the end of an era

How can one squeeze half a lifetime of memories into 4 days?

The moment I stepped my foot into the house I call my second home, tears started running down my cheeks. Right there at the entrance, where we had last said our goodbyes 6 years ago. When they were both still there.

Omi & Opi.

Now, instead of their laughter, there was silence. Painful & breathtaking silence. Everything looked the same, but it was nothing like before without their presence. The picture hanging on the wall, the smell coming from the kitchen, the sound coming from the boiler all shook me to the core.  It’s too painful, I thought to myself. It’s too soon. I don’t want to do this. A very close friend of the family saw my devastation and gave me an emergency hug. ‘it’s ok…you need to grieve…let it all out…’

On the day of her funeral, the sun was shining. It was unexpected but painfully calming as one of Omi’s biggest concerns had always been whether the sun was going to shine or not (understandable when it comes to Germany’s awful unpredictable weather).  Just before the funeral, my sister Alex and I needed to get some air and decided to go for a last walk in our beloved woods where Opi used to hide Gummibärchen under the trees and pretend the heinzelmännchen had left them there for us.

The service followed, tears were shed and final goodbyes were said.

Grief is a strange thing. It comes and goes whenever it pleases without any forewarning or hesitation. One moment you think your are OK, the next you are overwhelmed with an unbearable sadness.

Sadness of someone who will be forever gone but never forgotten.

Omi, Ich hab dich wahnsinnig lieb

deine allerbeste Tatu

 

Ich bin nicht tot, ich tauschte nur die Räume.
Ich leb in euch, ich geh in eure Träume

Michelangelo

 

 

life happens while you’re busy making other plans

Is there such a thing as pre-grief?

Are we truly EVER ready for even the tiniest possibility of an early departure of a dear beloved?

The answer is NO. We are not.

To say that the new year kicked off in an awful way is an understatement. My mom was rushed to the hospital with all signs of pneumonia and was diagnosed with metastatic cancer. After 10+ years. Just when you think, you’re in the clear, BAM! Reality hits you in the face.

After numerous exhausting tests, endless talks and useless what ifs that belong in the past, it all came down to two ‘options’: 1)to start an urgent weekly chemotherapy treatment to try and fight the new cancer cells or 2)not do anything, accept defeat and wait for the end…

Although she had previously declared that she will never ever go through chemo again (as she suffered severe side effects the first time around), the devastating possibility of leaving too soon made her instantly change her mind.

So, while January was supposed to be all about celebrations (Yianni’s name day, Iliana turned 7 on my name day) it’s been an immensely challenging few weeks with a lot of crying hospital visits, last minute change of plans, doctor’s appointments & denial of the new situation. Everything else (including my food blog) has been on hold. Until the new situation sets in.

Petra is a fighter. Has always been. Will always be. So, I trust that she/we will make the best out of this new reality. In her own words: I am not ready to die just yet. I still want to meet my great grand children.

So, here is to the now, making the best out of what we have left and hoping on a miracle.

Hope is the thing with feathers, by Emily Dickinson

‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the word
And never stops at all

And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm

I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of Me.

Until next time,

love

t

about imperfection & new beginnings

 Recently I met up with a dear friend of mine I hadn’t seen in a while and she asked me the question I have been asked a few times since the little guy outside joined our family:

‘how do you do it all? 

I thought she meant my latest creation, so in pure excitement I began to blabber about the whole process behind each new recipe post.

‘No, no’  she kindly interrupted me. ‘I mean, the whole thing. The kids, the house, the crafting, the new blog’, she said.

‘Well, its chaotic and some days are really tough, but if you take a look at the great big picture, life is great. Seriously, I can only recommend adding another tiny human to an already messy household’ I replied.

Its like my sister told me when I asked her why she is getting another dog, when she already has one. ‘Since I do everything anyway for Pluto, why not do it for one more?’ And so she got Micky. And after a hell of very difficult first year, they learned to love each other and have become inseparable. Did you see what I just did there? I compared the addition of another tiny little human to the addition of another pet. I know, I know. It is very naive and too simple. But you know what? Simple is good. Simple is sometimes better.

N. & I have been having the same conversation every night for the past 19 months and 3 days. HOW DID WE LIVE WITHOUT PETROS? And honestly, I don’t know. I think back at the very dark period in my life when I first found out I was pregnant again & I try to understand the heartache. Why was I so devastated? So blind? My old self infuriates me. But I am not holding a grudge anymore.

I think the most valuable lesson my little guy outside taught me is to embrace imperfection. I have become softer, calmer and more forgiving. Mainly with myself. And that is a huge thing my friends. HUGE. I don’t drown anymore in guild trips. When I fall, I gather my pieces and get up again. Perhaps stronger than before.

And during this self transformation I decided to share the love I have for food and started my own food blog. And this is an invitation for you my lovelies to get engaged. There is a link on http://www.wonderbitesbytatu.com where you can subscribe and get my recipes per mail, you can like my facebook page, you can follow me on instagram or spread the love and help me build my tribe!

Are you with me?

until next time

love

t

 

be kind

You know what I dislike more about New Year’s resolutions? It’s the constant pressure we feel to push ourselves into becoming the best version of ourselves. The problem with that is that in order to achieve that, we lose our real selves in the process. We become something we are not, only to fullfill society’s expectations of what we should do or who we should be.

I am through with making unachievable resolutions. I don’t feel the need to be something more. I am happy with who I am and what I have.  I just want to be here, to be present, to be appreciative. I cherish the good days and I mess up on the hard ones. The only difference is that I am kind to myself either way and I move on.

And you know what? Once the weight of needing to turn into the perfect you has been lifted, you feel liberated. Free.

Be kind to your family, be kind to your friends. But most importantly be kind to yourselves. ALWAYS.

until next time,

love

t

this is my truth

I don’t want to make any excuses.

I don’t have time. I am guilty of using this phrase every now and then and although it seems to be most of the time true, it actually isn’t.

Yes, having three kids and a household to take care of doesn’t leave me with a lot of ‘free’ time, but it all comes down to HOW I chose to spend this ‘free’ time. Most of the time you will find me in my kitchen. Sometimes I am too tired to do anything productive which is OK. Ever since the little guy outside made his début I find myself in a constant state of accepting and embracing imperfection.

Talking about imperfection I have decided to embrace my imperfect little belly which depending on the angle of the picture makes me look 3 – 5 month pregnant. I am at my pre-pregnancy weight but my body has changed and I have learned to respond with a smile at innocent little five year olds who ask me WHY I have such a big belly. Instead of badmouthing my body I tell them that I have been lucky enough to grow inside me 3 utterly nauseating at the time wonderful creatures and that I love to eat. 

I still breastfeed my 17 month old blessing of a wonderfully vivid and healthy boy. I officially apologize to any of you I had silently criticized about extensively breastfeeding your toddlers before. I never planned to nurse him that long and although I am in a constant forgetful sleep deprived mode, I am no way near weaning him because the truth is, I still cherish this special bond. So, for all of you who are dying to ask me the same question I have been asked a zillion times in the past six months when will you stop? the answer is whenever I feel ready.

I love making plans. Sure, making plans and actually executing them are two different things but even if the plan doesn’t work out it doesn’t mean it was not worth it in the first place. That being said, the execution of my BIG PLAN to start my own food blog has taken a bit longer than anticipated, not because I didn’t have the time until now it’s because ”life happens while you are busy making other plans”. But I am determined to make it happen, so stay tuned 😀

Last but not least. Appreciate the small things, learn to let go & enjoy life.

Chose to be happy.

until next time

love

t

   

numb

For the past few days I have been complaining to N. about feeling overwhelmed. How life with my three HEALTHY children for the past 2 1/2 months has been draining, exhausting and nerve wrecking.  I even told him that my mom was probably right. I couldn’t DO IT ALL. I was probably not cut out for ‘this’.

And while I was trying to keep my cool and not yell at Jannis for waking his little brother up from his much needed nap, I came across a picture of a little boy. THE little boy. In the red shirt. Lying on the beach. Face down.

My heart stopped.

I closed my eyes. I wanted the image to disappear from my head. I desperately needed it to be fake. A hoax. Oh, how I wish it were that simple…

His name was Aylan. He was 3. He drowned along with his 5 year old brother and their mother while fleeing Syria. His father was the only one that ‘survived’. Although I am not sure if alive is how he feels right now.

Anger. Despair. Panic. Shock. Breathlessness. Sadness. PROFOUND sadness & guilt.

Who am I to complain about such trivial things as not getting enough sleep? What ‘problems’ am I really talking about?

We don’t have ANY problems. Not any big ones anyway. Our ‘issues’ are not permanent. We haven’t suffered any horrible losses which have left irreparable voids in our hearts and lives.  We are going through a slightly challenging phase, which will soon pass.

Right now we have each other and this is the richest we will ever be.

until next time

love

t

what mother’s day looks like at our home

I am not big on commemorative days. For all sorts of reasons. Why should there be one specific day to celebrate something/someone? I mean, do you feel more in love on February 14? Are you less of a mother worthy of celebration on the remaining 364 days? Maybe I would feel less strong about it if it were celebrated in a simpler way. Not in the lets-buy-some-more-commercial-crap-to-show-our-love-on-the-day-we-are-supposed-to kinda thing.

