PutYourFlareOn

I have been sitting here trying to figure out a title for this blog entry and nothing is coming to my mind. I have been pretty lax on my blogging lately. Yes, I have been busy but I have had time in the evenings to blog. I often log into Typepad and stair at the Compose New Post page and my fingers are stuck. The ideas I had to blog about during the day when I'm busy baking or serving tea are all lost to me.  No time to jot them down in my moleskine. Fingers often covered in scone dough or cookie batter so I can't type. And then sometime I blog block myself by thinking that what I have to say is uninteresting and who would be interested in what I have been up to?

I think I'm just too much in my head and just need to write down my thoughts so I can access them later in time.

 - Today, I walked down a freshly rain soaked cobblestone sidewalk on my way to the tea house carrying a bouquet of sunflowers, two freshly baked baguettes and today's Le Parisien.

 - I met two readers of my blog today. One person a lurker from San Francisco who has never commented on my blog who found my through another friend's blog who had linked about the tea house.   The other visitor a woman and her husband from Vancouver who has been reading my blogs for years and leaves the most wonderful comments some which have really helped me through some dark times in my life and brought smiles to replace the tears.  I was thrilled to meet her. Hugs were given. She knit and enjoyed my homemade carrot cake. Really lovely to put a face to the familiar name that often appears in my comments.

 - I baked cream scones today. Seriously, these are the best scones I've ever made. I also learned from a customer who happened to be from Australia about Devonshire Tea. I am going to rename my Thé Gourmand, Devonshire Tea instead. And perhaps I will adapt the Aussie way to pronounce scone as /skɒn/ like as in John. Just because it's so cute. But I will not be making Vegemite scones as the woman suggested I could. My taste buds have not yet gotten used to the unique taste of Vegemite.

 - I thought about how I am a mother. Last weekend was mother's day in France and to hear my husband wish my Bonne Fete de Mamans made me feel really good. This role of mother is the most natural role my life has taken to date.  Through all my fears and worries in the beginning I can easily say that I am really glad that I became a Maman when I did. It was the hardest period of my life. I had just lost my mother and knowing myself I had to challenge myself. Challenge myself to advance and live life. And I knew that my mother wouldn't want it any other way.

Just a few of my thought today... enough to blog about? Who knows. But I do want to remember these moments.

From memory...

Stirring cookie batter this morning got my mind jogging back to when I was a young girl and I'd watch my mom stir the batter. She'd always let me stir it until it got too hard for me to stir. It was always after the second cup of flour.  She'd hand me the  yellow bag of chocolate chips and let me pour while she stirred. I always looked forward to this step.   After all the cookies were on the baking sheets. She'd let us clean the batter from the bowl.

Stirring the cookie batter this morning I felt her presence next to me. I folded the batter over and over again and I looked at my hand and instead of seeing my hand I saw hers.  The cookie recipe I sell at the tea house is my mother's. When people ask for the recipe, I tell them it's my mother's recipe and that there is not a written recipe to share and that I make these cookies slightly differently everyday just going off my memory.

And her ever present guidance.

And there are hard days...

I dropped Max off at Tata's. He was quietly sitting in his stroller as we approached her door.  The hallway dark as I hadn't tripped the minuterie to light the way.  I stood for a second before turning on the light but then Tata opened the door and was waiting for us.  She greeted us with a warm smile and reached out to get Max out of the stroller. She glanced at me and her face changed. I guess I wasn't hiding my feelings very well. I was wearing my emotions like a huge billboard across my forehead. 

Just a few minutes before arriving to Tata's, Max and I strolled through the park by her apt and I saw a group of older women practicing Tai Chi.  The build of these women, the way they held their hands and the way they fixed their hair reminded me so much of my mother. One woman in particular was intrigued by my presence and she studied my face. A smiled appeared and she waved. I smiled back shyly and I felt the tears stinging my eyes. Any one of those women could have been my mother. I wished that she was one of them.

