I think I’m what some people call a natural-born-teacher. It’s in my blood; teachers sprout from my family tree for generations upon generations. It’s no surprise that as a parent, I’ve been an education task-master. You think preacher’s kids have it rough? Think about being a teacher’s kid. You’re constantly the guinea pig for lesson plans, you have access to the endless books and supplies and strategies constantly brought into your home, and more than anything else, you are your parent’s prize pupil.

Needless to say, I’ve taught my kids lots of things. Oh yes, we worked on letters and numbers and the alphabet. They were read to and sung to and taken on adventure after adventure. Lily and I spent hours creating our own reality tv cooking show; when I was in labor with my second child, three-year-old Lily could make french toast and show Grandma where I kept the coffee maker. She evolved into a perfectionista baking goddess who found Wednesday afternoon stress relief mixing butter, sugar, flour and vanilla into delectable bites of goodness. Cameron, now a teen, will spend hours in the kitchen leaving a trail of disaster in his wake, yet arise with a smile and display a dish that would rival an Iron Chef on Food Network.

We taught them to love all kinds of sports, to learn from traveling the world, to paint and draw and sculpt and build and design and tried to engage their every creative and educational curiosity. And now as they’re growing up and away and into their own lives, I find myself asking – did I teach my children to weed? Did I teach them to discover and evaluate and search deeply for what really matters in life?

Parents, teach your children to weed before it’s too late. Take them outdoors and teach them to look at the beauty around them. Show them the messiness of life’s landscape and remind them that they don’t have to bloom where they’re planted – they can change what they don’t like in life. Teach them that they can uproot, they can replant, and keep moving and trying and re-doing until they get it just right.

Teach your children that weeds are the ones that look like they’ll flower but won’t. That sometimes life gets sticky, and can unexpectedly crawl up the vines you’ve carefully trained. Teach them that weeds can be all at once beautiful and fluffy and then with one breath, with one small burst of air they will scatter into directions you never intended – or expected. It will never be perfect. Some weeds will come back; some will be gone forever. You get to choose.

Teach your children to weed – to put both knees in the soil, even when it’s muddy and full of manure. Teach them to get into the center of their life, to get dirty and not fear what’s in front of them.

Teach them to not always yank and pull randomly at life, but to think about what’s underneath, and what the bigger design for their life might be. There’s always unexpected beauty beneath the surface.

Stargazer lilies in my garden

Teach your children to pay attention, to delight in small discoveries in life, like tulips sprouting at the first sign of spring, or a lily straining to grow and share her exquisiteness – just like them.

Don’t wait too long to teach your children to weed – now’s the time. In the blink of an eye, neglected gardens become beds of weeds, requiring much more effort to put back in order. And if you feel like you’ve waited too long, don’t worry. Just do it. Starting is always the scariest part of it all, but if you don’t start now, then when?

Remember to take it one section at a time – take breaks. All those weeds didn’t all grow in one day – it will take awhile to get it the way you want it. Sometimes season after season it will keep coming back, and one day – if you keep at it – it will be gone. It’s OK to stop when you’re tired; self-care is an important skill to learn.

Finally, stop and admire your work. Make life pleasant – listen to the birds, fill a hummingbird feeder or watch the butterflies land on the flowers. Admire your hard work. Hug your children tightly, tell them you love them and watch them grow into amazing creatures. Your efforts will pay off, I promise.

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:

He said to me the other day, “Mom, I don’t get it. Sometimes you’re totally chill, and then sometimes you want to know everything. You need to trust me. I’m not crazy, you know.”

That one got me thinking. Am I that inconsistent? Or is he just smart enough to see what’s really going on beneath the surface?

Parenting is sort of like going to battle without a plan. We start off as new parents overjoyed with the idea of life ahead, and for the most part, joy is the overriding emotion of my parenting experience.

And then life happens. Infants turn into toddlers, then third graders, thirteen year olds, and suddenly the teenage years smack us over the head when we weren’t looking. The skirmishes begin in full force.

Let the parenting battle begin-and parents, you’d better be ready.

Some days the plan of attack is subtle, but not without strife, to be sure. Get your homework done before video games, complete your chore list without complaining, and study for finals. That’s the easy stuff.

It’s the harder issues that lead to full engagement, wondering if a ceasefire will ever be possible. The ones that leave you with the ache in your gut. The ones that make you dive for the parenting handbook and leave you breathless with worry. The ones that you just need to ride out and trust that things will work themselves out.

Yesterday’s choice wasn’t one of those legendary philosophical decisions. For many people it would have been quite simple. It was normal kid stuff, things that maybe some parents don’t even blink at. But I do.

It really was about teenage decision making – trusting that his frontal lobe was keeping up with his intelligence. This is something I’ve been taking into consideration this year, now that he’s 15 and full of confidence.

Last summer, I had finally come to a place where I felt ok with him living away from home. I felt comfortable with his community, with his coaches, and with his friends. I felt like he was on a strong, health path. He was young – but he knew what he wanted.

Then came the phone call last August, when he broke his leg and I changed my ‘chill’ attitude. Suddenly, he was vulnerable again, and I fell into mamawolfe mode and all the doubts, the ‘proof’ that ‘things happen’, and now I’m caught in the mental battle of how far to let him go, how do I trust that he will be safe.

Watching the news sure doesn’t help – just last night I reminded him that if we listen to the stories, none of us should walk out of our house, light a firework or travel to a big city for the 4th of July.