That being said, when the kids gave me their handmade mother day gifts last Friday my vision became temporarily blurry as well. And although I didn’t get to see my mother yesterday I too wished her a happy mother’s day. And when Omi (my German grandmother) came to the phone I wished her happy mother’s day too and told her that if it weren’t for her none of us would be here right now (for all intents and purposes I left all the males out of the equation). And yes, subconsciously I hoped for a day full of flowers, hugs, kisses, mommy awards etc.  Instead I got a Sunday, similar to any other family day of the year. Let me paint you a picture:

• Early wake up by the little guy outside in a soiled diaper followed by Yianni’s daily homework battle timing vs sleeping in
• Siblings fighting over who gets the bigger egg for breakfast vs breakfast in bed
• Struggling to convince the kids that I am not their slave/housemaid/personal cook while yelling at them to clean their mess up vs the family enjoying some quality time while peacefully playing HOTEL
• Trying to unhook the little guy’s claws hands from my legs so I can prepare his long overdue lunch while screaming at N. that he needs to take him NOW vs enjoying lunch on the seafront with all three kids behaving impeccably
• Blabbering something like this is not how I imagined to spend the day to N. with him replying that I should have told him it was important to me and he would have made the effort #MEN vs a joined effort of N. & the kids to surprise me with, well, anything
• Dancing with the kids in our living room vs dancing with the kids in our living room
• Iliana cited a poem she learned by heart and I was so moved I had to record it. Three. Times. Yiannis borrowed my phone, inserted the correct grammar spell check and typed up a note with how he feels about me vs nothing would beat that

You know. Reality vs picture perfect & utterly unrealistic family moments. And it got me thinking. Why should I waste my time thinking of the things I would like to have instead of the things I am actually blessed to have?

Let’s be authentic and impulsive and appreciative of each other EVERY day. Doesn’t that sound much better?

Until next time

love

tatu

14

Its been a while. I know. I don’t want to make any excuses.

It’s not like I am juggling between keeping alive raising three kids, cooking a decent meal (or two) daily, cleaning the mess they we leave behind, washing the dirty clothes (I am currently competing with the dirty clothes cabinet and the shitty humid weather), chauffeuring them from school, organizing their clothes (epic fail no1) and their toys (one would think I would get wiser-epic fail no2), taking them to the doctor’s, working on sibling conflict resolution, keeping the little guy outside somewhat safe, doing the grocery and farmer’s market shopping, feeding and grooming the pets, ironing N.’s shirts (I have come to accept wrinkles, wrinkles are my friends now), nursing the baby, teaching the baby to eat solids, carrying the baby 24/7 around the house as he is currently going through the I-don’t-see-my-mom-where-is-she-she-is-gone-forever separation anxiety phase, supervising Yianni’s homework and last but not least, being a loving, appreciative, awesome wife to my partner in crime of the last 14 years.

14.

I am not an anniversary kinda gal, we usually both remember it a few days later but today he remembered. So, did I (after he reminded me of it).

So, today (and everyday) I feel grateful for him. For the last 14 years.

Today, I am celebrating LOVE.

Until next time

love

t

Breastfeeding: a true story

This is by no means a bragging post.

This is simply me, wanting to document the third (and last) journey of mine while I still have the luxury of exclusively breastfeeding the little guy outside.

There are certain things about breastfeeding that no one tells you about.

When you become a mom for the first time, you are immediately flooded with all kinds of insecurities concerning the well-being of your newborn. The weight you are forced to carry for being solely responsible for its survival, weighs heavy on your heart and soul.

Then, your milk comes in. And it hurts LIKE HELL. And you turn into an ugly Dolly Parton version of yourself (I could draw you a picture but I am pretty sure you’d rather not). You begin to wonder:  Is this how it’s supposed to feel? Is this normal? Do I have enough milk? And along with the pain, the hormones and the self-doubt you get an overflow of information (you never asked for in the first place) from relatives and acquaintances trying to impose what THEY think is best for you. And while you are trying to tame the inner voices, a smart-ass, formula bribed, so-called pediatrician pays you your first visit and informs you that your baby is losing weight and that YOU might not have enough milk and that they might need to supplement with formula.

While I experienced all of the above I was one of the lucky ones. I had my sister’s back. She had previously nursed all three of her girls and reassured me that although it sure didn’t feel like it at that point, it would eventually get better & I would even enjoy it.