Tata motioned for me to come in and I went and sat down on the her couch as she filled me in on the day's activities. Max was going to be Tata's only charge for the day as the other two children were on vacation.  I hugged Max to begin the goodbye process and he grasped tightly to my coat.  Tata watched but mostly looking at me, studying my face.  I felt the tears rising. I quickly stood up and I said "bye bye" to Max and he waved and said, "Ba, ba, Ma Ma". Before I ever realized it I was crying. I rushed for the door because I did not want Tata to see me upset.  When I am missing my mother and someone asks me what's wrong, I can not lie and say it's something else. I tell them that my mother died and I miss her. But responses like this make people uncomfortable so I try to avoid them if I can.  She stood in the doorway, shielding Max with her shoulder. I stood in the dark hallway pressing the elevator button as sheets of tears streamed down my face.  As I turned to bid them goodbye,  Tata quickly mentioned that Max shouldn't see me upset because that would only upset him. But I looked back at Max with tears in my eyes and he smiled and reached out for me. Giving me a sympathetic smile. One I've seen so many times when I am sad and missing my mom.  I said, "bye bye" and let the elevator door close.

Should I let Max see me upset? Of course, he should see me upset.  If anything, Max has seen the entire array of emotions that I own.  I don't cry everyday but I do cry most days. I miss my mom and I tell Max that everyday. We look at her photo and I talk about her to him. He clutches the photo and gives it kisses. I honestly believe he  understands. 

In the afternoon, I went to pick up Max and he was so excited to see me. He held his arms out to me, letting me falls into them as I inhaled his sweet baby scent.  The melancholia of today just seemed to melt away in that moment.  Walking home in the rain as my Converse sloshed and my wool coat hung heavy on my shoulders, I felt better. I imagined my mom if I had the chance to tell her about the cafe and I could see her reaction. Her clap and little jump that she'd do when she was excited about something. And before I knew it I was imitating her. I was standing in front of Max in the stroller clapping and jumping and Max broke into a series of baby giggles and clapped himself. 

I will never hide my feelings from Max. Omma never hid hers from me and that is one of the strongest memories I keep of her.

30 Days :: 10

Today was an exceptionally hard day because Maximilien is transitioning from two naps to one.  I know it seems small but nap time has always been a very integral part of our everyday life.  Along with the physical fatigue of trying to keep up  with an over tired baby, my heart was aching because I've been missing my mom a lot lately.  I really, really needed to call her and just simply tell her how hard today was and to hear her reassuring words. 

When I miss her the most, I curl up with the wedding afghan she knit for Julien and I and sit quietly and think about her.  I get lost in my thoughts remembering everyday conversations that we had. I focus in on her voice and intonation and it brings me comfort.  I study the stitch patterns of the afghan and  I can see her knitting. Her hands moving over the yarn and the click of her needles.  I grasp the wool of the afghan and I can feel her presence though not the physical presence I so desperately yearn for, I can feel her spiritual presence and this brings me peace.

2 years already...

November 12th was the two year anniversary of my mother's death. Is anniversary the right word? Don't you celebrate anniversaries? I don't know what other word I can use. The day was uneventful at best. Normal is a better word that uneventful. I struggled a little getting Max down to bed. Talked about future plans for projects with Julien. We ate dinner together while watching a movie. I knit a little. Julien went to bed early and I puttered around the kitchen doing last minute things before finally putting myself au lit. I layed down and closed my eyes and thought about my mother. That's usually what I do when I go to bed. I think about all the things I want to tell her and I tell her. Then I remembered! It has been two years since....

and I cried. Silent tears. Julien was fast asleep and so tired. I didn't want to wake him. I clutched my pillow to my chest and sobbed. Max stirred in his bed and I listened to him scoot around a bit. My heart hurt. It hadn't hurt like that in a months. The crushing pain you feel when you can't breath. Like someone is standing on your heart. I was a wreak the next day. I hadn't slept. I woke up when Julien got up to leave for work. Max had woken up for his morning snack before going back to sleep for a while. That while turned into hours. I woke up at noon and squinted at the clock. Rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I jolted out of bed and ran into Max's room to see if he was ok. He had gone back down from his morning snack at 7am. He stirred a bit and then turned his head at me like he always did and smiled his toothy smile. Reached his arms to me.  He knew.  He knew I was having a bad day. All day Tuesday, he was exceptionally calm. It was like he understood I need that.

