Knee, Myself and I

Has anyone ever said to you: 'Make the most out of life, tomorrow you might get hit by a bus!' In my case, it wasn't a bus, it was a car. Not that that makes any difference in the long run; the end result is basically the same, I'm sure.

It was like a cartoon. For a moment, I was Wile E. Coyote, about to cross a seemingly deserted street. It was one of those carefree mid-summer evenings back in 2002. I'd worked all day and was on my way to the train station along a shady sidewalk. At the last minute, I decided to take Nat King Cole's advice and direct my feet to the sunny side of the street. It was a decision I regret to this day.

As soon as the pedestrian light turned green, I stepped off the curb. There was a zzzooooooom and a screeeeeech and then a whaaaaam! I remember thinking: 'Ok, this is not really happening'. But it really was. I remember every minute detail - first a flash of metallic blue of the car, then the continuous summersault I managed to do over the hood of the car, then the unmistakable sound of glass shattering as I collided into the windshield and then pavement flying beneath me as I was being launched about 6 yards from the car. I finally came to a stop and despite feeling incredibly disoriented, I managed to recognize the contents of my purse which was strewn all over the street. One of my sandals was lying near me, the strap was broken due to the force of the impact. People around me were frozen in shock. A young girl was even crying! I was so embarrassed, I wanted to get up immediately, grab my belongings and get the hell out of there. Only when I tried to stand up, I couldn't. Something was very very wrong with my knee.

Almost eight years later, I am 'handicapped'. I put 'handicapped' in apostrophes because I have this notion about what a handicapped person is, and I do not feel I fit into that category. The fact remains, however, that my knee hurts all the time (the pain ranges from tender to excruciating), is partially immobile and chock-full of arthritis. Prognosis? I'm 34 years old with the knee of a geriatric, and it's only going to get worse.

After years of therapy to treat, among other things, my beloved Post Traumatic Stress Disorders (I actually had it twice, due to pig-headed denial the first time), the best piece of advice I ever got was not from my shrink but from a career counselor. She suggested, whenever I want to do something that might be tough on my knee, I should discuss it with my knee first. I laughed when I first heard this, but now I find I am often in discussion with my knee, (whom I call Mr. Knee), about some physical activity or other I'd like to attempt.

A typical conversation between Mr. Knee and I goes something like this:

Me: 'Hey Mr. Knee, want to go to a market this weekend and try to sell some mialeentje stuff?'
Mr. Knee: 'No.'
Me: 'Oh, come on, it'll be fun!'
Mr. Knee: 'Don't wanna.'
Me: 'Oh please! It'll be just us two...'
Mr. Knee: 'Don't feel like it.'
Me: 'I promise I'll sit down a lot!'
Mr. Knee: 'Well...maybe. I'll think about it.'
Me: (a bit later) 'So, did you think about it?'
Mr. Knee: (groaning) 'oh... ok fine. But I'm going to have to give you hell till Tuesday.'

Starting my own business was fulfilling a dream I'd had since I was a kid, but being an entrepreneur is clearly not Mr. Knee's ambition. When I go to market to sell my wares, it involves a lot of walking, carrying, standing, more carrying, kneeling, bending. In fact, simply picking up a pencil that has fallen to the floor and rolled under the table presents an enormous challenge for me. When I think about it, my daily routine involves just about everything Mr. Knee and I can't actually do together anymore. It's like we broke up, but are still living together in the same flat, forced to live harmoniously when we've actually grown apart. We don't even have the same taste in music anymore. At the end of the day, Mr. Brain and I decide what Mr. Knee has to do, but Mr. Knee protests and will express its discontent by blatantly taunting me with intense throbbing, swelling, stiffness and just plain pain for the days that follow. But Mr. Knee gets its way too sometimes - it has managed to wipe a few of my dreams clear off the table.

I used to be a singer. Although the accident did not damage my vocal chords in any way, the idea of performing onstage is something Mr. Knee disagrees with whole-heartedly. I used to do art direction for film. Mr. Knee does not like the idea of spending days on end building a film set. I used to take walks along the beach. Mr. Knee does not like uneven surfaces. I used to travel around the world gathering inspiration and styling ideas for my job as a fashion designer. Mr. Knee would rather stay home and wash its hair than have to weave in and out of crowds of people in busy shopping street, let alone stand in lines, carry heavy shopping bags, climb up stairs, climb down stairs, get into metros, step over dog-poo... Mr. Knee is pretty much against any physical activity whatsoever and would really prefer it if I just confined myself to a wheelchair right now and got it over with.

Needless to say, I've had to make a lot of adjustments for Mr. Knee. But my life as it is now is not exactly Mr. Knee's utopia either. Without telling Mr. Knee, I got pregnant. Twice. So now I have two toddlers who have trouble with the concept of basic communication, let alone understanding that mama's knee hurts too much sometimes to bend down and pick them up. But if my two-year-old Bram should hurl himself onto the ground and throw a fit in public, which he has been known to do, I have little choice but to bend down pick him up. Mr. Knee opposes this kind of thing, but my children tend to be louder and more dramatic about getting what they want, so they usually win.

Anyone with a limitation has undoubtedly heard someone say to them: 'Don't dwell on what you can't do, just be happy about what you can do!' This just makes me cringe. It's like saying to someone who is clinically depressed, 'You should just smile more!' I am 34 years old. I should be able to do all the things I can't do. I don't pay that much attention to the things I can do, since I can do them. But what I can't do stops me in my tracks, forces me to come up with a less painful alternative, it frustrates me, saddens me, brings up bitter memories, makes me feel insecure, inferior. A cripple. It is next to impossible to simply shake those feelings of helplessness and utter frustration off and think: 'Chin up, at least I'm not dead!'

After therapy, when the worst memories had ebbed away and the claim against the insurance company finally ended, I really hoped Mr. Knee and I would get along again. I don't speak up about our conflicts too often, which tends to confuse people around me when they suddenly see me walking with a pronounced limp. My loved-ones know better though, and know how to support me, now that I know how to let them. To admit I need help is one of the hardest things I've ever had to do; in fact, it's so hard, I still can't seem to do it.

In case you were wondering: no, I have not overlooked the most important aspect of this tale, which is: I am alive. That is a fact I should be, and am, thankful for. So why all the moaning? Every so often, I am a cripple. Emotionally and physically, since for me, the two are indisputably connected. When I don't pay that much attention to Mr. Knee, I feel glorious. If Mr. Knee makes its grievences known, I feel weak. Sometimes I'm strong. Sometimes I'm helpless. As estranged as we might be, Mr. Knee and I still make up one whole human being together, and will just have to develop a symbiotic relationship we both can live with in this particular body.

I can just imagine what our next discussion will be like:
Me: 'Mr. Knee, I'm putting my foot down.'
Mr. Knee: 'What is it this time?'
Me: 'I still have a lot I want to do, dreams I want to fulfill, and you're just going to have to come with me, whether you like it or not.'
Mr. Knee: 'Oh...do we have to?!'

I've Got Designer Genes.

When I was eleven or so, my dad and I were having one of those talks about what I was going to be when I grew up. I don't remember exactly what I said to him, but I remember at one point he told me I had 'designer genes'. I remember being shocked, since I was sure I didn't own a pair of designer jeans at all! Much later, it became clear to me what he meant, and that it was true.

My parents are both designers - my dad is an industrial designer and my mom is a photographer. My brothers are also both designers. In my early teens, I tried to rebel against design. You see, I wanted to be an artist, like my grandfather. I wanted to use pure mediums like charcoal and wear oil paint stains on my clothes and go around smelling of terpentine, like a real artist should! I wanted to roll up my sleeves and mix my own sweat and tears into my work; only then could I consider myself a true artist.

After art school, what did I end up doing? I became a graphic designer. And after that? A fashion designer. My dad was right - I really do have designer genes. It's undeniably genetic.

Now that I'm a mom, I am curious as anything about what my kids will grow up to be. They have such an interesting mix of creative genes in them! Next to all the artsy folk in my own family, my husband is the result of an artistic gene-pool as well (which is incidentally probably why we accept one another's eccentric behavior; we're just used to it). He is a professional musician and his parents were both artists.

Both of us can't help but assume our children will be artistic in one way or another when they grow up. Heck, they already are! My daughter Mia was able to draw with a crayon before she could even feed herself, and my son Bram can beat out a rhythm with his bottle that would make Steve Gadd green with envy.