It took 2 whole months, a different pro-nursing pediatrician and the LLL (La Leche League) support group to make it work, but it did. And after the first very hard couple of months I started seeing the beauty of it.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all moonlight and roses. Here are a few examples of what breastfeeding was/is to me:

• For the first few months your baby is like your key chain. Glued on to you. Especially if your baby eats irregularly (all three babies suffered from acid reflux which on some days meant that they were on the breast 24/7).
• You can NOT smoke/drink alcohol/starve as this will affect your milk supply.
• You might have to say bye-bye to certain foods/drinks which make your baby fussy. Because lets face it, fussy baby=sleepless mommy.
• Your milk is light=easier digested=frequent night waking.
• You feel like super woman. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Which brings me to the next point:
• You become mesmerized by the power of nature.
• You get sick, baby gets antibodies through your milk, baby doesn’t get sick.
• You have the power of the tit. If everything else fails, put your baby on the boob and it will immediately calm him down and drowse him off to dreamland.

Last but not least, do what you feel is BEST for YOU. If you feel like nursing is your thing, do it. If you feel that your baby will strive more on formula, do it. And feel damn good about it.

Until next time

love

t

 

 

 

disgusting facts of motherhood, part 1

Remember a few weeks ago how naturally high I was from all the love and gratitude I felt pouring out of me? Remember how I bragged about being more calm and peaceful now with my three little bundles of joy(?) than I have ever been? That it can be done. Nothing seemed impossible.

That was before N. left for a 2-day business trip abroad.

I usually take refugee at my sister’s when he needs to travel or have my mom stay over or my mother in law help out with pick ups and drop offs at school.

However, this time, the universe decided to teach me a lesson and slapped me in my face challenged me by ‘sending’ my tribe to all kinds of strange locations as far as possible from this I-can-do-it-all-by-myself-mama.

This was day one:

I woke up at 06:15 feeling completely and utterly nauseated. If you know me, you know I don’t do nausea. If you ask me what the worst thing that my kids can bring from school is I will rank the stomach flu on top of my list. It is even worse than lice. That is how much I detest it.  I mumbled something of the sorts to the husband who was packing his carry on luggage and in an attempt to find a solution to the problem (nauseated mama + 3 kids + 35 minutes drive to school) he suggested the only logical thing a man would suggest: ‘If you are feeling too sick to drive stay home and let the kids skip school today’.

I gave him the look. You know, THE LOOK. The you-didn’t-just-suggest-I-help-Yiannis-cut-class look. It always amazes me how much power wrong wording can have on someone’s facial expressions.

Once N. left, I had twenty minutes to pack their lunches, fill up their water bottles, feed Benny, close the house and remember to take all three kids with me. Oh and the bucket, plastic bag(s) and kitchen roll which I threw on the passenger seat as my attempt to at least keep it clean.

36 minutes later we arrived safe and sound at school. I had hoped that after dropping off the kids at school that the nausea would start to subside as the first stressful task of the day was behind me. In an attempt to convince myself that I was feeling better I left the school and went to the nearest super market to do my weekly shopping. As I entered the mall and passed by the fast food restaurant on my right I felt the intoxicating smells of deep fried dishes attacking my oppressed nausea and the whole what-if-I-need-to-throw-up-right-here-right-now kind of panic took over.

In a desperate attempt to ignore the signs of my body I put the little-guy-outside in the stroller and headed towards the deodorant section of the super market.

Note to self no 1: when nauseated, avoid all kinds of smells. Even the AXE anarchy for men. Especially THAT.

Along with my very disgusted almost to0 sick to keep it together kind of look I went looking for diapers.

Note to self no 2: when nauseated, any kind of disgusting visual (even little precious baby’s pooh) might trigger the unthinkable.

As I was now speed shopping through the super market and desperately trying to shush my inner alarm voice, I was also having to deal with the screaming underfed baby in the stroller.

Note to self no 3: when nauseated, successful problem solving skills are non existent. Out the window. Gone.

I quickly decided to find a quiet place in the upper floor of the super market to nurse him as my shopping cart was full and there was no way he (or I) would last through the check out lines without attracting everyone’s attention. So as I was walking towards the men clothing section I spotted a well hidden (or so I thought) kind of bench. I parked the stroller, took the baby out, started nursing him only to realize that my time had come. That instant when you realize that you must unlatch the baby, throw him the safest you can back on the stroller, grab the plastic bag and picture yourself as Kristen Wiig in the Bridesmaids, is one of a kind my friends. One of the I-never-ever-ever-would-want-to-relive-again kind of moments.

Note to self no 4: when nauseated, by all means DO NOT NURSE

Until next time

love

t

and this was day 2