Tag: moments

Paying Attention

Posted on April 26, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

Paying attention requires no equipment, no special clothes, no greens fees or personal trainers. You do not even have to be in particularly good shape. All you need is a body on this earth, willing to notice where it is, trusting that even something as small as a hazelnut can become an altar in this world.

~ Barbara Brown Taylor

Pay Attention

If you’ve been reading my blog over the last 5+ years, it probably won’t surprise you why I loved this quote. I write about paying attention to the small moments of life on a regular basis. I frequently use the hashtags #lookup and #payattention on my Instagram and Twitter posts and am fond of catching images that are far above my head or down at my feet.

I love paying attention.

Being an introvert has always given me the gift of watching. I’d much rather hang to the side of a party, or sit on the edge of a group and just watch what is going on. I notice body language, gestures, and simple movements. I watch how people catch each other’s eyes when they want to make an impression, and how the touch of a hand on a shoulder, an aggressive hug or a tensed smile can reveal so much.

I pay attention to my students when we speak, often crouching down to get to their desk/eye level – or standing on my tippy toes to reach the really tall ones! I absolutely love when kids get lost in their conversations and forget I’m in the room – that’s really the time when I learn so much about what’s important to them.

And to my own children, I strive to pay attention to not only what they do when they’re at home, but also when they’re away and standing on their own. Part of my greatest joy as a parent has come in watching my kids ‘adulting’ – making their own decisions, both large and complicated and small and somewhat insignificant. I love watching how they react to situations, like problems with a roommate or frustration with a teacher. I honestly believe that the best parenting I can do really involves just being a ‘body’ willing to notice what is going on in their lives.

When I’m walking, paying attention requires no equipment. I’ve got my face forward, feet sturdy beneath me, and my dog to my side. I’ve sometimes got the sun on my face, or the mist on my jacket as I walk my favorite trail, past the same corners and ponds, not even in particularly good shape but willing, so willing, to notice the curve of a tree branch, the rustle of bird wings, or the delicateness of a cloud. I look up, I gaze down, I trust that my consistency in paying attention to the extraordinary in the ordinary world around me will make all the difference.

Today, just for a moment, try to pause. Look up. What do you see? Can you feel a breeze on your skin? Breathe in deeply. Pause, and listen to the sounds that surround you. Be present. Be here, now.

Pay attention.

I’d love it if you’d share your observations in the comments – just a few words, a snapshot of where you are. It’s the small moments that count the most, really.

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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Love Note To My Seventeen-Year-Old Son

Posted on March 1, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

The clock ticked just past noon, and I decided to see if you were awake. Not that I hadn’t been checking on you – it’s the habit begun when you were tiny and I was so full of love for you I was sure I couldn’t go one more minute without seeing your found little face. I quietly turn the door handle, take three steps in -sometimes four, depending on your position -and wait until I see you breathe.

It’s stupid, I know. You’re seventeen, far past the stage when SIDS or any sort of sudden, unexpected loss of breathing would occur.

At 6’0”, 155 pounds you’re considered skinny by some measures, but far, far bigger than the tiny little preemie I brought home. That’s when it started, you know – when you were in the hospital. I’d tiptoe into the nursery just to check that someone was watching over you. I’d stand there for a minute, watching your chest gently rise up and down, bird-like. It was the only way I could sleep.

Lately, you’ve spent a lot of time alone in your room. I guess it’s what 17-year olds do, but it still feels unsettling. I’ve learned to knock and wait – you say I’m getting pretty good at it. My normal inclination, to walk in and ask a question or share something funny, has been squelched over the last year. I wait, tentatively, as if requesting permission to enter. Sometimes, just to get you to laugh, that’s what I say through the closed door.

Today it’s Sunday, and the cinnamon rolls have been cooling on the counter for well over an hour. I tried to wake you when they were pulled from the oven, golden brown and oozing with brown sugary goodness. You didn’t growl this time – you didn’t even open an eye, but I swear I heard you say, “I love you, Mom” before you rolled over. I pushed your bear into the space between your pillow and the covers and noiselessly backed out of your space.

This time, I decided it was too late to still be sleeping. My grandmother’s mantra, “You’re going to lose the day” ringing in my ears, I went downstairs and checked for signs of life. Nothing stirred. Walking down the hall, unusually quiet music wafted over the sounds of the lawnmower next door. Could it be true?

With all the gentleness I could muster, I tapped on the door. “What?” you responded, slight annoyance in your voice. Surprised, I turned the knob. It was dark, even though the midday sun was high overhead. You looked up from your chair, school binder balancing on your lap.

Surprised, I turned the knob. It was dark, even though the midday sun was high overhead. You looked up from your chair, school binder balancing on your lap.

“How’re you feeling?” I cautiously inquired.

“Fine. I’m doing homework,” you muttered as if I was interrupting your favorite video game. Your hair is tousled to one side, and I notice how small your black and white bathrobe suddenly looks on your elongated frame.

“Did you see what I made you? Are you hungry?” I question, hoping food will make the connection.

Love Kelly Rae Roberts’ love notes

Do I sound cheerful? Pulling out conversation with you is oftentimes the most difficult part of my day.

“No, I’m doing homework. I want to get it done before I eat,” came your reply, your eyes never leaving your notes.

“Ok, I…umm…” Defeated, I backed out of the room.

“What?”

Your voice was just a touch softer as if you knew.

“Nothing,” I softly replied as the door inaudibly closed between us.

In the kitchen, I wrapped the now cold cinnamon rolls in plastic and walked back up the stairs.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Determined To Do Less

Posted on January 25, 2017 by Jennifer Wolfe

This year, I am determined to be more unproductive. My goal is to do less and less – to move slower and slower until everything stops. I and the whole world will come to a sweet and silent stillness. And in this stillness, a great shout of joy will arise. We will all be free – free from the advice of ancient ages, free from the whining voices, free from the incessant objections of the responsible ones.

In this new world, it will be abundantly clear that the bare branches of the winter trees are our teachers. In their daily dance of moving here and there, we will see once again the true meaning of our life. In the wind song of their being, we will hear God’s unmistakable voice. We will follow what appears before us – what had once been difficult will now unfold with ease.

~ Hakuin Ekaku

I love this idea from Hakuin Ekaku of being determined to do less to do more. Being me, I’m on an endless quest for stimulation – my mind spins and cycles to the point where some days I feel like a pinball being batted around and never making it into the jackpot slot.

I cherish my still moments, my quiet times to center and breathe and just be. I know that it is precisely in those moments – usually early, before dawn, lit by candlelight and fueled by coffee, that I do my best thinking and find my best self. In these months of darkness and retreat, gazing out at the starkness of my backyard trees, watching the winter birds feast on seed and flit from bare branch to branch, I’m reminded that now is the time to think deeply, to listen, and not to miss the great joys that are right here, right now, in my life.

I’m determined to do less. What are you determined to do this year?

I found this poem on one of my favorite inspirational websites, First Sip.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Alone And Lost In A New York City Nightmare

Posted on December 20, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

It’s broad daylight on an ordinary day…or so I think. Over the loudspeaker, the emergency message screams to “pack all your belongings and get out!” Disoriented, I spin and spin until I realize I’m alone and lost in a New York City nightmare, away from my family.

Why am I here? My mind races to center, to grasp any sense of normal.

I can’t move fast enough, and I’m isolated. My children…..I can’t find you. You’ve disappeared, dissolving into a murky future that doesn’t make sense. Why can’t I find you? I always, always know where you are.

Frantically I search for everything I know to be real. I’m in my house now, pawing through my childhood treasures, scooping figurines and trinkets with broad strokes into a bag as would a burglar. With each movement, my mind flashes back to small moments of beauty, happiness and joy. Where to begin, where to end? The clay figurines, so thoughtfully crafted with childhood fingers…the bookmarks they made in preschool, the framed photos of us smiling at the parade.

I move from room to room wondering where I will put all this, what bag or box will be big enough, sturdy enough, to contain all that is dear to me. What will I forget? How will I choose what to carry? What will I leave behind, remnants of everything I once had?

I think of my husband, thirty years of him by my side, and I return for more. Remember my wedding dress, our box of letters from college. Our rings – I must get our rings. My children – where are you? Desperately, I run down the hall to their room…but it’s not there. I’m somewhere else, someplace I don’t recognize. Have I been here before?

Breathe…think. You can do this. Opening the door, I’m outside. The sun beams down as I approach the outdoor cafe. I see the complacency on their faces, the men who sit outside with their coffee and cigarettes. They smile, the edges of their mouth crinkling up in dominance. They know they’ve won. They think they’ve got this. They wouldn’t let

Right and left, I see bodies fleeing in desperation, moving chaotically as they search for helpers. I know I can’t be the only one…just breathe. Say excuse me, there must be some mistake. I just need to get past you…

They wouldn’t let me, though. They chuckle, and remind me to hold close to what care about – they are coming, and I’ll need my armor. This battle will be relentless.

Squinting at their glare, I contemplate my next move. They’re running now, saw small pods of people flowing down streets and alleyways, towing bags and boxes of their lives. I feel my anxiety throb, my chest heaving for air. My hair covers my face, my hands strain to hold tight. I’m lost, alone, petrified.

I stretch, desperate to see over their heads…swiveling to my left as the formation, comes towards me. I freeze, pulling my life towards my mouth paralyzed with terror…

I shoot out of bed, fumbling for my pulse. This is it. It was pitch black as I run for the front window, pull open the curtain and gazed out at the empty street. Silence. I’m alone. A shiver runs down my spine as the wind picks up, rustling the ocher leaves down the deserted sidewalk.

Pulling the down comforter guardedly under my chin, I withdraw to my refuge. My pulse calms as I settle in. I am home. Motionless, my body stills. I make out the quiet breathing echoing down the hall. Cola cocks one eye towards me from his dog bed, then gently settles down with a sigh. All is as I know it to be in this moment.

No more watching the news before bed, I promise as I will myself to sleep.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Finding The Extraordinary In The Ordinary October Moments

Posted on November 2, 2016 by Jennifer Wolfe

Don’t you just love the extraordinary moments in October? In northern California where I live, we do have a bit of a ‘fall’ season – and this year we’ve already seen some rain. I’ve been digging in – literally and figuratively – this month. Teaching middle school means that the first couple of months are crucial for setting up for success, so I’ve been digging deep to build relationships and think carefully about how to be my best in the classroom every day. At home, digging in my garden has given me a chance to clean up from the summer and prepare for the beauty of next spring. I love the cycles of life – keeps things interesting!

I wrote an October newsletter – you can view it here – and thought I’d show you what life has been like around here, and why I’ve slowed down my writing! I’ve been pretty active on Instagram – I’d love to connect with you there, too! @mamawolfeto2

End of summer harvest – peppers of all varieties, kale, tomatoes and gourds!

Walking…feeds my spirit.

Gourds went crazy in our garden…I marveled at the colors, textures and intricacy of nature’s beauty.

AVID. Fuels my soul, makes me really feel like I can help change happen. I invited all AVID students, families, and tutors for a gathering in my classroom Thursday night. It was awesome!

My students love to cuddle. I thought they looked like pomegranate seeds on Chromebooks. You can’t tell that they were reading heavy text about North Korea and comparing it to the society in The Giver.

I love quotes. Every month my planner gives me a good one, and I try to follow its advice.

My garden is my solace, my stress reliever, my chance to create a little beauty. This month our arboretum had two plant sales, and I stocked up. Can’t wait to see the spring blooms!

I did it all by myself. Stocking up for winter fires and snuggly mornings.

Once upon a time I lived in San Diego. I went back for a #gafesummit, and found a party in Balboa Park!

My daughter and her daughter have been best friends since grade school. No wonder I like her so much! Great travel partner to #gafesummit on Coronado Island!

Everyone has that one crazy aunt, right???? #love

Meanwhile, my daughter’s adventures continued during her fall break trip to the Grand Canyon with her dad…

I’ve ridden my bike to work every day so far this school year – this ride was the wettest one to date. Note the garbage bag my husband used to lovingly cover my teaching bag!

Have you heard of Socktober? My AVID classes have collected nearly 500 pairs of socks for our local homeless shelter. It’s an easy way to pay it forward.

What were the extraordinary, ordinary moments of your October? I’d love to hear what’s filling your days and feeding your spirit!

Jennifer Wolfe

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