“The great teachings unanimously emphasize that all the peace, wisdom and joy in the universe are already within us; we don’t have to gain, develop, or attain them. We’re like a child standing in a beautiful park with his eyes shut tight, there’s no need to imagine trees, flowers, deer, birds, and sky; we merely need to open our eyes and realize what is already here, who we already are – as soon as we stop pretending we’re small or unholy.”

~ Bo Lozoff

This quote reminds me of the scene from ‘The Wizard of Oz‘, when Dorothy, having survived the tornado of her life, wakes up and sees all that she has around her.   Things she previously worried about, people she loved, and those she feared had swirled together in her mind to create the most unimaginable drama, but when it came down to it, there was no place like home.

Cropped screenshot of Judy Garland from the trailer for the film The Wizard of Oz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Many times throughout my teaching day I find myself cheering on my students, telling them, “You are better than this. You are better than these grades.”  I think about how they must feel, lost in a world that judges them by accomplishment rather than individualism.  I wonder how I can teach them to close their eyes, to look inside, and realize that they, like Dorothy, have all they need in life. They just need to figure out how to harness it, how to jump on the power and energy and wonderfulness that life has to offer them, and soar above anything they have ever imagined.

I think if we can teach teenagers this – to stop pretending they are ‘small or unholy’ – that they not only have a huge future ahead of them, and that they have all they need to get there – if we can help them see the joy of life, we can create hope that somewhere over the rainbow really is right in their own backyard.

image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

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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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True confession: I’m not much of a shopper.  Malls make nervous. Walking around in circles without any true purpose, dodging strollers and aimless teenagers stresses me out. And of course, there’s the money issues.  But even more crazy-making is the thought of my teens doing it without me.

I’m not big on just ‘hanging out’.

I know the trouble teens can get into.

So, being the mom of two teens-who-love-to-spend-money, and seeing that the great big Galleria was not completely out of the way to where our actual destination was, and knowing that my daughter would have to pay return shipping charges if we didn’t stop, I reluctantly caved in and with the caution we had to “make it quick”, walked through the glittering gates of doom.

Seriously, I dislike shopping.  Especially shopping malls.

There is nothing that will age a woman quicker than entering the dark, labyrinthine teenage-girl-shopping-nirvana called Gilly Hicks.

Scantily clad teen greeters welcome  us with message to be sure to “check out their selection of bras and down-undies.”  What? I think I’m blushing.

My 13-year-old boy’s eyes widen. He’s about to learn a lot more on this shopping trip than I expected.

An intensely sweet odor overtakes our senses as we wind through the darkened network of aisles inside the store.  Am I the only one bumping into racks of tiny t-shirts, and excusing myself as I walk into my own reflection in the fun-house-like profusion of full length mirrors?  Those not nearly as advanced in age (in their first two decades) appear to navigate easily, jumping from rack to stack with the giddiness of one about to enter Disneyland for the first time.  I have merely become the human shopping cart, arms full of nearly weightless tanks, Ts, and…down-undies?

Spinning around, I frantically search for a glimpse of him – he should stand out amongst the teenage females skipping around.  I wander through racks and rows until suddenly, like the heavens parting, I see him: he has stopped dead center, like a minotaur frozen in his spot. He has found it: the wall ‘o bras.

Suddenly I realize I’ve lost the boy.

I see the look on his face. I imagine the thoughts spinning through his head as he takes in the floor to ceiling rainbow display.  The colors glow through the darkness, towering far above my 5’2″ frame.  Eye-level cups and colors of all sizes and shades boggle the mind. My brain clicks rapidly, searching for the right words. I stop, waiting for him to make the first move, ready for him to bolt to the exit.

To my astonishment, he smiles.  “Mom, will you take my picture?” he asks with a grin.

I look into his eyes, and see the three-year-old I remember so well.  But his face is longer, his body lankier, and I realize I’m in for far more than I imagined. His eyes are sparkling.  He’s not squealing in disgust.  He’s amused.  He likes it.