Terrifying, if you think about it too hard. Terrifying to think about the battles going on in our world, let alone within the mind of a teenage boy full of hormones.

And this is where my angst set in, where I struggled with the parenting battle lines. What do you stand up for, what do you let slide? When do we trust that all those years of hand holding and teaching and boundaries pay off in their solid decision making? Where does the intersection of our own fears and our common sense lead us, when we come to a four-way stop and need to decide what is best for our child?

When do we let our kids just be kids, and push away all the fears – rational or irrational – and trust that everything will just be OK?

This is perhaps one of the most formidable parts about parenting – the struggle between throwing down the gauntlet, honoring the change in our children, recognizing the growth they’ve made from preschool to high school, and taking that deep breath, holding it for just a second, and releasing it with a quiet, “yes”.

Because when you think about it, the most indomitable parenting battles are really within ourselves, aren’t they?

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:

I was chatting with an online friend the other day about the German plane crash and all the scary situations going on around the world, and she confessed that by the end of the day, she just wanted to step away from everything. I could completely relate. At times, the news absolutely sends me into such a state of sadness and worry it becomes overwhelming. To think of the suffering of families who are in the midst of loss and terror triggers that emotional part of me, completely overriding my logical side that tells me statistics are on my side, that my family is safe, and all will be well.

Being an emotional person can be seriously challenging – especially as a parent.

It’s taken me years to switch my thinking about how I process the world around me – to realize that my ability to feel strongly is actually something to be grateful for.

Strangely enough I don’t often cry while watching movies or reading books – unusual for me, because in ‘real life’, just seeing a person suffering, people living in poverty or a child hurting or being bullied sends my emotions flowing quickly and freely like a river with no end.

So on a lazy Saturday afternoon, when my son and I popped in the movie “Boyhood”, I had no expectation that I should have a box of tissues by my side.

Maybe it was that this year I’ve come full circle with parenting little ones. Maybe it was that we were spending the afternoon at Tahoe watching movies instead of skiing. Maybe it was that I was tired or hungry or relaxed or….maybe it was that the movie was just what I needed to watch.

Maybe I needed to remember all the moments – the fights in the back seat of the car, the collections of rocks and sticks and bird bones, or the blur of walks and play dates and bad haircuts and tears and friendships and families and attempts, through it all, to be the best mom that I can.

Yes, the tears flowed when Patricia Arquette (who absolutely deserved that Academy Award) reminded me that when they leave the safety of our family nest, that it’s time for us to not only remember all those moments, but create what comes next. Do you remember her last lines in the film? They were awesome, emotional, and struck my heart. Fighting tears, she reminds us that motherhood is a series of ‘milestones’, and despite knowing that the time will come when our children leave home, it’s never easy – especially when they’re happy about it. Her words echoed my own, written as my daughter left for college.

She reminded me that motherhood is a series of choices – some that work out in the moment, and some that we don’t see for years to come. She reminded me how lucky I am to have those slips of time, ordinary days that add up into an extraordinary life.

For an emotional mom like me, those choices typically occur after great agonizing and then a magnitude of moments second guessing my decision-and then it stops. Real life is in front of me. Life happens, the news reminds us that life takes us full circle whether we like it or not, and that the moments we have in each day – those bits of time that might seem insignificant or overwhelming or just simply there – are our lives. And when the children graduate and move on to their next adventure, so must we.

So take a moment – step away from life for a moment – go ahead and put “Boyhood” on – snuggle up with someone you love, and keep a box of tissues handy.

I sincerely hope you need them.

photo credit: Innocent hands via photopin (license)

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:

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.

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

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:

Mothers,

Do you remember the first moment your child came into this world? That moment, that instant when your life changed from you to them? Do you remember that viscous, writhing weight that warmed your chest and filled your eyes with tears? At that precise moment, mothers, you were there. You were present, you were transformed, you were alive, you were powerful.

And then somehow, along the path of motherhood, things changed. The diapers seemed endless. The crying, the writhing, the fussing seemed interminable and left you wondering what had actually happened in that moment when life became less about you and all about them.

The boundless moments of joy, bearing witness to the first smile, rejoicing in the first laugh, documenting the first steps, shriveled under the seemingly insurmountable loss of you – do you look back at photographs, searching the eyes of the woman who had so desperately wanted that child, and wondering where she was that day?

The sticky hand that searched for yours as you skipped along the sidewalk, eyes gazing down in search of treasures, has long since left your grasp. Do you remember that smile, tiny baby teeth  and lips smudged with chocolate? Do you?

Those moments, so seemingly insignificant at the time, harness their power when they’re gone.

The endless “why, Mommy, why?” whispered (or screeched) by your toddler  transforms into silence from your teen. The days when you couldn’t wait to strap them into their car seat and take a deep breath disappear as they back their own car out of the driveway. The evenings when you dreamed of a moment alone to just ‘be’ slip into your dreams as you struggle to stay awake to hear their key in the lock.

Mothers, when you hear your mother say the years go by so fast, believe her. Remember that childhood is fleeting, and motherhood lasts forever. But you need to stay awake. Stay present. Rejoice in the glory of the moment.

This post was inspired by the novel A Well Tempered Heart by Jan-Philipp Sendker.  Feeling lost and burned out, Julia drops her well paying job at a NYC law firm. After hearing a stranger’s voice in her head, she travels to Burma to find the voice’s story and hopefully herself as well. Join From Left to Write on February 4 we discuss A Well-Tempered Heart. 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: