twenty-five

From that night on, the atmosphere at home changed completely. A warm wind blew on our love, reviving embers that seemed only too willing to burst into flame. As for my son, I had decided to adopt the principles Claude had suggested: to stop making such a big deal of parenting and taking things too much to heart. In short, to take my daily chores less seriously. “Come down from your cross, we need the wood,” Claude had told me one day with a laugh, to help me understand I had to give up my role of a martyred mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown and look at things in a different way.

First and foremost, I took the time to become more interested in Adrien’s world. On the sly, I got myself up-to-date with all the latest news from the world of soccer. I even learned by heart the names of the best players and the main rules of the game. So instead of being a dreary waste of time for me, the next match night was a real joy: the astonishment on the faces of my boys was something to behold! For once, Adrien sought my attention as much as his father’s: “Did you see that, Mom?” he kept shouting, slapping my back like one of his friends. And when his favorite team scored, it was my arms he jumped into to howl “Goooaaal!” There was no doubt I’d scored a goal or two myself.

I also tried to learn about his musical world by listening to his favorite singers: Bruno Mars, Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj, Jason Derulo, David Guetta. The first time I joined in singing one of his favorite songs, he was amazed, and I thought I saw something like admiration mingled with respect in his eyes.

My new approach completely altered the tone of our relationship. At last we were beginning to talk to each other again.

Taking advantage of this, I tackled the contentious issue of his homework.

“You know, Adrien, I hate it when I get angry with you. When I have to shout at you about your homework and then we have an argument. It makes me feel dreadful . . . I’d really like things to change, wouldn’t you?”

He nodded.

“Do you think you could tell me why you find it so difficult to get down to your work?”

He took his time to think this over, and I was touched that he was trying so hard to explain.

“I don’t know. The problems aren’t easy, and there are too many of them. And then you get so angry about it that I get angry too. I’m scared I’ll mess up and you’ll shout. Which means I don’t even want to try anymore.”

This hit home, and I thought of Claude’s advice to lay my tendency to criticize to rest and instead to talk of my own feelings, to say “I.”

“When I get upset,” I explained to him, “it’s because I’m worried for you. I think about your future, and I’m scared that you don’t take your studies seriously enough. It’s so important for later on that you work hard at school. What I want is for you to have the best possible life when you grow up.”

“I know that, Mom. But you worry too much! You don’t trust me enough.”

“That’s possible,” I admitted with a smile. “I’m only trying to be a good enough mother.”

“Whoa! You’re a supermom.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Of course,” he reassured me, taking my hand in his with an impish smile.

My heart swelled with gratitude. I thought of the positive learning techniques Claude had taught me.

“What do you think about changing the way you do your homework?” I suggested.

“How?”

“Well, we could try to make it more fun, for example.”

“That’d be cool.”

“Gimme five!”

We high-fived and then had a big hug.

“I love you, Mom,” he murmured into the crook of my neck.

I hugged him even tighter.

“And I love you too, sweetheart.”

From then on I started to help him with his work in a way that was less orthodox but oh so much more fun. For example I used the principle of Grandmother’s Footsteps for the answers to his homework: you can take one step toward the table if you get it right, but go back two if you get it wrong. Or learning lessons through singing. It was a huge success! Not only did Adrien learn three times as quickly, but he also enjoyed himself.

I used the same approach to help with cooking. Instead of making myself hoarse yelling for help that never came, I thought of a trick to motivate Adrien: I convinced him to create an imaginary restaurant with him as head chef. His eagerness to join in and play the game surprised me: I hadn’t expected such a positive reaction.

He took the idea so seriously that he even created a completely original recipe for meatballs with seven spices, Indian style. I diced the meat, and he minced it. I cut up garlic, and he made breadcrumbs. Whereas normally it was almost impossible to get him away from his screens, he seemed completely fascinated by this. The final stage of rolling the meatballs in egg and then the breadcrumbs with sesame seeds was a real celebration. I had a flashback to him five years earlier playing with Play-Doh in that magically absorbed way little children have.

During this intense cooking session we didn’t say much but smiled and gestured in complete harmony. As a Michelin-starred chef, Adrien enjoyed giving me orders as if I were his assistant, a role I accepted happily because I was so pleased to see my strategy succeed.

These changes also gave me more time and energy to undertake another hugely important task: launching my new professional project. I had made up my mind: I didn’t want to carry on with my career in sales but to go back to my first dream—to design and make children’s clothes.

As Claude never ceased reminding me, it was time for me to make what I did with my life coincide with who I was and what I believed.

I began by making exploratory inquiries. In my heart of hearts, I didn’t want to take on a franchise; I wanted to create my own brand, my own concept. I quickly had to face facts, however: the market for off-the-rack children’s clothes seemed saturated, and there were very few openings.

Another unavoidable conclusion: with the economic crisis, people would never spend huge sums on baby clothes that would be too small only a month later.

So what could I do?

Inspiration came when I did some “googlestorming,” something Claude had mentioned as a good way to come up with ideas.

I came across a Dutch company that proposed a kind of “fashion leasing”: you rented a pair of jeans for a year, just like a car or an apartment. By paying a five-euro monthly subscription, clients could be sure they always had a brand-name article of clothing that was trendy too, while at the same time promoting sustainable fashion and in the end being able either to buy the article or to return it and rent something else.

My brain kicked into gear: Why not use the same principle for baby clothes? Ethical garments for children from birth to three years old. I could give them added value by making each one unique in design and fabric. I would only need to link up with manufacturers of basic sustainable clothing—rompers, T-shirts, pants—and then customize them. Fashionable ready-made clothes to suit every budget. I felt like I was onto something.

My mind was racing, carried away by my enthusiasm. All parents love to create a “look” for their child. Who hasn’t drooled over adorable, tiny baby clothes? The only snag: the prohibitive price of items that are outgrown so quickly. But with my idea, proud parents would be able to renew the wardrobe of their little darlings by leasing rather than buying it! I did a quick calculation and confirmed that a five-euro monthly subscription could work.

I enthusiastically set to work on the details of my project. I began to create my first basic designs to have something to show my future partners.

On Claude’s advice I approached a business incubator—a company that helped entrepreneurs develop new ideas—and prepared a thorough business plan to present to them. After that, I crossed my fingers in the hope that the company’s accreditation committee would accept my proposal.

Things were looking decidedly rosy. I could feel the good vibes. Two weeks later, when I received a positive response from the start-up people, I almost collapsed in gratitude. And in spite of what were after all reasonable doubts, Sebastien had decided to support me. Now all that remained was to announce the “good news” to my mother. That thought was much less enticing. To her, having a staff position was the only possible way to work. Knowing her as if I had brought her into the world—rather than the reverse—I was very apprehensive about telling her. And I was right to be.