{Christmastime is Here.}

Hello Friends. It's been awhile.

It's nearly Christmas. I'm not a winter person, but I am definitely a holiday person, so I'm in my glory. I love the carols, I love the warmth of a well-decorated Christmas tree, I love the smells and sights and sounds. I love baking cookies and decorating them with family. I love giving presents to those I love. I love Christmas movies and lights and everything.

More than all of this, though, I love giving. I love giving presents. I love giving joy. I love giving smiles and happiness. All year long, I live to make people happy, but Christmas just feels like my time. It makes me come alive in a way I can't explain. I find the most sacred joy in giving away happiness.

So many people have so much more than they need, and they don't - or can't bear - to give it away. Some people have so much less than they deserve, yet they find reasons and ways to give to others. I have always striven to be that person. I struggle, yet I know that everywhere, there are people who have less than me, and are happier than I am with less. I have been trying to purge from my life, to get down to the bare minimum, because I need so much less than what society tells me I do. In that purging, I've been trying to consciously give to those who have less than me. I'm not doing it to get points. I'm not trying to build myself up. I just want to know that I have exactly as much as I need, and that everyone else has exactly as much as they need, especially if I can help in that goal.

All that to say, this is a call out to all of you. I ask you to look at your life. What do you have that you love? What do you have that you like? What do you have that you like but could do without? What do you have that you really don't care for but hang on to for whatever reason? During this holiday season, I urge you to look around you. Look at the faces on the elevator at your work. Who is tired? Offer them a free coffee. Who is wiping away tears? Offer them a hug and some homemade cookies. Who is hungry? Offer to take them grocery shopping. Who is hurting? Stop and look in their face and listen to their pain. Give them the world, even for 5 minutes. Who is cold? If you can afford to, give them your coat. Where can you help? What can you do?

Writing this, I have a lump in my throat. There are people in my life that I know will suffer this holiday season, whether it be an empty table, an empty Christmas tree, an empty heart. Can I change those things? No, but maybe I can soften the blow of the pain. Maybe you can change those things. Maybe, together, we can help people to find shards of happiness in their lives.

I can't explain to you why the pull on my heart is so strong toward this effort. Maybe it's because I know what it's like to have less than, and I know the unbridled joy of receiving the gift of help. I've been helped in ways that seemed impossibly wonderful. I've fallen to my knees at the perfect timing of specific gifts I've received. It's an unexplainable joy, to receive exactly what you need at exactly the right time. For me, this has morphed into an unexplainable joy to give exactly the right gift, to the perfect person, at exactly the right time.

I hope that, during this Christmas (and forever after), you can find this joy, harness it, then give it away, again and again.

Be blessed, and Merry Christmas.

Brooke + JuneBug

Being Nice.

Everyone has someone in his or her life who they find it extremely difficult to be nice to. It's a daily occurrence. In our culture, your level of sarcasm, anger, and quick wit are deeply valued. Your ability to be cold, turned off, and calculated is considered more important than your ability to feel deep, deep happiness.

Why is this?

The media is one answer. We are bombarded with homicides, bombings, accidents, and negative news every single day. We are given 'heroes' who win fights, triumph over everyone else, and blow stuff up in an effort to fix something.

In that vein, another reason is the people we exalt. They are often murderers, who kill in the name of something self-important. They are sometimes religious leaders, who advertise themselves as modern day Robin Hoods but are really crooks, taking for their own selfish gain.

I think one primary reason is our use of social media. I believe that social media can be a great influence, connecting people, helping introverts find their voice, and bringing unity across states, even countries. However, social media also provides a faceless place for people to hate others. It breeds pain, suffering, bullying, and hatred. You don't have to own up to anything if no one can see you. If you can't be confronted, you're off the hook.

I believe that a combination of these things is what is preventing us from simply being nice.

Now, I don't consider myself to be Mother Theresa or anything. I yell at drivers on the road (who can't hear me.) I gripe about how people talk to me. I complain about what someone said or did to me and how it made me feel. There is, however, one thing I try very hard to do every single day, in every single interaction with others: I try to be nice.