When Bram plays a tune on the keyboard, Mia starts doing arabesques. And when they're finished, they applaud for themselves. They're natural-born performers.

When Mia wants a new dress, she will skip into my studio and point out exactly which fabrics she wants, how many pleats she wants and which trimmings she wants it to be trimmed with. Her gift for styling at three-and-a-half just blows me away.

When Bram empties out his box of blocks, he immediately begins constructing the world's most inconceivably high tower. He's two years old, and he has a dream.

When Mia sees anything that even remotely resembles a flower, she goes ape. She cannot resist the temptation to pluck even the teeniest weed or dead bit of grass if she thinks it would look nice in a bouquet. Her eye for composition is astounding.

But there are also times when my kids are about as artistic as a sack of potatoes. When Bram tries to paint, he seems to think the object of the activity is to throw as many paintbrushes as he can on the ground and then run all over the paper while giggling madly. And when Mia was recently introduced to the concept of painting Easter Eggs, she was much more interested in how quickly she could make them spin them around till they rolled off the table and broke. (Needless to say, we had a lot of egg salad sandwiches that day.)

I have to remind myself, they are still kids. They are doing what all kids are doing at the same age, so before I go and declare how amazingly artistically-inclined they are, I should probably take a step back and just let them do what they think they're doing, namely, making a mess and having a really good time in the process.

And at the end of the day, who knows, they might just both grow up to be accountants. Which is absolutely fine with me...as long as they're accountants with a passion for music and flower-arranging, that is.

Third Culture Mom

Only a couple months ago, I found out I am a 'Third Culture Kid' , or as I prefer to call myself, 'Terminally Unique'. I was born in the U.S.A, but I moved to the Netherlands when I was 15 and became an adult in this country, which essentially means I don't feel really American... And even though I am now a Dutch citizen and have been living here for almost twenty years, I don't feel Dutch either. I'm a bit of both but neither one completely. It's confusing, I know, but that's what it's like to be 'terminally unique'. And it doesn't get any easier when you start raising kids.

But being a TCKid or 'Global Nomad' (as we're so lovingly nicknamed), is not just about feeling like you don't belong anywhere. If that were the case, we might as well be called 'Eternal Pre-Teens'. I've found there are three other especially tough things a TCKid has to cope with when raising children - there's the language issue, the cultural idiocincracies and the family dillema.

the language issue
Because my native language is English, but I live in a country where the first language is Dutch, my husband and I decided to raise our kids bilingually. It's a challenge, to say the least, since they both are taking a lot longer to get the hang of comunicating in general than other kids their age who are raised in a single-language environment. But, thanks to Holland and its wealth of government subsidies for bilingual kids, both Mia and Bram are benefiting from extra attention and speech therapy, so they'll be able to hold their own once they start school.

Besides raising my kids bilingually, I am also set on presenting mialeentje in two languages as well. Not only because I hope to reach the largest amount of potential customers by offering two languages, but also because I want to present my business just like I present myself. I just am both languages, in person and online. On my site, I label and describe everything in Dutch and English, and use little flags to make things clearer... I just don't know if that's helpful or utterly confusing.

the cultural idiocincracies
Dealing with a different culture is tough enough without kids, but once they come into the picture, it gets even more complicated. I'm talking, in particular, about the holidays. Just about every holiday is celebrated differently, named something different or involving different things in Holland, and ever since the kids were born, I've struggled with how to deal with this. I grew up with the American versions of these holidays, while my husband grew up with the Dutch versions. So which version do we go by? A perfect example is good ole Christmas versus the Dutch gift-giving holiday, Sinterklaas.

There are some fundamental differences: firstly, the man himself - in Holland, you've got Sinterklaas, and in the states, you've got Santa. Two completely different guys bearing gifts.  Secondly, the day - in Holland, Sinterklaas bangs on your front door and leaves behind a burlap bag of gifts on the doorstep on the evening of the 5th of December. Santie Claus, on the other hand, lands on the rooftop while everybody's sleeping and whips down the chimney on the 24th so that the Christmas tree is surrounded by presents on the morning of the 25th when everybody wakes up.

Then there's the issue of the good man's residence, his choice of vehicle and his helpers. Sinterklaas, who lives in Spain, journies to Holland by steam boat, accompanied by a few dozen acrobatic Zwarte Pieten (Black Petes) who apparently are instructed to bring back the naughty kids in the same burlap bag that held the presents. Santa leaves his home on the North Pole and his staff of handy elves behind to make his journey by a flying-red-nose-reindeer-drawn sled. Let me tell you, it is not easy to mesh these two into something the kids will comprehend, let alone buy.

For now, my husband and I have decided to wait till the kids are actually able to tell us what they want as gifts before we worry about explaining the differences between the two versions. Call it procrastination if you will, I call it good sense.

the family dillema
So what happens when your nomadic parents pick up and move from one country to another when you've barely got a handle on your zit problem, then pick up and move back ten years later? You've got a family dillema on your hands, is what happens.

When my parents moved back to the states, we didn't have Skype or Facebook or cheaper rates for our mobiles. We had a very poor internet connection and e-mails in which you couldn't send an attachment larger than 1.5mb without the whole system crashing. Thank the Scandinavians for inventing Skype so that I, for one, can let my kids get to know their grandparents via webcam, or 'be there' for my brother's wedding in Phuket! It's certainly no surrogate for the real thing, but it certainly makes online communication a lot more worthwhile. Last year wasn't my first Skype Christmas, and it will most certainly not be my last.

TCKids, Global Nomads and Terminally Unique Syndrome... Put together it makes for a steadily growing phenomenon, now that the borders of this world are diminishing and people are having babies all over the place. Take another look at the people you know, you just might know someone who is terminally unique too - in any case, you do now.

Viva La Social Media!

Social media. Without it, we'd be lost. I, for one, rely on Facebook to find out what my family and friends are up to, whether it's just acknowledging their status update or posting huge virtual hugs and kisses to my loved-ones (who all live in different hemispheres). It really is an ideal way to share banal information with each other, as if you were literally sitting in the same room together having a chat over a cup of joe.

But what is really so social about social media? According to my Facebook profile, I have something like 311 friends, which does not in any way whatsoever reflect my real social life. But it certainly gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside when I see how many friends I've accumulated since joining Facebook. When it was the rage to 'unfriend', I didn't 'unfriend' anybody. Why should I? I like all my friends! On what basis would I 'unfriend' someone? That they invited me to join a ridiculous group or install a pointless application? I couldn't warrant that as an excuse, since I've been guilty of doing the same myself. No, all my friends are staying right where they are, regardless of how much they've spammed me in the past.

So social media has been blooming for years, and it's just now dawned on me, that it's not only the perfect way to reconnect and stay connected with friends and loved-ones (or perfect strangers, or old classmates I had crushes on), it's also the perfect way to spread the word about mialeentje! I'm also finding out that just about every entrepreneur who's anybody knew this already. (I am a bit defiant when it comes to online trends...) And it's all connected, thanks to the magic of internet feeds. Now I can write something on one site, share it onto another, follow it on a third and post it via a fourth. It's an automatic, instantaneous media offensive! I love it!

Lately, I've been following reactions on a Facebook discussion forum regarding blogs. I only just recently breathed life into my own little blog after having neglected it completely the past couple years (having another baby kind of got in the way...), and now that I've given it a new purpose and an extreme template make-over, I'm finding it to be a wonderful way to vent frustrations and share ideas and anecdotes in the hopes of inspiring like-minded souls. Literally minutes after posting, I got a few positive reactions and even some new followers! I've been 'liked'! And I like it.

I know now that if I want my webshop to succeed on the net, I need to dive into it and take full advantage of all it has to offer. The only problem is that, in my opinion, it has too much to offer. Let's take Twitter, for example. I have never, nor am I likely to ever, tweet anything. I blame my inferior mobile internet connection (with a connection speed that was considered fast in the 1980's), but in reality I am a little apprehensive about heaving yet another portion of social media on my already heaping plate. When I Googled 'mialeentje' recently, I found that I'd been tweeted about, which is even better. Someone found my little business interesting enough to tweet, and it wasn't even me! I see that as a compliment, as well as a relief that I didn't have to do it myself...

Social media is wonderfully time-consuming but it does pay off! Like everything else in entrepreneurship, it's all about investing time, and money. And since I don't have a cent, I turn to what I have plenty of: time... Well, when the kids are asleep, that is.

This Little Business Went to Market.

The most important thing I've discovered about being an entrepreneur isn't the product I'm trying to sell, it's finding people to buy it.

When I began my online business last summer, I made the naive assumption that word would get around and that my target group would simply find their way through the virtual jungle of the internet to my webshop. As familiar as I am with the utter vastness of the internet, I underestimated its virtually limitless virtual borders. There are exactly five zillion webshops specialized in kidswear all over the world wide web, and another zillion are being launched a day. These days, you need a virtual machete to hack your way through advertisements, spam and penis-enlarging products to get to what you're looking for. How on earth would I get the right people to my shop?

Like any beginning entrepreneur set on success, I wrote a business plan and executed various marketing research techniques to determine my target group. (Essentially this meant I went out with a questionnaire and a clip-board and asked people on the street how they felt about children's clothes.) Upon gathering my data, it was clear that my target group consisted of people exactly like me: 30-something 'green' parents.

So now that I knew who was most likely going to buy my products, I had to somehow pave a path on the internet for them to reach me. Then it occurred to me: I had to step outside the box and turn my virtual product into a tangible one. The way to do that was to set up shop. And since I don't actually have a shop to set up shop in, I figured I'd do the next best thing: go to market.

There are various market possibilities in Holland, most of which impossible for me to participate in. The weekly market, a sacred and protected phenomenon in this country, is made up of a select group of regulars and I'd need all sorts of permits and some influential friends to get into one. Then there are flea markets scattered throughout the country in large wharehouses that smell of urine, where anyone and everyone can set up a stall and sell the contents of their garages for next to nothing. I've tried to sell my products at a flea market like this with very little success. Sure, people liked my stuff, but one of my handmade dresses was outrageously expensive for flea market standards. Especially when customers could buy ten dresses for the same price at another stall... Needless to say, my first attempt at a flea market was also my last.

Last summer, while visiting my parents on beautiful Orcas Island, I set up a stall at the local farmer's market. It was an amazing experience! Not only was there an inspiring positive vibe among the other vendors, my target group was all around me and walking right into my stall! People were able to touch, feel, examine, take a closer look at and even sniff my products, which I am sure worked towards their ultimate decision to purchase something. After the summer was gone, I was sad to leave the island, and my target group, behind.

Then I found out about specialized markets for handmade goods in and around Holland. Apparently, there are lots of creative folks around here like me who set up at these markets to sell their crafts; slowly but surely, I was finding out about them. Unfortunately, as soon as I found them, I hit some obstacles. First of all, most of these markets are few and far between. Either they're located at the other end of the country, or they take place so sporadically, it's difficult to apply for one on time. Some of them are affordable, some are absurdly overpriced. I finally found a handmade market that was affordable (that is to say, I was 99% sure I'd earn back my investment) and took place relatively nearby. I packed up my kit and kaboodle and set up shop among a wonderful variety of artisan vendors. I was thrilled to bits - it semeed I had finally found a nitch!

Although I only sold seven items that day, I consider it to be the most successful market I've participated in to date in this country. Although the advantage of having an online business that can reach the far corners of the world pretty much speaks for itself, being able to offer my products in 'real time' and in real life to the right people has more advantages in the long run. But turning my virtual product into a tangible one had one chrystal clear advantage: it sells. Yep, this little business will be returning to market for sure.

Priorities...

I have to get the spring/summer collection online!

But before I can do that, I have to Photoshop every garment onto a clear blue sky background.
But before I can do that, I have to photograph every garment.
But before I can do that, I have to sew labels into every garment.
But before I can do that, I have to order more labels, since I'm almost out.
But before I can do that, I have to arrange a photo session of kids modeling the garments.
But before I can do that, I have to make the garments.
But before I can do that, I have to gather inspiration and come up with ideas.
But before I can do that, I have to sort out daycare so I can concentrate fully on my work.
But before I can do that, I have to set up my new overlock machine.
But before I can do that, I have to give the overlock machine I've been borrowing back to my mother-in-law.
But before I can do that, I have to clean her overlock machine out and pack it up.
But before I can do that, I have to wash all the spring/summer materials.
But before I can do that, I have to gather all my spring/summer materials together.
But before I can do that, I have to sort through the fall/winter materials to find all the spring/summer materials.
But before I can do that, I have to make room in my studio by holding a big sale on the winter/fall collection.
But before I can do that, I have to advertise the sale and announce the spring/summer collection in a newsletter.

