Archive – Page 12 – The Mum Reviews

How to become something you never thought you would be

Does anyone else remember being about 18 years old (or even younger) and thinking they had the world all figured out?

Did anyone else think they were complete at that stage? “I’m an adult now and this is who I am.”

Maybe it was just me. But boy was I wrong. Now I’m in my ~~late~~ 30s, I’m finally starting to realise that I’m becoming a new person all the time – that I’m not complete and that it’s never too late to become something you never thought you would be.

I think at my age it’s easy to feel a bit discouraged about your prospects – like it’s getting too late to learn something new or succeed at something you never tried before. But then I need to remind myself of how much I’ve changed since I was 18. Since then I have:

Moved to a whole foreign country and learned to live happily in a different culture
Built a pretty decent career-like thing that I’m not ashamed to talk about at dinner parties (in case I ever go to any).
Grew two humans and learned how to keep them alive.

And those are just the really big things.

At the same time, a fear of failure has all too often kept me from success. I have a history of being a quitter. If anything seemed too hard – or the prospect of success too good to be true – or it seemed that failure was imminent, I would just give up while the giving up was good. It happened with just about every sport or hobby I ever tried. It also happened with a few career choices I pursued in my youth. I was going to be a star of screen or stage but I never even actually tried that.

I’ve told myself I enjoy being a jack of all trades, but really I’m afraid I can’t be the master of any of them. And fear never did me any favours (I have to remind myself when undergoing any medical procedure that fainting does not help). Strictly Ballroom had the best ever mantra:

That’s why this blogging lark has become so important to me. I’m not going to give up on this one. Some weeks it’s hard. I can’t think of anything to write, or nobody is reading what I do write. Some days, being a mum and all, I’m just so tired and I want to stare into space and drink a glass of wine. Today is one of those days.

But I’m going to write instead. Because sometimes the feelings that make me feel like sitting around doing nothing are actually put to better use by writing. I can write it all down and put it to rest.

Writing is one of the things I’ve always loved but was too scared to properly pursue – especially fiction writing. The blog is teaching me that I can write and that writing isn’t always about who is going to read it, or whether I become famous or even recognised at all.

It is also teaching me that it’s never too late to reinvent yourself. I can be a mum, a wife, a friend, a blogger, and a writer. You can finally go and climb that mountain you’ve been looking at, or take steps towards changing your career to the one you really want.

You’re never too old (or too young) or not good enough.

Have you given up on things you loved before? Is there something you always wanted to try?

What is up with Bonfire Night? A guide for foreigners

I recently wrote a post defending Halloween, so it is only fair that I write something about Bonfire Night. I grew up in the USA, and before I moved to the UK, I had never heard of it, and then I found it roundly baffling. Once I got used to the weirdness, I’ve really enjoyed it. It is, however, pretty difficult to explain to my American friends and family.

I remember my first year in England back in 2001, when people started mumbling something about Guy Fawkes and the distant pops of fireworks became a regular occurrence for at least a week. I had a relative visiting from America and we giggled about people saying “Guy Fawkes” in their cute English accents and didn’t really try very hard to understand what it was all about. Something about Christianity and bonfires.

After that, I somehow managed to not really get involved in Bonfire Night for years. I’m not really sure what I was doing, but I was dating someone who wasn’t keen on crowds (a man who was later upgraded to husband and still doesn’t like crowds). I remember him mumbling something once about taking me to London to eat a toffee apple, but it never happened.

So I never actually attended a Bonfire Night celebration until 2009 when we had become regulars at a local pub and it presented another reason for a piss up. I had fun that night. Macho men built massive fires and endangered life and limb lighting fireworks in irresponsible ways. It made me interested in the tradition and what it was all about.

The main occasion for fireworks in the USA is obviously Independence Day (the 4th of July), during which we celebrate getting shot of the British and their stupid red coats. As an American who has set up home back in Britain, I’ve obviously rejected that holiday. I have renounced my independence. But one has to mourn the chance to engage in some nationalistic fervour whilst watching explosions.

So it’s a good thing we have the same thing in Britain! Obviously it’s not about independence – people throughout history have needed independence from Britain, not the other way round. But there is a fair amount of nationalistic fervour.

For any readers who don’t know the story behind Bonfire Night, here is my take on it and the history that led up to it. It is fascinating and super eccentrically British, imho.