Growing up, one of the things my mother said to me more than anything else was, "Everyone is a soul." I didn't always know what this meant. I began to comprehend it in high school, when I was mistreated by many who didn't understand me. I started to understand more when my parents got divorced and I had to muddle through those feelings. I understood even more when I got divorced and I had to work out custody arrangements with Juniper's dad. Every single day, as I run a preschool, I am reminded of this reality. Every single person that you encounter on a daily basis is a soul, valued by the God of the universe and capable of every emotion you are. Everyone you pass by, smile at, meet, interact with, is fighting a battle that you know nothing about. There is no way for you to know unless you ask, but you shouldn't have to ask. Chances are, if you are having a rough day, someone else who crosses your path today is, too. Before you begin to reply to someone who might be pushing your buttons, think of this: Did they just find out that a parent has terminal cancer? Were they pulled over this morning? Have they just come from a funeral? Could they be having marital problems? Maybe they just received a foreclosure notice or lost their job. Perhaps their child has been missing for a day. Maybe they just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. No, that isn't your fault. However, you have the opportunity to perhaps make their day better just by being nice.

I have found, in my experiences with being nice, that people make one of two assumptions about me. One, they assume that I want something or that I have an ulterior motive. Two, they resort to sarcasm because WHO COULD POSSIBLY CHOOSE TO BE NICE IN THIS DAY AND AGE OMG. My reaction to those assumptions? Be nicer.

I try to teach my daughter many things. I try to teach her respect. I teach her not to stare but to ask questions. I teach her how to say please and thank you. I teach her that sometimes other friends get to go first with the new toy. I teach her that she needs to use her words. Above all of these things, though, I am teaching her to be nice. I want her to know that everyone deserves kindness, dignity, a smile, and a chance to say what they need to say. By the time that she's a teenager, I might be the only person in her life telling her these things, but I don't care. I want to be the squeaky wheel. I want to tell her to be nice so much that she's annoyed by it, but it sticks in her head and she can't help but be nice.  I want her to be the shoulder to cry on, the friend who will always listen, the friend who comes to your rescue, who calls you just to pray for you, who brings you muffins when you're sick, who buys a coffee for the homeless guy, who brings her leftovers to soup kitchens and asks the girl crying on the bench at the grocery store if she's O.K .I want her to know how to be nice, so that maybe, others will be nice to her, too.

Be nice.

Be nice.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug

When A Child Cries.

It's been a long time since I've written a blog. I've been incredibly, indescribably busy. I'm starting to think that I may have bitten off more than I can chew, but it's too late now. I usually enjoy being busy, because when I'm not going 100 miles an hour, I feel unproductive. The last few days have been unproductive at best. Yesterday I didn't change out of my pajamas until 4 p.m. I've eaten irregularly, spent a lot of time laying on the couch, and haven't done much of anything. No, I'm not sick. My daughter is. We've seen 3 doctors in 4 days. It's been terribly exhausting, even though we haven't really done anything. The exhaustion comes from the stress of seeing my child sick, crying, and in distress, and being helpless to do anything about it.

A phenomenon occurs when our children cry, especially the legitimate "I'm hurt" cries, the cries while in the throes of sickness, and the cries of real fear and confusion. Our bodies respond to their stress. It's a vicarious phenom; an absorption of our child's emotions that are almost totally out of our control. I think it's an epic feeling of helplessness that causes this vicarious pain. Do children know how to cope with their stress? When they are vomiting helplessly, do they know relaxation techniques to help them breathe deeply to postpone the next heave? When they can't stop coughing, do they have the clarity to drink a few sips of water and sit in a room full of steam and try to catch their breaths? Of course not. They are in the throes of the moment. Their tiny bodies, when overcome with sickness, pain, or fear, stop responding to cues and sort of fall apart. Their tears are the only thing they have control over, so they let them fall, usually uncontrollably.

When my daughter cries, I typically have one of two reactions. If I can tell that she is 'faking it' I will gently comfort her, then ignore. If she needs help but wants me to do it for her, I try to encourage her to do it herself, then help her if necessary. I can usually just let it go, offer her a tissue, encourage her, and she's just dandy. However, when she is truly crying, whether it be from pain, sickness, or fear - I totally lose it. It's as if I forget that there is a whole world that is spinning and I just want to make sure that my daughter is alright. I want every tear to dry up and I want all to be right with her world again. This is, of course, impossible, as what she's experiencing is legitimate and this is the only reaction she knows. As I try to comfort her, she continues crying, and the above phenomenon starts to happen. I feel my eyes start to sting and there's that familiar lump in my throat. I forget how to be a grown-up and succumb to crying with my daughter, because I can't fix her and that's one of the most difficult feelings that comes hand-in-hand with parenting. Suddenly her stress is my stress and now we're both total wrecks.