And in order to do that, I have to get the spring/summer collection online!


Arg!

I've set a goal for myself: April 1st.
No joke.
On April 1st, the 2010 spring/summer collection will be online. Which means I have to get all the other priorities on my list done, and am scratching my head a bit as to how I'm going to actually go about doing that. More importantly, in which order!

Julie Andrews once sang, 'Let's start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start'. Hmm. If I knew where the beginning was, I wouldn't be having this problem...

This kind of situation is typical for me, as a multi-tasking mamapreneur. It drives my husband crazy when he sees me starting another project when I haven't completed the last one. I admit, it drives me crazy too, but how else do I do it? Multi-tasking is all I know.

Being a mom is the very definition of multi-tasking, if you ask me. I don't know too many people who are capable of changing a diaper on a squirming kid while poking a straw through the little foil circle on a package of juice while googling something or other online all at the same time, unless it's a mom.  I don't even think dads are capable of this kind of multi-tasking - it's got to be a mom thing. Men always finish what they start. Women are always starting something new.

I guess it's in my nature to mix it all up, and till now, it's worked for me. It'll work for me again, you just wait and see.
April 1st.
Spring/summer collection online.

No joke.

A 'Mamapreneur' in the making

Last summer I finally made a life long dream come true.

As a kid, I had this dream of owning my own shop. I would transform my room into a store all the time. I put price tags on my teddy bears, created my own promotional material, even turned a My Little Pony notebook into a booklet of receipts. Once I managed to get my parents and brothers to visit my 'shop', I relished the moment when I could place their purchases into one of my handmade totes, add a handwritten receipt and say 'Come again soon!' as they walked out the door.

The dream has been growing, gnawing, itching and festering inside me for years. As a grown-up, I was conditioned to do the responsible thing, which was to find a real job instead of pursuing the dream. As a result, the dream got pushed back into the realms of the 'If Only' category of my mind. The dream kept me awake at night. The dream followed be everywhere. The dream wouldn't let me go.

In the years that followed, events beyond my control took place that inspired (or perhaps forced) me to take a career leap from freelance graphic designer to fashion designer. I went to work full-time at an international fashion concern designing clothes for girls 7-14 and loved it while it lasted.

Things changed again almost four years ago when I gave birth to my daughter, Mia Leentje. 19 months later, my son Bram came along. Suddenly I was no longer a nine-to-five career gal, I was a mom. I was no longer researching the latest trends on WGSN; I was researching educational childrens' programming, sterilizing bottles and installing car seats. I couldn't see how I could ever become an entrepreneur with two toddlers running around the house in need of my constant care and undivided attention. The dream had to take its place even further back in my subconscious, so far back I almost forgot what the dream was.

Don't get me wrong! Being a mom is the best thing ever. Being a mom is what finally made the dream come back to life. When I had to stop working at the big fashion concern due to a knee injury, I found myself facing the deep, bottomless pit of unemployment and disability. According to the local unemployment agency, there was not a single job in the region that I was qualified for, or rather, that was qualified for me. One day my job coach suggested I start my own business. They would even foot the bill for a specialist to help me write my business plan! I was tickled pink - the dream went from the back burner to front and center faster than I could say 'chamber of commerce'.

So here I am, a half a year later, owner of my very own online shop where I sell my very own line of upcycled kidswear. Somehow I am managing to combine my professional expertise, motherhood and the dream into something tangible and real. I'm not just an entrepreneur, I'm a 'mamapreneur'.

I am working towards the next stage of my dream, which is to open an actual shop where I can hold workshops, create garments for my customers in an in-house studio and can actually say 'Enjoy, and come again soon!' instead of having to write it in an e-mail. Now, I run a virtual shop, which makes it possible to balance the amount of time I work with the amount of time I spend with my kids. I'm still a long way away from paying the mortgage on the profits, but hey, at least I won't have to quit my day job. Now that the dream is a reality, there's simply no stopping it.