Henry VIII was pissed off that he couldn’t conceive a male heir with his wife, plus he fancied having some other wives. So he rejected Catholicism, which wouldn’t stand for that sort of thing, and declared himself head of the Church of England. Then he could totes marry whoever he liked.
Later, Elizabeth I got pretty hard-arsed about it and decreed people MUST attend Church of England services. She executed Catholic priests and whipped and/or imprisoned people practising Catholicism.
Her successor, James I, at first gave Catholics reason to hope for more toleration, but he didn’t deliver on it.
This pissed off a breakaway group of young Catholics, who thought it might help matters by bumping off him and most of parliament – and then installing a Catholic head of state. The Gunpowder Plot was born.
Guy Fawkes was just one of a group of conspirators, but he was the explosives expert. So he’s the one who got caught planting 36 barrels of gunpowder under the Houses of Parliament on 5 November 1605, in the hopes of blowing it sky high.
Poor old Guy and some of his mates were hanged, drawn and quartered for treason.
There then was an actual act of parliament declaring that the 5th of November should be a day of Thanksgiving for, um, the king and parliament not being exploded and stuff.
Part of this celebration is the burning of an effigy upon a bonfire. In early days, this might have been the pope himself, but poor old Guy is the main scapegoat nowadays. So schoolchildren might build a “guy” for burning on the bonfire.
These celebrations also involve fireworks displays and the eating of toffee apples. Although our local party only seems to have sausages.

I just love that it takes me so long to explain why people like to set off fireworks and burn things on 5 November. That deep sense of history is something that is much more pervasive than it is in the comparatively young USA.

So now that we have kids, we love an excuse to go to a local community event (not a piss up), watch some fireworks and buy some overpriced glowsticks. And I’m so happy that I can watch fireworks safe in the knowledge that I’m doing it for relatively defunct nationalistic reasons.

Warming Beef Stroganoff Stew recipe

This is a recipe that I love to make if I’m craving soft, tender beef and a warm bowl of dinner. I like one pot, one utensil meals. Am I lazy? You bet.

My family are homebodies. I love an afternoon indoors with the children playing and a pot of stew stewing. I found some lovely beef steaks the other day on sale in my local grocery. I had thought of surprising my husband with a grilled steak dinner, but a rain and wind storm threw that plan right out of the window. Instead, I decided to stew up the beef with potatoes, carrots, peas and mushrooms. It’s the kind of stew that can be done midweek; if you only have an hour before dinner and can manage fifteen minutes to get it started, you’ll easily be able to walk away from it until you plate up.

If you’re not a fan of soured cream or crème fraiche to stroganoff the stew, you’ll still have a hearty, flavourful soup, but I think the creaminess and light tang accompany the potatoes perfectly. Traditionally, you’ll find pasta in a stroganoff recipe, but this is my one-pot, gluten-free, family-friendly version.

You’ll need:

1-1.5lb beef steak (approximately two medium-sized steaks) cubed
1 tsp veg or olive oil
1 tsp garlic granules or fresh crushed garlic
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp beef stock concentrate
1 cup chopped onion (I use frozen)
1 cup chopped/julienned carrot (approximately one medium carrot)
1 cup chopped mushrooms of choice (I finely chop so they disappear and the kids don’t know)
1 cup petit peas (I use frozen)
15-20 baby potatoes (small Maris Pipers)
4 cups of water
½ cup (or more to taste) soured cream or crème fraiche
Salt and pepper to taste

The method:

Using a nice deep pot over a medium-high heat, add the cubed beef, oil and dry spices. Coat the beef with the spices with a quick toss in the pot, and then allow the beef to brown deeply on at least two sides. If the bottom of the pot starts to stick a bit, don’t worry, that’s flavour that will come up with the water.

Once the beef is browned, but not cooked through, add the beef stock concentrate and a splash of water to dissolve. I do this right in the pot and add just enough water to allow me to loosen the concentrate.

Add the onion, carrots and mushroom to the beef and stock mixture and allow the onions to just go translucent; you don’t want the beef to cook completely.

Add the potatoes and peas, then cover with water. Bring the water to the boil and then reduce the heat to medium-low, just enough to maintain a simmer. You can walk away from this for up to 45 minutes, checking occasionally to be sure it’s not sticking to the bottom or needs a top-up of water. I don’t bother peeling my potatoes, and only halve the largest, so I like to give this a while to bubble. If you are pressed for time, you can peel and cube the potatoes and halve the cooking time, but be careful they don’t turn to mash.

Once the potatoes are soft and the broth has reduced by about half, add the soured cream/crème fraiche and turn off the heat. I probably use a little more than ½ cup, but my family all love soured cream on potatoes. The beef is so tender by now, it won’t even need a knife. I’ve shown the kids plate version and my warmer bowl of succulent stroganoff stew to tempt you. This is a simple recipe that absolutely oozes flavor, give it a go!