I can't put my finger on why this happens, but I'm thinking it is somehow connected to maternal instinct, although I am sure that there are some fathers who experience this same reaction. I can keep it together in many other circumstances, and I can hold in my own tears, even if I'm having a really hard day. Yet, when it comes to my child and her health and well-being, I just lose it.

That's why the past few days have been so difficult. I haven't been sick, but my daughter has, and I've absorbed all of her stress and all of her pain and all of her fear over what's happening to her body when everything is out of her control. It's a helplessness that parents can't name or fix, so we cling to our babies and take on their stress because we can't go in and take out the sickness and make it our own. We have to do something - we're driven to do something - so we sit and cry with our children to feel like we have some control. We don't. Our children will get sick. Our children will get lost. Our children will get scared. We can't prevent those things from happening, but we can sit and cry with our kids and let them know that they don't have to experience the painful things in life alone.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug

Top 25 Mom Blog Update

I have always loved to write; it's been a passion of mine since grade school. It's a way for me to release negative energy and then absorb the positive energy from the people who find hope in my words and share that with me. When I started this blog, I just wanted a place to 'vent,' to talk about how hard - and how rewarding - it is to be a mom. I've shared some of my greatest fears, hopes, and dreams here, and people are finding their own hope in these words. That's something powerful that I can't name. It's a connection you can't find in many other places. I feel so blessed to have this space to share my feelings and encourage you to challenge and accept yours. All that to say, someone out there in the universe has voted for me to be on the Top 25 Mom Bloggers list, and I am so, so humbled. I've received pageviews from all over the world, and that alone is success for me. I'm going to share my badge with you, so that if you feel so moved, you can vote, too. I really don't care if you vote or not, just as long as you keep reading and keep dialoging with me about your experience as a parent. That's what I find most valuable and that's what I hope to continue, especially if I get on the Top 25 list. That dialogue could spread to the ends of the earth and back, and creating that kind of community of parents - of mothers - is what I aim to do.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug

Vote for me for Circle of Moms Top 25!
     

Confessions of a Single Mom

This could also be titled "Confessions of a Single Parent" or "Confessions of a Mom."

I eat my daughter's leftovers.
I drink coffee for my sanity. I drink tea for my health. I drink wine for my soul.
I don't have many really close friends anymore.
I say way more of the things that my mom said when I was young that I NEVER thought I would say.
I smile all the time because I'm happy, but also because I'm insane.
I taught my 3-year-old daughter to sew.
Sometimes, I turn on the t.v. for June so I can take a nap.
I love naps, probably more than any child or adult I know.
I could eat my weight in chocolate. Juniper would fight me for it.
Sometimes, when I say to Juniper, "You're beautiful like Mommy," I don't always mean it.
I long for the day when a man will walk into my life, a good, good man, and step up and be there and sweep me off my feet and build us a house and a family, but I also dread that day because then my magic world where just June and I exist will disappear a little.
I dance in public, usually with Juniper, but sometimes by myself.
I really like taking my daughter grocery shopping, because she is excellent and I get complimented a lot and it makes me feel like the perfect mom, even though I'm far from it.
I have worn children's dress up clothes. Proudly.
Sometimes I rock June to sleep because it's easier than wrestling her to bed.
I always want to go out and have a good time, but even if I'm having a great time, I still wish I was home with June. Always.
I can cook really well, but my daughter prefers pizza. Does this bug me? Yes.
I never go to the bathroom alone anymore.
I work two jobs - one full time, one part time.
I never have enough money for anything.
When I go to the store, if I do happen to have a little 'extra cash,' I consistently buy things for Juniper, even if she doesn't need them. I hardly ever buy nice things for myself.
I usually cut and color my own hair because I can't justify paying that much for a haircut/color.
Sometimes, when I can't parent just like the magazines and the perfect moms on t.v. tell me to, and I know that somewhere down the line, what I'm doing is going to manifest itself psychologically in my daughter's brain, I feel like a failure.
I know I'm not.
I'm a great parent because I love my daughter more than anything, and I would do anything for her. I would go to the ends of the earth for her every single day. I want only good things for her, and I'll do anything I can to bring her those good things.
I'm a great parent.

