanted to be young mothers, feeling that if they were able to give birth in their early twenties that they would be ‘young enough’ to enjoy their children – I’m sure some felt their youthful bodies could more easily survive childbirth and keep up with active toddlers. Numerous girlfriends, like me, chose the college and career path first, deciding that the stability of accomplishment would surely be the golden ticket for a successful parenting experience. I was confident that if I took care of myself first, I would be well-equipped to deal with the uncertainties of mothering.

Some women I know simply tumbled into motherhood, like many experiences in their lives, without any inkling of how they got to that place where they had to choose between what was right and best for their child, and what felt right and best for themselves. I have friends who have endured the torment of infertility, their bodies battling against every maternal instinct they feel, only to end in crumpled dreams and a reconfiguration of self. And I know women who calculate the ticking of the biological clock, never having cast their bet at deliberate conception but feeling each second tick by in real time, sure that if it doesn’t happen soon, it never will.

There is a certain sense of possibility in the unknown. The first moment our child is placed upon our chest is glutted with possibility and hope. We feel powerful, exhilarated, and terrified all at once, knowing that life as we knew it before has forever altered. Our insecurities, our inadequacies, and our aspirations pile into the six pounds of sticky, squirmy flesh that has suddenly become ours alone to nurture for a lifetime. And we wonder, can we do this? Are we enough? How will we know when they ________ or __________ what to say? To do?

And somewhere along the way, we realize the secret. We hear the words of those wiser than we, words that remind us that we all we really need to do is practice mothering by faith.

“Our crown has already been bought and paid for. All we have to do is wear it”― James Baldwin

We realize that we are not alone, that all those mothers and grandmothers and great-grandmothers that have come before us have set the course for that pocket-sized little person we cradle in our arms. We realize that we carry with us in the very center of our soul everything we need to take care of this baby on our own. We realize, that if we stop long enough to peer right into our hearts, that we really do know the answers.

We become conscious of ourselves. We exude the instincts bred into us. We wear the crown proudly, sometimes pausing to push it back into place when it teeters precariously, or drop to our knees to scrape it up off the ground when it falls.

But we smile broadly at our child, feeling every bit the queen of the world. We trust. We are mothers. We CAN do this. We are not alone.

We are mothering by faith.

“When nothing is sure, everything is possible.” ― Margaret Drabble

 No one has ever entrusted impoverished Emmalee with anything important but she takes it upon herself to sew her mentor’s resting garment in The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore. Join From Left to Write on October 15 as we discuss The Funeral Dress.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes. 

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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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Mother, Mothering, Motherhood

Posted on September 18, 2013 by

My babies

My babies

I rode my bike home at dusk today, far too late for mothers and children to be playing at the park. From a distance I could hear the pee wee football players running their plays as the coach barked inspirational suggestions of improvement. Nearby, the pee wee cheerleaders pivoted and jumped in unison to some hip hop song I couldn’t quite make out. As I rode the familiar path towards home, my mind ticked through the mental checklist that pops up far too frequently: dinner? homework? lessons? laundry? I wondered what my teens had been doing all afternoon while I was at work, and hoped for the best. My heart felt that tinge of loneliness that happens only when I’ve been away from them too long. His birthday is tomorrow. Fourteen years of blissfully mothering him. Crossing the bike overpass, I dipped down towards Sycamore Park as images flashed in my mind; we’ve been mothering together for 15 years. How could that be possible? Two thirty-something moms, both bulging from the last trimester of pregnancy in the scorching summer heat, we dreamed of a few moments of shade while our three-year olds dared each other down slides and monkey bars. We chased them down, secretly hoping the jostling would push us into labor. Juice boxes and goldfish marked our territory, shared stories and sympathy sealed our hearts. We searched the pages of the parenting handbook, sure that the advice we sought must be somewhere out there. Mothering toddlers together helped us feel less alone, less unsure, and more hopeful that just maybe we’d get it right.

My teenagers.

My teenagers.

I see now what they meant -those women who said, “Someday you’ll understand when you have your own.” Funny how that pops into my mind these days. I remember standing in our blue and white kitchen, my two teenage brothers pulling food out of the refrigerator like bears just out of hibernation. I couldn’t understand why my mother always complained that she had just gone to the store, and lamented about the empty cupboards left at the end of the day.Suddenly, with my own two teenagers I get it. I hear her voice when I pick up the towels from the bedroom floors, when I straighten their unmade beds, and when I wash the peanut butter crusted knife left drying in the sink. ‘Season the chicken more than you think you should’, and ‘Don’t work too hard’ ring through my mind when I find myself alone, silent in the moment. Mothering teens often feels treacherous, as if I’m teetering on the next big catastrophe. I breathe deeply, and Motherhood pulses through my veins, bringing forth all those lessons passed down from one to the next.

