Tag: life lessons

Finding The Teacher-Mom Balance

Posted on April 30, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

“You wander from room to room

Hunting for the diamond necklace

That is already around your neck.” -Rumi

from Thrive, by Arianna Huffington

I’ve always been a working mom. I guess I should qualify that – I’ve always been a work-outside-the-home mom. Since I was in my thirties before I had both children, I spent several years teaching before they rocked my world…and to be honest, it was a struggle to figure out how I could balance it all.

I loved being a teacher. In my twenties, pre-kids, I poured everything I had into my middle school English classes. It wasn’t that I necessarily felt that teaching was my ‘calling’-I just wanted to do the best job I could. It’s my personality. I devoured teaching-I couldn’t get enough training. I had my eye on reaching the ‘top’ of my profession as quickly as possible. I volunteered to be a ‘team leader’ of teachers, I worked on district committees, and pretty soon I was selected as the department leader and mentor teacher. I was right where I wanted to be.

And then my daughter was born. Naively, I thought I could jump right back in. I thought that after a few months, the title of ‘teacher-mom’ would slip alongside my other accolades, and life would keep chugging along. Of course, that didn’t happen. Balancing a commute, breast-feeding, and separation anxiety created more angst than I could imagine. Life needed to shift, and as life often has a way of doing, I would up exactly where I needed to be.

It wasn’t easy to get there, and residing in that place between ‘teacher’ and ‘mother’ was a constant state of unsteadiness for many years. I felt like I wasn’t doing the best job at either; on days when the teaching went well, I’d have to rush home to assume child care so my husband could go to work. At night, the babies were demanding when it was time to grade papers, and each morning I would wake, bleary eyed and exhausted, wondering how this was ever going to work. The joy was evaporating from both ‘jobs’. Nothing felt right, neither felt fulfilling. The fulcrum teetered back and forth as I searched for the elusive equilibrium I knew I needed.

I wish I could say it was easy, or that there was some sort of formula I read about that, like breadcrumbs along a trail, I could gather along the way to the end of the rainbow. The truth is, it was nothing like that. And sadly, it involved barrels of tears, volumes of journals, and book after parenting book to discover how I could thrive as ‘teacher-mom’. I’m not sure I would ever want to repeat that process, but I can say that the search for the perfect balance led to the discovery of my self.

I learned that it all goes by so quickly…those words of my grandmother certainly ring true as I’m watching my baby grow up and out of the safety of our space. I learned that boundaries are vital for both teacher and mom; a life in balance is truly a life well lived. I learned that everything I ever wanted really is right within my grasp-all I needed to do was make a choice. Actually, it was quite simple: I chose a life adorned with the sparkle of my children first-always.

And that has made all the difference.

This post was inspired byThrive: The Third Metric to Redefining Success and Creating a Life of Well-Being, Wisdom, and Wonder by Arianna Huffington who encourages everyone to sleep their way to the top. Join From Left to Write on May 1 we discuss Thrive. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

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.

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Looking Forward by Looking Back

Posted on April 14, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

I’ve been doing a monumental amount of looking forward by looking back lately. I’m absolutely certain it has to do with this indefinable space of my life right now, were I’m learning to let go of everything I’m comfortable with, everything I’m used to, and being forced to look forward for the magic that is sure to come.

Something really surprising has happened during this process. Something that has really made me stop and think about motherhood in a new way. Something that has caused me to question what memories I’ve chosen to hang onto, and how I choose to define the new path motherhood is about to lead me on.

Looking back on my first born, I vividly recall the sleepless nights, the insecurities, and the absolute amazement that I would be responsible for this little six-pound creature for the rest of my life. And I also remember the screaming.

She was what I considered a difficult baby. She rarely slept, nursed often, and always wanted to be on the go. She followed everything with her eyes, and struggled mightily to get what she wanted. After a few months of sleep deprivation and the desire to make life just a little bit more bearable, I realized that if instead of trying to set up a nursing schedule, or hoping that the bouncy chair would last long enough for me to get the dishes done-if instead of trying to make her fit my needs, I tried to fit hers, life would, or at least could, find a better rhythm. I discovered that if she looked forward, she was happy and content.