And you are, too.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug

On Losing Your Child.

Initially, this post was to be about how children grow and how no two children are alike and we should value their differences and not rush them to develop at a particular pace. I even had it half-written in my head. After tonight, I'm writing about something different.

Tonight, my mom, June and I went to a pig roast at my friend's house. June was playing with some older kids in the neighbors yard, and I could see her from where I was standing. My mom and I were talking to an old friend when I saw all the other kids come running back from the neighbors. I glanced around and didn't see June. I looked around the backyard and didn't see her. I started walking around the backyard and calling her name. I didn't see her. I looked back at my mom and she stopped talking and looked around and realized what was happening. We both started scouring the house and backyard. I stopped one of the kids June had been playing with and asked her if she had seen where June went. She said no. I walked toward the end of the yard, where it butted up against a schoolyard. I saw one of the girls that June had been playing with riding her bike down the sidewalk. I started to panic. I thought about how easily June could have tried to follow this girl and gotten turned around in the neighborhood. I feared that someone might have pulled up in front of the house and yanked her into the car and driven away. I walked back into the yard and alerted my friend that June was missing. His son went to the neighbors to see if June had snuck inside. Others started looking around the yard for her. At this point, I was feeling nauseous, just totally sick in my gut. I walked up to another girl that June had been playing with and described June and asked if she had seen where she'd gone. At that moment, I heard my mom yelling for me, and I turned around. She was walking toward me, and she was holding June's hand. I ran up to her, scooped her up, and immediately burst into tears. She knew something was wrong, because she held me just as tightly. A lull sort of fell over everyone as they discovered that June had been located. We just stood there holding each other.

All of this transpired in about 5 minutes.

I haven't had a scare like that with June EVER. She is one to check in with me; I'm home base. She'll go play a little, then come back and hug me or tell me what she's doing, then go back out. She's terrified of people she doesn't know. She'll cling to me and hide behind me and tuck her little head as far into her shoulder as it will go. For her to wander off on her own is extremely rare.

So many emotions arose in me during that 5 minutes. Obviously fear was at the top. I didn't even want to imagine what would have happened if she had been taken. I was also angry with myself for not staring at June every single second to make sure she was right where I thought she was. I was sad because the only thing I could think of was her perfect little hugs and how badly I wanted one at that very moment. However, the strongest emotion I felt was regret. Strangely enough, this trumped all the other emotions.

I regretted all the times I had pushed her to do something so she could meet another developmental milestone. I regretted yelling at her when I was having a rough day and she was pushing all my buttons, though unintentionally. I regretted any and all times I had left her with a sitter, regardless of the plans I had, whether it be work, church, etc. I regretted not hugging her every second and taking every single possible opportunity to tell her I love her. All I wanted at that moment was to hold her and kiss her and whisper 'I love you' over and over and over again, forever. If I find her, I thought, I'll never ever push her to accomplish anything again. I'll never yell again. I'll never stop hugging her. I'll follow her around for the rest of her life telling her I love her.

It's amazing what the absence of your child will do to your heart under duress.

If you're a parent, you know this sinking feeling. You're at the beach, you scan the water....and you don't see your child. You sit up. You glance up and down the shore. Wasn't he just there? You stand. You walk toward the water. You start yelling his name. People are looking at you, then out at the water, wondering if what they think is happening is really happening. You start to feel nauseous, you start to play out the horrid future waiting for you if your child is gone....and then, from behind you, "Momma? I'm here. I was building a castle!"

Our children will never understand the ramifications of their random "disappearances" until they are parents. They can not quite comprehend the panic, the sadness, the anger, the fear, the deep pain of loss already hitting our souls within minutes of losing sight of them. It's impossible to quantify, because the joy of a child is impossible to understand. Your heart turns inside out when you have a child. Something is triggered in a mother's brain that starts rewriting her memories, basically making it impossible to remember a time when that child wasn't her whole world. Your child is your heart, forever walking around outside your body.

Yet, somewhere along the way, our children often turn into trophies, tangible evidence of what great parents we are. It can become a rat race; her child spoke at 10 months - well, my child walked at 10 months - my little one speaks fluent Spanish at age 2 - our little guy can write his full name at just 3 years old - etc etc. We start to use our children to proclaim our achievements rather than letting the child be the achievement. Every single child is an achievement - regardless of developmental difficulties, disabilities, delays, etc. Every child is to be appreciated, no matter their circumstances.