Reluctantly, I snap the photo and watch while he posts it to Facebook.  He giggles.  The comment alerts start flashing on his phone.

Childhood innocence has left us behind.  Let the teenage games begin.

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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I was sick for most of the winter vacation.  Really sick.  Runny, sneezy, want-to-claw-out-my–itchy-eyes sick.  For days.  This is NOT how I wanted to spend my vacation.  I imagined a long, restful break full of cooking, baking, laughing, skiing, long walks in the snow, dinner with friends, games by the fire…not exactly what I got.  Instead, I was on the couch, tissue close at hand, too tired and grumpy and feeling sorry for myself to be pleasant company for anyone besides my family.  They had no choice.  It was everything I could do to not invite the whole Tahoe basin to my pity party.

Why is it that teachers always get sick on their vacations?  Not fair.  Who was the little creep who infected me with this?

The other bummer about being sick, besides thinking about all those sick days you’re NOT using, is that when you’re a mom, no one takes care of you – and you still have to take care of them.

Actually, now that my kids are teens it’s much easier.  Those baby years were rough-I guess I do have it easier now. I don’t have to change diapers, rock them to sleep or read Curious George for the millionth time.  But they still needed to be fed, and in the snow, grocery shopping is a huge ordeal.  I wasn’t up for that at all.  No endless circling the parking lot for a space, slogging into the store, pushing the shopping cart through the snow (that’s a fun one – have you tried it?) or heaving over-packed grocery bags through the four feet of snow to our door.  So, I did what any mom would do: I sent my son to the store.  On foot.

Ok, it’s not as bad as it sounds.  There is a mom-n-pop type store just down the snowy icy, street.  He can’t drive, but he can walk.

I slapped $20 in his hand, gave him a strict lecture about walking on the highway versus the road (I told him to choose the road-he’s quick, but jumping out of the path of a sliding car is not worth it), and sent him off.  It was daylight.  It was just down the street.  It was just for some eggs.

I watched him walk away, headphones over his ears, smile on his face.  Happy to be helping mama, or happy to be out of the house?

30 minutes later and it was getting dark.  No sign of teenager, eggs, or anything else that would alleviate my anxiety.  I was ready to call out the patrol. But, I was sick, on the couch, and in my bathrobe.  I had to fight my natural urge to hurl myself through snow banks to go find him. My baby was out in the snow.  In the dark.  Sensing my impending eruption, my husband volunteered.

As he geared up, amazing thoughts flashed through my mind.  Images of my son taking a detour, going to the highway for a shortcut, bounding through snow banks.  I imagined the sirens racing down the highway on the way to pick him up, the phone call, the hospital…I was way gone into future-trip land.

Just when I felt I was about to burst, something dark caught my eye.  There he was.  I spied him out the window, sauntering down the street, carton of eggs in hand, and headphones on ears.  He wore a huge smile on his face.

I exhaled all my anxiety, and tried to use the next sixty seconds figuring out how to handle myself. I couldn’t yell. I wanted to scream and release all my rage and fury about what he’d put me through.

Angrymamawolfe.

I fought the urge to run out into the snow and throttle him.  I figured the best bet was to play it cool, act as if I wasn’t worried.

Coolmamawolfe.

He walked through the door, stomping the snow from his boots. “Mom, I spent some time down at the lake. It was amazing.  The sky was so beautiful.  I took pictures.”

Amazedmamawolfe.

My heart melted along with the clumps of snow on the hardwood floors.  What a fool I am.  What a silly, foolish worrywart.  What a paranoid, over-protective parent.

I wanted to give him a lecture on the dangers of wearing headphones, but his sheer joy took it out of me.

“You’d be so proud of me, mom.  I checked the expiration dates.  One carton expired tomorrow, so I didn’t buy it.”  I could feel him growing up as he spoke.

You’re right, Cam, I thought as I hugged him close. You have no idea how proud.