It wasn’t until I was flipping through my old photo albums recently that the impact of this change really resonated with me. All she has ever wanted in her life is to look forward. She never liked being confined or fitting into someone else’s dreams. It wasn’t so much a selfish outlook on life; what she was really asserting, from a very young age, is her desire to move through life looking just ahead of where she was at the present moment. She wanted to see it all, not wait for life to pass her by.

In nearly every photo I have of her during her first six months she is smiling, a strong arm securely wrapped around her middle, facing forward, bright blue eyes shining.

L and John forward

In a few months she’ll embark on her first great adult adventure. She’ll have chosen her home for the next four years, her life ready to unfold in front of her. And I can relax a little now; I can exhale the air I’ve been holding for so long. I can trust that this grown up creature will make good choices and will let her wishes be heard. I can release my grip just a bit now, knowing she’s secure enough to go in the right direction alone. And I know she’ll face college just like she’s tackled every other challenge in the last 18 years – facing forward.

This post was inspired by the novel Reasons My Kid Is Crying by Greg Pembroke who captures frustrating yet hilarious parenting moments through perfectly captioned photos of unhappy kids. Join From Left to Write on April 15 we discuss Reasons My Kid Is Crying. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Jennifer Wolfe

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

The Idea of It All

Posted on March 31, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

She thought she knew exactly how it would all turn out, but it was the idea of it all really, she realized so many years later.

She planned the wedding meticulously, despite the unwanted interruptions from family members who decided to take that time, after all those years, to assert their independence and bring their own unhappiness to the table.

She knew exactly what it would look like, where it would be, and what she would wear. She knew this was right, he was right, and after a near decade of courtship, everything would finally fall into place.

No longer teenagers, they were what some would consider ‘stable’; quite a surprise after the rebelliousness they had endured. But she knew what she wanted, and wasn’t going to settle for anything less. She knew the waiting had paid off, and with any sort of luck at all, it would be the fairy tale ending she believed in.

The day broke, cloudy yet calm. Even at her young age, she realized the need for quiet as she prepared. The scent of tuberose and strong coffee met her as she walked to the six foot window, parting the lace curtains to catch a glimpse of the garden below that would host the ceremony. It’s good luck to have rain on your wedding day, she whispered to herself in quiet affirmation.

A flurry of activity punctuated the morning, as ivory satin and lace draped her body. Her grandmother’s gown fit with an exactness that couldn’t be merely coincidence; the lace mantilla framed her chestnut brown curls and trailed behind her with just the right touch of elegance.

Cautiously, she made her way to the top of the garden staircase. The fall air crackled with anticipation as the strains of the brass quintet trickled to her ears. This is it, she reminded herself. This moment, this place, this man. This is the beginning.

Slowly, notes from Pachelbel’s Canon in D broke her daydream. Quietly grasping her father’s arm for stability, she took her first step down the path like every young bride, simultaneously confident and unaware of what was yet to come.

It was the idea of it all, really. All the planning, anticipation, worry. And all these years later, after children, after illness, after struggle and dodging life’s curve balls, it is still there-not quite as she imagined it would be, but when is life ever just what we expect?

This post was inspired by the novel The Idea of Him by Holly Peterson. Allie Crawford has the life she always dreamed of-and discovers she’s stronger than she eveer imagined. Join From Left to Write on April we discuss The Idea of Him. Join us for a live chat with Holly on April 3. As a member, I received a copy of the book for review purposes.

Jennifer Wolfe

More Posts - Website

Follow Me:

Thanks, Coach, For The Life Lessons

Posted on January 29, 2014 by Jennifer Wolfe

17 years later, I’m proud of the woman she’s become

Dear Coach,

We have never met in person, but we have a few things in common. First, we both spend a good amount of our time working with teenagers. Second, we both spend a good amount of time with teenagers who are ski racers. And third, because of our roles, we both make a huge impact on their lives. I’m writing you this letter (after spending two days calming myself down) to thank you for some unexpected life lessons you taught my daughter at Monday’s ski race. I’m not sure if you’ve ever met her in person either, but just in case you haven’t, here’s a little bit about her:

My daughter is just 17, a happy, strong, confident young woman on the verge of graduating from high school. She has been a skier since age 4, a racer since age 7, and has spent endless hours pursuing her passion. My daughter is one of the hardest working athletes I know; she’s sacrificed more than the average teen to excel at her sport, and as a result, she loves every minute of it. She’s even hoping to race next year in college-not because she wants to have a career in skiing, but simply because it makes her happy. My daughter is honest, kind, fair, compassionate and well liked. She’s also a great racer, and because of the mental and physical demands of ski racing, I believe she has grown to be a courageous person. In other words, she’s the kind of kid you’d like to get to know and have on your team.

Now, maybe you had an inkling of my daughter’s spirit over the last few weeks you’ve been watching her race. Or maybe not. I’m not going to second guess your actions here, or unleash my mamawolfe-instinctive-fierceness on you. I simply want to thank you for what you taught us when you threw a temper tantrum and disqualified my daughter for wearing a Go Pro camera on her helmet after she came in first place.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that as long as we do the right things for the right reasons, we’re going to be ok. She didn’t strap that camera to her helmet and ski down the course because she was trying to do the wrong thing; in fact, she was given the camera by her coach, who after decades of coaching the high school team, didn’t have an idea that wearing a camera on her helmet would break any rules. She wasn’t trying to hide anything, she wasn’t trying to do anything wrong; in fact, she’s the kind of girl who avoids breaking rules at all costs. Had she known she could be DQed, she would have eagerly removed it. She wasn’t trying to be defiant; heck, she’s never even gotten a detention in 12 years of school! In the end, she accepted that she unknowingly broke a rule, and that since you objected, that was that. Thanks to you, Coach, at the end of the day she could look at herself in the mirror and know she was ok.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that it’s not always about you. When she responded to my congratulatory text with the message that you had DQed her, I was shocked. I struggled to come up with words that would become a virtual hug huge enough to console her obvious disappointment, and the first thing that came to mind was to say that sometimes people do things to others because they feel vulnerable, and they project that fear onto someone they perceive as ‘below’ their chain of power. In my eyes, that’s the worst thing a teacher, coach, or parent can do. It’s bullying, it’s cowardly, and it’s a real show of poor sportsmanship. Thanks to you, Coach, she learned how that feels, and will not repeat your behavior.

Thanks, Coach, for teaching my daughter that winners aren’t always the ones who come in first. Anyone who has been around ski racing knows that if you focus on being first, 99% of the time you’ll be disappointed. Ski racing is about preparation, persistence, and perseverance. And of course, it’s nice to make the podium once in awhile, especially when you earned it fair and square. But ski racing has taught my daughter to always do her best and the results will follow. Do you know that after you DQed her (against the objection of every other coach at the race), that your racers came to her and apologized for your behavior? Those results surely don’t show up on the score board. So not only was my daughter validated by her teammates, but also yours. I sincerely hope that your lack of sportsmanship doesn’t change theirs; in my parent handbook, I’ve learned that kind words go much farther than words spoken in anger or fear. Thanks to you, Coach, she learned to hold her head high-she knows what a winner looks like.

Coach, at the end of that day, as she tried to drift off to sleep, I know she was sad. She’s only 17, and hasn’t had nearly the time to learn about life and its inevitable disappointments that you have. I know she felt loved, and safe, and that tomorrow would be a new day, and that there’s always another ski race around the corner. And I also know that one day, when this monumental experience shrivels into the minute, momentary instant in her glorious life, she’ll be able to look back and smile, and maybe even, for just an instant, wonder if you learned something, too.

With gratitude,

mamawolfe