During those 5 minutes of utter uncertainty, all I could think of is how much I love Juniper and how much I love being her mother. I honestly didn't care if she knew her numbers and letters. I didn't care if she learned to write her name in time or participated in dance class or could read by age 5. All I wanted was to hold her and tell her I love her until she fully understood - and that will take my entire lifetime. I plan to utilize every second of it to do exactly that.

Now that I'm a mother, I appreciate my mother for everything she went through, everything she did for me. When my mother became a mother, she had the same deep appreciation for her mother. Now that my grandma is getting older and losing her memory, my mother is clinging to those memories, loving on her mom every chance she gets. That's what being a parent is all about - teaching our children what love is, and loving them as much as we possibly can, as much as our being will allow. Forget about when he/she learns to walk. Don't worry about how soon he/she can talk. Stop worrying about whether or not they'll be successful in kindergarten. LOVE ON YOUR CHILDREN EVERY POSSIBLE MOMENT. It shouldn't have taken losing June for 5 minutes for me to remember that. It should be at the top of my Mommy To-Do List. It should be the only thing on my Mommy To-Do List.

Remember this: Don't be the wind - be the sun. Don't be like the wind, pushing the clouds around, making them go the way you want them to. Don't try to get your kids to behave a certain way, blowing them from accomplishment to achievement. The wind makes us hunker down, put on jackets, and try to get away. Be the sun. Drench them in the rays of your love. Let the warmth of your love open your children up to all the wild, beautiful potential they possess.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug

Punctuated Thoughts on Joint Custody.

This will be a short little ditty, because I'm reserving mental energy for this week, but it's weighing on my mind. June's dad and I share custody of her. It wasn't an easy decision to come to and took months of adjusting. Some days I hate it, and some days I hate it less. I didn't have her this weekend because I went on a leader's retreat with my church, and I miss her tremendously. More than usual. I think it's because she is really growing up into a tiny human, able to hold conversations and spell her name and say things like, "Momma, I love you. You're the best." Also, having her in Preschool has somehow transformed her. She was always at child care centers with me, where I worked, but true Preschool is new for us. It makes her more grown up and I'm still not sure how I'm coming to terms with that.

Back to joint custody. June's dad and I have come to an arrangement that works with our schedules and serves June the best. We do 2 days on, 2 days off, 5 days on, 5 days off. Seems complicated at the outset, but it's seamless, and really easy to swap days/weekends when it's necessary. While I hate being apart from her, and miss her so, so much, I have grown to appreciate 'me' time and take advantage of extra time for chores, cleaning, writing, and work. Yet, nearly everything I do is marked with little reminders of her, which make me miss her more, so it's somewhat like a pendulum; swinging back and forth between appreciation of my alone time and the acute sensation of little arms hugging my neck.

If you're a joint custody parent - or a parent that shares custody at all - you'll know the feeling. You're dreading letting your little one out of your arms but simultaneously planning your evening. You feel a tinge of sadness and maybe the prick of a tear as you wave good-bye while you mentally check off the list of things you plan to accomplish. Some weekends, I know how busy I'll be, so the time goes by fast, and pretty soon, June's back in my arms. Other weekends, even with the promise of sleeping in and kid-free lunch dates, the minutes tick by and I miss her so acutely I just ache.

It certainly helps that she is excited to see her dad. She still always hugs me, says, "I love you, too" and gives me a kiss. She always waves as they drive away. The minute she sees either one of us coming to pick her up, she runs right into our arms like it's been years. Those are the best greetings.

When people ask me if it's hard to share her, I want to laugh. "Of course not!" I jokingly say. What I really mean is, of course it's hard. Of course I want her all to myself. But would I deprive her of a loving relationship with her father to satisfy my maternal selfishness? Not a chance. That relationship has the potential to be just as enriching as my relationship with her, and I won't take that away simply because I don't like to share. She's not a possession. She's a living, breathing creature who needs both parents to love her and support her. I wouldn't take that away from her. And while I miss her tremendously (I get her back Tuesday morning; I haven't seen her since Thursday morning) I am learning more and more to appreciate my time. It also creates and re-creates a tiny void in me that June so delightfully gets to refill every time we're reunited.

It's taken some time, but that is what I've grown to love.

Love,
Brooke + JuneBug