Tag: motherhood

Another Day

Posted on December 22, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

Her face is turned toward the window, nestled on a deep feather pillow. Long dark lashes flutter as I kiss her cheek, brushing back soft strands of hair from her forehead. It is dark out, yet she will rise and greet another day.

His face is face up, eyes closed, arms thrown back over his head in the same position as when he slept as an infant. I reach down to kiss the sweet spot between his jaw and neck, and he groans and pulls the covers tighter. It is dark out, yet he will rise and greet another day.

Sleepily she pads downstairs, honey colored hair still in a messy braid. Too early to eat, she sips cold orange juice as she pulls on long underwear and ski socks. It is dark out, yet she will go and meet another day.

Groggily he pulls on his fuzzy black and white skull patterned bathrobe and gulps down fresh water. He trods down the stairs, too full of chatter for such an early start. It is dark out, yet he will go and meet another day.

She dresses quickly yet deliberately. No worries about appearances, she thinks only of the snow that awaits her. It is cold out, yet she will be brave and face another day.

He pulls on his layers, sweet grapefruit juice dribbling down his chin. Thinking only of the countdown to Christmas, he hugs me in anticipation. It is cold out, yet he will be brave and face another day.

Methodically she unscrews her ski helmet face bar in the dark lodge, preparing for the morning workout ahead of her. Layer upon layer upon layer she bundles up and heads towards the lift, tousled braid whipping in the wind. It is dawn out, and she gets to have another day.

Slowly he prepares for the snow, insisting on doing it alone. His fuzzy brown head disappears beneath a royal blue helmet and goggles, contrasting the lime green and black of his jacket. We kiss goodbye, my assurance I will be waiting for him when he returns. It is dawn out, and he gets to have another day.

Yet as I sit by the window watching the sun crest the snow-covered hills, I cry for the mother and child who are apart, who will never feel their arms around each other again, and who cannot brush away each other’s tears.

It is bright out, and I get to have another day.

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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Friday Photo: Shifting Gears

Posted on December 18, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

The week before winter break is never easy for a middle school teacher. The combination of high energy and anticipation levels of the students juxtaposed with the need to finish units, projects and assessments makes for an exhausting experience. Add to that the needs of my own children at home, the cards, gifts and holiday cheer and I am not sure if I am coming or going.

Late last night as Leno wrapped up his monologue, I catch myself in an unsettling space between gearing up and winding down. A kaleidoscope of ‘to-dos’ spins through my mind. Fortunately, sleep kicks in, and eight short hours later, I have a flash of clarity.

After driving through the mountains in the predawn hours, my son and I pass Donner Lake, and in that moment, as the water and sky met and steam hissed from its surface, I quickly stop the car. My brain pauses and we drink in the tranquility of the water before us. Silently I breathe deeply, wait, and shift back into gear with a new sense of calm.

Try it. Breathe. Pause. Wait. Shift.

Jennifer Wolfe

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Prom Night At Our Place

Posted on December 13, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

I am definitely not a person who is into cliques. As a result, I’ve never been much of a joiner of clubs, groups, or anything that labels. I even resisted junior proms and senior balls as a teen. I don’t think at 16 I was thinking that I was being ‘true to my authentic self’; I just knew that something didn’t feel right, and prom wasn’t the place for me to be.

As a middle school teacher and survivor of the teenage years I know the damage kids can do to each other by labeling, stereotyping and making exclusive groups. As a mom, however, I was really pleased to be nominated as the “cool” place to hang out and prepare for the junior prom. As it turns out, kids in our town don’t need to have a date in order to go to the prom-what progress since my high school days! As a result, I had ten sophomore girls arriving to my house in waves to primp, polish and prepare for the first big dance of their young lives.

With iPod speakers blaring the young ladies began to polish toes and fingers in anticipation of the slightly tippy, strappy sandals most would be wearing, despite the 30 degree weather outside. It was an amazing sight to see that their texting ability wasn’t slowed down a bit by wet paint on their fingertips!

Next, the hair. Straight locks are out this season-with coordinated teamwork worthy of a football playbook, one after the other the girls strategized the curling process to result in Taylor Swift-worthy tumbling tresses.

Then, the food. In-n-Out was the request-what girl doesn’t need a big burger and fries before dancing the night away, right? Washing it down with sparkling cider served in my great grandfather’s tiny crystal wine glasses surely added class to the menu!

Dresses? Can anyone say micro-mini? Sheesh…these girls tugged and pulled to ensure no accidental wardrobe malfunctions! Some of the dresses were very, ahem, sophisticated.

The boys arrived next. Surprisingly there were a few ‘dates’-the sophomore boys seemed to wait until the last minute to ask the girls. Were they building up courage, or hoping that their last minute plea would be desperately accepted? Maybe they were just traditionalists trying to do prom the old fashioned way. Regardless, there didn’t seem to be any problem with only four of the ten girls having escorts-aside from the fact that none of the girls really knew how to act or entertain them while they waited. Standing awkwardly in their new suits, squeaky shoes and fresh haircuts, the boys waited patiently in the living room for the ladies, while mamawolfe acted as a human buffer between them and the hallway to the bedroom.

Finally, the photos. With flashbulbs that would challenge any paparazzi, the girls dazzled in a variety of photo combinations. Yes, there were the awkward groupings of those with dates, those who had been friends since elementary school, the whole group, and the shoes to show off the pedicures.

After all the memories were captured and we all piled in cars to drive to the high school, one of the girls commented, “Wow, you must feel really popular, mamawolfe, to have everyone want to hang out at your house tonight. It’s the place to be!”

Her comment stopped me cold. Popular? Not the word my adult brain would use. Special? Definitely. Recognized? For sure. Thrilled? Absolutely.

For me, this year’s prom night was so much more than all the pageantry. Sure, watching my little girl transform into a young woman before my eyes was beautiful. Feeling the excitement, the anticipation, and the energy was contagious. But what prom night really taught me this year is that belonging happens in many different ways. The girls learned that they don’t need to be joined (literally or figuratively) with a boy to have fun. The boys realized that if they ask, they have hope. And now I know that I don’t really need to join anything to be important in my daughter’s life – by being myself she and her friends feel comfortable. Actions speak louder than words. My house really is the place to be.

What more could a mom ask for?

Jennifer Wolfe

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Friday Photo: Giving Thanks

Posted on December 2, 2011 by Jennifer Wolfe

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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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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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