Halloween is not an American import, says the American import

Right, so I’ve got to capitalise on the season and write some seasonal posts. The next seasonal fun in store is Halloween. As I grew up in America, I think I have an unusual perspective on the whole thing.

First I should explain that I’m one of those immigrants who is more British than the British. I have a deep love of my hard-earned crimson passport and I embrace British culture wholeheartedly. I’ve assimilated. I can’t really change my accent, but I can choose to say trousers instead of pants. I know my aubergines from my eggplants and I never, ever talk about fanny packs (mind you, I’ve not even considered wearing one since the early 90s, but I saw a 6th-former wearing one today so maybe they’re back).

I drink real ale. I drink my tea with milk and would NEVER heat the water for it in a microwave (a popular American pastime). I am good at queuing. I am willing to accept less than impressive customer service because I wouldn’t like to make a fuss. I think baked beans are perfectly acceptable to eat at breakfast time.

But one time of year when I am entirely and unashamedly American is when it comes to Halloween. My childhood memories of getting dressed up and going trick-or-treating are among the best for me. I may have made a few dodgy costume choices as a pre-teen which got me teased at school, but the sweets (you see, I said sweets, not candy) made up for it.

I’ve been shocked over the years to find how resistant some British people can be to aspects of Halloween that they consider to be American imports. A recent Telegraph article quotes survey results stating:

Some people have negative impressions of Halloween, seeing it as an “unwelcome American cultural import” (45 per cent in agreement). Furthermore, not everyone is convinced that “trick or treating” is harmless fun for the kids (33 per cent).

So here is a bit of history to put Halloween in perspective, and an explanation of why people really ought to lighten up and embrace the fun of Halloween.

A Halloween history lesson

Contrary to popular belief, trick or treating is not wholly an American invention, and Halloween has a long provenance in the UK.

Halloween originally comes from the pagan ritual of Samhain. Celts believed that the dead would return to earth on Samhain, and they would wear “costumes made of animal skins to drive away phantom visitors” (History.com), and leave offerings out for roaming spirits.

After Christianity came along, Samhain got replaced by All Souls’ Day, in which people honoured the souls of the dead. Halloween is All Hallows’ Eve and is part of the All Soul’s Day vigil. In the middle ages, part of this festival involved “souling”, in which children and poor adults would dress up and beg for food and money by singing songs and saying prayers on behalf of the dead (Today I Found Out). Sometimes, people would even cross-dress while they prayed for fertile marriages during Hallow Mass.

The “trick” part of Trick or Treat also has more British origins than one might think. You may be familiar with “Mischief Night” in which traditionally young people played pranks and even damaged property on 4 November – the night before Bonfire Night (The Guardian). Leave it to the Americans to take something the British invented, slap a shiny name on it and sell it back.

Trick or treating is safe and fun for kids

Lots of people worry about the safety of Halloween for kids, but with the correct precautions there is no reason to worry about this. No one had more protective and cautious parents than me and I was still allowed to go trick or treating, with my parents when I was very young and with a group of friends as a pre-teen. There were simple rules:

Don’t go to houses that haven’t turned on their lights and added some sort of decorations.
Don’t go inside anyone’s house.
Stick with your friends or a responsible adult.
Don’t eat any sweets until parents have checked the wrappers for structural integrity, stray razor blades and/or poison (urban legend).

I was never allowed, nor was I interested in, performing any “tricks”. As far as I know, almost no actual trick or treaters do this. Adorning houses with toilet paper and throwing eggs are for bored teenagers who will find any excuse.

And kids just love trick or treating. What’s not to like about accumulating sweets? I took my older son out for the first time last year (at age 3), and I’ve rarely seen him quite so excited. He’s been counting down the days until autumn so he can go again.

Plus, I think trick or treating is good for children’s people skills. It takes confidence to knock on someone’s door and present yourself politely to be provided with sweets. When I took my son, I was so proud the way he said “trick or treat” with a smile and always remembered to say thank you.

Halloween is good for the community

I’m lucky enough to live in a little village where people have some semblance of community. We come together to prevent anti-social behaviour that ruins Halloween for everyone, but we can also come together to celebrate it. Besides the grownup fancy dress parties at local pubs, which often raise money for charity, there is a general festive feel on Halloween night in my village.

Not everyone participates, and that is respected, but lots of houses are lit up with jack-o’-lanterns. Some people even make little haunted gardens for people to walk through on the way to the door. The adults enjoy chatting at doors and while they pass each other on the streets.

Some people really resent the notion of being expected to provide sweets to children. No amount of British acculturation can get me to understand why anyone wouldn’t enjoy making children happy with such a simple gesture. I get excited to hear a knock at the door and see their smiling excited faces.