She couldn’t have been more than a few months old. Curled in her kangaroo sac, snug against her mother’s chest, Fiona coiled her chubby little legs tight against her torso, happy just to be pressed securely against the most important person in her world. I felt the weight on my chest, just looking at her, remembering my own first months of motherhood. I’m not sure I would have had the courage-or confidence-to bring my newborn into a work meeting. Life then had very separate lines, motherhood and teaching. Like flipping a light switch, I would move in and out of my roles with intentional distinction, not yet knowing that that movement was truly impossible.Not realizing that, like Fiona, my children would be forever on my chest, eternally positioned over my heart. I didn’t realize that, yes, I would make mistakes and wish words could fly back into my mouth and yes, I would occasionally miss a page from the parenting handbook. I didn’t understand that as my children aged and moved away from my reach that I would have to stretch my arms to reach out to them, never wanting them to leave and yet simultaneously thrilled to see them go out on their own.

Motherhood. Something learned, yet innate all the same. An experience to be cherished, not squandered. A gift to safeguard, not consume with personal neediness. Meant to be shared. Meant to be savored, every last second.

A controlling mother, a missing daughter, and a family who is desperate for love. This post was inspired by the the psychological thriller Mother, Mother by Koren Zailckas. Join From Left to Write on September 19 as we discuss Mother, Mother.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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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She’s Only 17, But The Decision Is Hers

Posted on August 7, 2013 by

            “Last night I dreamt I was returning
            and my heart called out to you
            to please accept me as you’ll find me
            Me kealoha ku’u home o Kahalu’u.”

-from “Ku’u Home O Kahalu’u,” a popular contemporary Hawaiian song written by Jerry Santos 

Lily at 5, preparing for kindergarten

Lily at 5, preparing for kindergarten

She’s feeling a bit anxious now. The summer before senior year, and the glow is slowly fading. School is no longer in the rear view mirror, and as September days inch closer and closer, she knows she doesn’t have much longer.

She’s only 17, but it’s time to think of leaving home.

Watching the college application process from the passenger seat feels a little bit like those first few days of elementary school, not knowing if we made the right choices, or if she would make it through the day by herself. We always knew she was independent, not terribly shy, and was an eager learner. But something about dropping her off on those first few days left me twisted up in knots. I couldn’t wait for her to come home.

Kind of how I feel right now.

When it was time for kindergarten registration, we chose where she went to school. She had no idea that her entire day would be taught in Spanish, nor that any other school was different. It was just what we thought was best, so she went. Things went well. She learned, she made friends, she laughed, and at the end of the day, she was happy to be home.

Now that it’s time for college choices, it’s really up to her.

She’s only 17, but it’s her time to decide where she wants to go next.

I sense her anxiety. It’s palpable as we click around websites and look at campus after campus.  So much to take in, making the decision that much more complicated. Intense. Insurmountable.

She hasn’t really changed that much since kindergarten-she’s still independent, social, and eager to learn. But something about the thought of dropping her off at college takes my breath away. I want to scoop her into my arms, make the choice for her, make the fears go away. I want to know that no matter what, she can come home at the end of the day and it will be OK.

But I can’t – she’s really 17.

Seventeen years spent nurturing her every interest, protecting her, creating a home for her to sink into when she needs it – has it all led up to this? GPAs, test scores, extra-curriculars…I can’t help but cringe at the extraordinary complexity of the decision, and wonder if it has to be this way. Can’t she just plug it all into some sort of app, and the perfect place will spit out at her on her computer screen, guaranteed to be her happy place?

Lily at 17, preparing for college

So we’ll make a list, do our research, and hop in the car to tour schools clear up to the Canadian border. We’ll walk the campus, take notes, and soak in what it feels like. She’ll try to imagine herself there, alone, independent, social, and eager to learn. Things will go well.

She’s only 17, but the decision has to be hers.

I’ll try to imagine myself next year, alone, missing her, but proud that she made her choice. And I’ll be there, next year, back at home, dreaming of when she returns.

Because she’s only 17.

No decision is forever. She can always come home.

This post was inspired by the novel This Is Paradise by Kristiana Kahakauwila, a collection of short stories that shares a view of Hawaiians few tourists ever experience. Join From Left to Write on August 8 as we discuss This Is Paradise.  As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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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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Time to Declutter: MusicMagpie Helps Clean The House and Boost The Bank Account

Posted on July 3, 2013 by

Relaxing

Relaxing (Photo credit: Niels Linneberg)

It’s summer time…when most people are lounging by the pool, sipping a cool drink, reading that novel they’ve been putting off, and taking time to relax. Right?

Sadly, not me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’ve never been able to sit around for more than a day or so…I like to be on the go. Doing things. Checking off my to-do list.

For me, summer is time to declutter. Sweep away all the leftovers from the school year, and prepare for the year to come.

When my kids go away to camp, I love nothing better than tearing up the house, digging into closets, sorting out the garage, painting furniture, and often completely changing the color of at least one room.

This year, my projects center around decluttering. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my kids are teenagers, and at least one of them will be moving out of the house in a year. This summer I’m all about purging.

I finally convinced my son that there is a whole lot of ‘stuff’ that he doesn’t need anymore, and he’d actually probably like his space a whole lot better if it was organized. Surprisingly, he agreed, and even thought it would be fine for me to start while he was away.

Maybe that was just a ploy to get me to do the work – what do you think?

The closet and dresser were easy – he’s grown six inches in the last year, and those shirts and shorts from last summer are way too small.

I’ve tackled his bookshelf, under his bed, and now it’s on to the CDs, DVDs, and the bane of every mother’s existence: video games.

19/366 - 19 January: Any old tat?

Time to declutter those videogames!                    (Photo credit: Darren W)

After sorting out the grade-school discards, children’s movies and music that is so 2010, I wound up with a sizeable pile of ‘stuff’. I could donate them, sell them on CraigsList or eBay, but that’s so complicated and time consuming. Instead, I’m trying a new service to sell my old CDs, DVDs and games called musicMagpie.com.

MusicMagpie is a free service that involves scanning the item’s barcode to determine its value, boxing the items, taping on the free shipping label, and dropping it at a UPS store. Sounds simple? It is! When the box is received, MusicMagpie sends you a check.

musicMagpie

Seriously –  it took me about 5 minutes to scan the minimum 10 items with my smartphone. Within minutes, I received an email with the shipping label, I boxed them up, and dropped them at the store. Done. Free. There’s even an iPhone app.

And they send you a check.

But best of all, the clutter is out of my house, and not in the landfill.

start selling with musicMagpie

So if you’re tired of lounging around this summer, give musicMagpie a try. It’s a perfect way to generate a little extra cash and clean up around the house.

Think about it: cold drink in one hand, smartphone in the other. Cash in your pocket.

What’s not to love?

This is a sponsored post, but all the opinions are my own.

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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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Save the Children: State of the World’s Mothers

Posted on May 7, 2013 by

3 day-old baby boy in Dibana village, Maharastra, India.

3 day-old baby boy in Dibana village, Maharastra, India.

As part of the group, Mom Bloggers for Social Good, we are working on spreading information about the State of the World’s Mothers report, and their annual report about the best and worst places to be a mother.  The State of the World’s Mothers (SOWM) report is Save the Children’s signature annual publication, which compiles global statistics on the health of mothers and children, and uses them to produce rankings of nations within three groupings corresponding to varying levels of economic development. They have produced the reports annually since the year 2000. Though the core report indices are the same every year, each year there is a new feature or story angle added to it. In 2013, the new feature is the Birth Day Risk Index — the index compares first-day death rates for babies in 186 countries to identify the safest and most dangerous places to be born.

Watch video of the project here, with Jennifer Garner, Jennifer Connelly, and Alyson Hannigan and moms from around the world:

http://youtu.be/aVUQ5yK5R0k

The United States has the highest number of first day deaths of babies of any industrialized nation; nearly 11,300 babies die here every year. American mothers may be surprised to hear this, as we think our healthcare is superior to mothers  in sub-Saharan Africa, southeast Asia, and other areas with high infant mortality rates. Save the Children’s annual report recommends several actions to solve this problem, such as addressing the underlying causes of infant mortality, increasing health care workers, investing in low-cost, low-tech health care solutions, strengthening health care systems and increasing access, and increasing committments and funding to saving the lives of mothers and children.

In a show of support for Save the Children, American bloggers are sharing their own birth stories. I am more grateful than ever to have experienced the miracle of not only bringing two healthy children into the world, but also the glory of experiencing motherhood for the last seventeen years. Birth wasn’t easy, but the payoff has been magnificent:

my first baby

my first baby

“Jennifer. Stop. Look at me. Look at me. You must stop pushing right now.”

My brain and body scrambled to focus on her blue eyes. Something wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening the way the book said it would. What is she saying?

I had watched all the movies, attended the birthing class, packed my bag, bought the diapers, and laid out your little white sleeper, recently laundered in Burt’s Bees baby soap, ready to bring you home.

“Stop,” her voice repeated.  “This is important.” My midwife’s normally calm demeanor was punctuated with urgency.

I couldn’t pry my eyes open. The pain was overwhelming; no time for medication, this was happening old-school style. My breath came in gasps, my fear in waves.

I searched for my husband, his hands on my legs. Finally he came into view, his blue eyes holding it all in.

“Her cord. It’s wrapped around her neck. You need to stop so I can flip her out. You must not push-do you hear me? “ I snapped into focus. I inhaled and for a moment, granted her request.

My body and brain were operating with broken connections, like a static dead space. I gave up control out of sheer and utter terror that my baby would be born dead.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen.

No one says that first babies come early. Tales of endless labor, walks around the hospital and enduring hours and hours of waiting for her to come were all I’d been told. Nothing-nothing at all had prepared me for these 30 minutes of laying in the hospital bed, feeling her force her way into the world.

The seconds felt like hours. I naively tried to regain control; not realizing that from this point on, you would shape every thought, every action, and every moment of my life.

“Jennifer, when I say so, you need to push harder than ever before. Go deep inside. Growl like a mama bear, and do it with all your power. Do you understand?”

Obediently, I complied.

One.  Two.  Three.

But wait – this isn’t how it is supposed to be. I haven’t even gotten into the birthing chair. The nursery-the laundry hasn’t been put away into your little dresser. We haven’t even decided on your name yet… I don’t know where you are, or what to do. The only thing I do know is that I’m not ready for this. Am I really going to be somebody’s mom?

But there you were, somersaulting into the world, slightly violet, but breathing.  And alive.

And absolutely perfect.

The struggle was over. We made it. Nothing in life could ever be harder than that, I imagined. I held you to my chest and breathed you in, feeling your warm stickiness. I clasped your tiny fingers.

“What is it?” I heard my mother hesitantly, yet pleadingly, call from behind the closed door.

“It’s a girl,” I panted in reply.

And forever afterwards, life as I knew it ended and began at precisely the same instant.

Few hours old twin babies are seen at Pailarkandi union, Baniachang district of Habiganj in Bangladesh.  The twins' mother has had four antenatal visits to the clinic and the babies are full term and a healthy weight.    Every hour, 11 babies die in Bangladesh  their lives cut short before theyre even four weeks old. One in 19 children under five dies needlessly of diseases we know how to treat or prevent. In some regions the figures are even higher: in Baniachong and Ajmiriganj, where Save the Children is working, one baby dies every day, meaning tragically that many women there have lost at least one child. In one village currently without a clinic, locals told us that 9 out of 10 women that live there lose a baby. Most of these children die because they dont have access to even the most basic healthcare.    For every 10 births in Bangladesh, 8 mothers have to give birth in their home on a dirt floor without a skilled health worker present putting the life of their baby at risk.  Only 37% of Bangladeshi children with suspected pneumonia have access to a health worker and only 22% of those receive antibiotics for it. This treatment gap has often tragic consequences.  The lack of good food plays a devastating role, too. Nearly one in four Bangladeshi babies is born underweight, and the damage from malnutrition often lasts a lifetime. Horrifyingly, nearly half of the children in Bangladesh suffer irreparable damage to their bodies and minds  a condition known as stunting  all because they cant get the nutritious food they need to grow and develop. 5% of the worlds children affected by this condition live in Bangladesh.

Few hours old twin babies are seen at Pailarkandi union, Baniachang district of Habiganj in Bangladesh. The twins’ mother has had four antenatal visits to the clinic and the babies are full term and a healthy weight. Every hour, 11 babies die in Bangladesh their lives cut short before theyre even four weeks old. One in 19 children under five dies needlessly of diseases we know how to treat or prevent. In some regions the figures are even higher: in Baniachong and Ajmiriganj, where Save the Children is working, one baby dies every day, meaning tragically that many women there have lost at least one child. In one village currently without a clinic, locals told us that 9 out of 10 women that live there lose a baby. Most of these children die because they dont have access to even the most basic healthcare. For every 10 births in Bangladesh, 8 mothers have to give birth in their home on a dirt floor without a skilled health worker present putting the life of their baby at risk. Only 37% of Bangladeshi children with suspected pneumonia have access to a health worker and only 22% of those receive antibiotics for it. This treatment gap has often tragic consequences. The lack of good food plays a devastating role, too. Nearly one in four Bangladeshi babies is born underweight, and the damage from malnutrition often lasts a lifetime. Horrifyingly, nearly half of the children in Bangladesh suffer irreparable damage to their bodies and minds a condition known as stunting all because they cant get the nutritious food they need to grow and develop. 5% of the worlds children affected by this condition live in Bangladesh.

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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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