I often think about the afterlife. More so now that my mom is gone. I believe. I have to because someday I need to see her again. She comes to me often in my dreams. I am grateful for that. And I  catch Max staring at her photo on my desk and I wonder if he somehow knows.  I let myself believe because it helps me to heal.

Two years gone and I it still feels like she's not really gone. I feel like she's on vacation or something. When Max does something awesome the first thing that comes to my mind is I want to call my mom to tell her about it. How long do these feelings last? A part of me does not want to let them go because I feel like I will forget her if I do. But part of me hurts so much holding on to these feelings that I feel so sick from sadness.

It is 3am. I should be sleeping but for some reason the words are just pouring out of me. But must get some sleep. I have a little man who depends on me to be 100% and I can hear my mom, as she did for so many years, telling me to go to bed. NOW. At least her voice is still strong and clear in my mind. I love you, Omma. And I can still hear her saying it back to me in her special way.

Moving forward

It's a busy time around our house. Out of town travelers will be arriving this Friday but before that we have a quick trip to make up to Reims on Thursday in preparation for Maximilien's baptism on the 21st.  As much as I could just let myself be sad and let life pass me by I get up every morning sometimes 2-3 times in the wee hours to tend to my son. The grogginess fades away when I see his little face and his arms reaching out to me. My heart swells with love for this little human being. As hard as things are right now, I wouldn't change anything in this world for what I have today.

Life moves on like it or not... and I have to go with it. I just need to remember to go slow and not let myself get overwhelmed. And allow myself time to feel everything I need to feel. And in the meantime enjoy precious moments like this:

Max showing off his baby upward dog technique from PutYourFlareOn on Vimeo.

In our own ways we are all moving forward even if it's only one scoot at a time.

Incomplete

I jerk myself out of bed tonight to write down the words that are pouring from my brain. The are pulling me back to a place that I have chosen to forget about for a while now. I'm too happy being a mother to let myself live these sad feelings. But sometimes it's just stronger than I can withstand. The sad emotions come flooding out of me. Mostly at night when I lay down to go to sleep.

Words over come my brain as I try to sleep. Things I wish I could have said to her. Letters I should have written when I had then chance. 

I find old birthday cards with her delicate handwriting on them and I find myself 8 years old again watching her write notes to remind herself of new words she had learned.

After my mother died, I went through her desk just looking at her things. It was her new desk at the new house. A new desk with a new mac computer.  I never knew her there. I only remember the old desk at the old house. The old desk that had her old IBM laptop on it. The old desk that kept her bobbles and such. Her address books and pencils and note cards. I went through her new desk at the new house just hoping to find something she had perhaps written to me. Maybe a letter or a note. Just something telling me something I didn't know. I hoped to find the letter that would tell me everything I would ever need to know. But of course, this would never happen as my mother didn't know she was going to die. Letters like these are only written when you know...

Before Max was born I often questioned myself why I even kept this blog anymore. It started out as something fun to pass the time. A journal of silly thoughts I had about living in France. But as the years have gone by (I have been at this for over 4 years now) I have found my blog to be a way for me to record my life.  There are so many little things I have forgotten. And now I hope that someday Maximilien and perhaps my other children will have a place to read my thoughts and dreams. And they won't be left wondering if I had left them the letter somewhere in my messy desk drawer.

I feel torn between two worlds right now. My present life and the life that stopped violently the day my mother died. Part of me feels like this is a vicious dream that will never end. I dig through the sheets trying to claw my way to the surface only to find that I am still asleep and unable to awaken myself. The other part of me is living the happy life that I am destine to live. Mother, Wife, Friend, Daughter, Sister. I am these things. But underneath I am sad. Very sad. And incomplete.

It's just one of those days...

when eating cookies all day long makes you feel better....

Not a lot sleep (or blogging) going on at our house and it's starting to take a toll on my husband and I's sanity.  To be honest, I feel more out of my mind now than I did when first came with Max. People kept saying to me, "oh babies change"... yeah no shit.  Every morning I feel like I'm running on fumes, it's really hard making it through the day. 