Through Cameron’s eyes:

the sky was truly amazing, wasn’t it?

I see why he wanted to get closer…

that’s a little too close, Cam

OK, so there was a bit of goofing around…

Tahoe Pines on Dwellable

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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I really didn’t want to walk out the door this morning.  Not because I was snuggled in bed.  Not because it was too early.

I was nervous about driving in the snow.

A few days ago I had a wheel spinning incident.  It was nothing serious, but serious enough to make me second guess the ability of the mighty Prius to make it up the icy road in the dark.  At 6:30 am.

One good thing about having kids, though, is that they don’t let you off the hook.  We needed to get to ski training, and Cam didn’t want to be late.

How can you argue with a teenager who doesn’t want to be late to 7 am ski training?  Even when he knows it’s -4 degrees outside?

He was right.   That’s hard to say about your teen sometimes, but this time he was.

The Prius, in all its glory, delivered us up the hill on time.  And this is what awaited me:

Notice how there are no other people out there?  That’s because it was FREEZING!  And dark!  And early!

Just as I turned to go in, I saw this:

And this – one of those little dots at the bottom is my son, waiting for the chairlift:

And as I stood, mesmerized, the chill didn’t bother me anymore.  I couldn’t believe the beauty:

Slowly, the sun brushed the slopes with light.  We welcomed a new day together.

And once again, I was very glad I walked through the  door this morning.  You never know what you might be missing.

Like this:

He makes it all worthwhile.

Thanks, Cam.

Talmont on Dwellable

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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I’ve got about 35 days before my life changes dramatically. No, I’m not going to get a new job, a new house, or a new child. I’m not planning a great adventure, a big risk, or starting a new exercise program.

What I am is a ski mom, and despite only having a dusting of snow in the Sierras, my kids are aching to be back to the snow.

From November through April, I spend an extraordinary amount of time slugging around the mountains as my children test their fearlessness, hitting top speeds of 60+ mph. We drive in the dawn and dusk, spending all daytime hours on snow. Well, they are on snow. I’m mostly IN snow, lugging multiple pairs of skis, poles, gear, and bags and bags of food.

And this year, I just found out, I’ll be spending the first New Year’s Eve alone in almost 30 years – all because of skiing. Their skiing – I’m not included in this one. I’ll be home, alone, in the snow.

My family is crazy.

They come by it honestly. The ski fanaticism, that is.  Their paternal great-grandparents skied before there were proper ski lifts, ‘racing’ down on wooden skis and leather boots. I fondly remember weekends spent with my dad on the slopes, and my husband raced through college.  Putting our kids on skis at age three seemed a no-brainer.  It turned out to be the perfect sport for them when they were young, and a great family activity. Then enter racing, ski camps, dry-land practices and coaching jobs. My family is obsessed with skiing.

Many people think I’m the one that’s crazy – why don’t I just send them on their way, and enjoy quiet times at home, or holed up in a cabin with a blanket or a good book, or at the very least, in a ski lodge with a good bar. I guess my answer is the same one that you might hear from a soccer mom, a baseball mama, or any other parent who travels around in the shadow of their athletic children.

I secretly enjoy it.

I love knowing that my kids are busy all day, every day, every weekend. They go to bed early and wake up early, keeping them out of ‘trouble’. They eat well, exercise, and get plenty of fresh air. We play card games, watch movies, and cook together every night.  They have great ski friends, push themselves to do their best, and simply just have a lot of fun.

Isn’t that really what parenting is all about? These years are fleeting, and I feel the clock ticking down. Someday I just know I’ll wake up at 4 a.m. and wish I had one more drive up the hill, one more snowstorm to slosh through with them in the back seat, one more race finish to cheer them on.

So come next December 31, maybe I’ll find a great book, pop a bottle of bubbly, and toast how wonderful it is to be a mom. Honestly, I can’t think of anything better.

What crazy things do you do for your kids? What keeps you going in those moments of insanity?

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

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