And lately, I've been missing my mom. I wish I could call her up and ask her for advice. She's raised 5 kids  and I'm sure who've had many sleepless nights. I'd just like to hear her voice again and for her to tell me that I'm doing alright. And then I think about Maximilien not getting a chance to know his grandmother. It's so unfair. I still can't get my mind around it. I don't think I ever will.

I've been trying to figure out how my mom made her chocolate chip cookies. I know it's a variation of the Toll House cookie recipe. I think I've come pretty close.  They taste good and familiar and very, very comforting.

I don't have much time to sit down and collect my thoughts for a real blog entry but I have been distracting myself late at night with Twitter. Feel free to check out what Max and his Mama have been up to the last couple weeks.

Handknit Love

Maximilien can sit up now. It is a new development that literally happened over night. I can not believe how fast he is growing up. Chatting with another mama friend online today, we were marveling at how fast our boys were hitting their milestones lately and at the same moment we both typed: :(  because it's just happening too fast. Our little boys are becoming big boys.

Max is sporting a bottom up raglan with a placket-neck that I knit for him in just three days. Three days! That's insanely fast for me. But I have to knit fast now if I want Max to wear something I make for him more than once. He's got some time with this sweater. I knit the 1-2 year old size.  Standing up he looks like he's wearing a mini dress.

Finishing this sweater was so fulfilling. I admired it as I laid it out to block and I was filled with this unexplainable feeling of love. I made something for my son. It made me think of my mother right away.  She was such the fiber artist. She made us all kinds of amazing things for us: Dresses for school dances, graduation dresses, bridesmaid dresses, curtains for our bedrooms, hand knit sweaters, scarves (or mufflers as Omma always said) to keep us warm, booties, gloves, hats, a tube top (from seeing a picture in a JCrew catalog!) a wedding quilt, afghans, and the list goes on.... I was so lucky to have all those wonderful things growing up and  I am so proud that I can do the same for Max. It will be a way to leave my legacy for him long after I'm gone just as my mother has done for me.

In the background is the quilt she made Julien and I for our wedding. This is a sweater that my mother knit for me after I showed her a photo in an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog of a sweater with long flared sleeves.

This is my favorite sweater and the last one she ever made me.

Family

We're back in Paris. It's good to be home. Max was a champ during both legs of our international trip to the US.  He actually slept in the weird bassinet thingy. And what is with strangers thinking that it's okay to touch him.  I had to stop several hands from pinching his chunky cheeks while he was sleeping? Hello? I must say that I was very happy to have the Maya Wrap with me. It made toting my 15lb two month old plus two suitcases at 50lbs and the Maclaren very, very easy.

The time spent with my family was amazing. He was welcomed by my family with open arms. We laughed and shared tears of joy and sadness. I was in awe all weekend to see the generations of my family all together. My father holding his grandson for the first time. My Aunt speaking Korean to her great nephew. My cousins introducing me to their children.  Family. The one thing that makes living abroad so hard.   

With every milestone in my life, I am reminded of the emptiness my heart feels.  The void that often over takes me when I think of my mother.  I know that her time on the Earth has ended and she's gone off to do bigger things. My spiritual side reminds me that when my life ends on this physical Earth I walk on, a new spiritual life will begin and there I will see my mother again.  But I am terribly sad that she can not take part in this momentous time in my life. To hold her grandson, to experience this with me.  I guess it's my selfishness that will not let her go. I choose not to let her go and I know that makes it hard for me to fully enjoy these happy times.  I do find comfort in speaking with my family about my feelings. To know that it's just as hard for them as it is for me.  We are all moving on in our own ways.

I try to keep my head up and look at what is ahead of me. I take quiet moments to absorb happy moments and try to linger on those happy times to help me get through the hard ones.  I look to the faces of my loving family and see that time is catching up with each and every one of us.  I just turned 30. But I still see my siblings as the young under 10 year olds they once were and yet they surprise me with their wisdom and I realize they are now adults just like me. 

Leaving my family was hard but I looked forward to coming home to my own family. Max and I were greeted by a very happy Julien.  Max's eyes lit up with recognition as his father pulled him close for cålin.  We stood and held on to each other in the middle of the airport.  Kissing and hugging. Smelling each other again. It's good to be home.