Dressing up is fun and not scary

Children love dressing up and role play anyway, so why not have a whole day that gives them an excuse to enjoy it? Fancy dress fosters imagination and creativity.

The thing that really confuses me is that many British people think you HAVE to dress up as something scary on Halloween, and that not doing so is uniquely American. However, my history lesson above describes a long history of non-scary Halloween outfits.

When I took my son to his school “Pumpkin Party” this year, I saw no less than 10 little skeletons waiting outside. Boring! My son was a completely non-scary fireman. He got to dress up as a hero! And someday, I’d like to think that he’d be perfectly free to dress as a burrito.

So get carving

According to this interesting history of the Jack O’ Lantern, the practice of carving them comes from a rather creepy Irish folktale about a jerk called Stingy Jack. Originally, in Ireland and Scotland, people carved faces into turnips and potatoes to ward off Stingy Jack and his unsavoury mates. When the custom came to England, they used beetroot, which sounds very scary indeed.

Using pumpkins is an American import, but they are clearly more fit for purpose than turnips. But if it makes you feel more British, go ahead and use some other sort of root vegetable. Or even branch out and use an alternative squash.

The point is, Halloween has a long tradition in this country, even though traditions have grown, changed, and been influenced by other cultures. So, turn off your lights, dress normally, and keep your sweets to yourself if you like … but Halloween is just as British as baked beans at breakfast.

How do you feel about Halloween? How do you celebrate it (or not) in your family?

Does your bedtime routine actually work?

The bedtime routine has taken on a sort of magical status in our house in that I dare not depart from it in fear that the kids would not go to sleep. However, I’m starting to wonder if it is as effective as I imagine. Herewith, a dramatisation of a typical evening in our house.

18:00 BST

Mum: It’s bathtime!

4yo: Nooooooo! You need to have a picnic with me and then I need to tidy the picnic away!

Mum: Fine. Drinks imaginary drinks and pretends to eat plastic food. Finished! Now it’s bathtime.

4yo: I just need to tidy up the picnic. Very carefully proceeds to put all the plastic food in the plastic picnic basket. Then very … slowly … folds the tiny picnic blanket in a tiny square shape.

Mum: Ok NOW it’s bathtime.

4yo: But but but…

Mum: I will remove pasta from your reward jar! 4yo begins running up the stairs. Hey you, 1yo, it’s bathtime.

1yo: In manner of Churchill Dog Oh no no no no.

Mum picks up 1yo old and carries up stairs as 1yo arches back and impersonates a piece of timber.

18:15 BST

Mum: 4yo, please sit on the toilet.

4yo: I’m too tired.

Mum: The sooner you go to the toilet, the sooner you can go to sleep. Pulls down 4yo pants and places him on toilet. Removes the rest of his clothes in anticipation of bathtime. Hey, 1yo, let’s get you ready for bathtime!

1yo: Oh no no no! 1yo runs away and hides in a corner. Mum picks him up and takes him to his changing mat while he once again impersonates a piece of wood. Removes clothes from 1yo and places him on his potty.

Mum: Hey, 4yo, are you done on the toilet?

4yo: singing whilst remaining on toilet Tomblibooooo Tombli Tombli boooooooo!

Mum: Runs bath. If you’re done on the toilet, you should get off the toilet!

1yo: cackles as he pushes toilet seat aggressively onto 4yo.

4yo: Oooow! Brother hurt my back!

Mum: THEN GET OFF THE TOILET. 4yo gets off the toilet. Now brush your teeth. 4yo brushes teeth and fed up mum wordlessly lifts him up and deposits him into the bath. Ok 1yo, now it’s your turn to brush your teeth.

1yo: Oh no no no no.

Mum picks up 1yo and places him on the stool by the sink. 4yo impersonates jelly and melts down onto the floor. Mum tries to pick up 1yo. 1yo returns to wood impersonation. Mum lays 1yo down on lap and forcibly brushes teeth, then places 1yo in the bath.

4yo: My brother is stealing all the bubbles! Aggressively moves all the bubbles to his side of the bath.

1yo: Screams because he has no f*cking bubbles

Mum: Pours water over both children’s heads. Washes hair and body whilst ignoring screams and protestations.

18:45 BST

Mum: Time to get out of the bath!

1yo: Oh no no no no!

Mum: forcibly removes wood-like toddler from bath, dresses him and leaves him in his bedroom. Ok 4yo, it’s time for you to get out too.

4yo: But I just need to finish making this volcano. Mum watches while 4yo fills a cup with water and then covers it with a flannel.

Mum: Ok, now let’s get out. I’m going to count to three. 1 … 2 …

4yo: In mortal fear of reaching three, opens the drain of the bath and gets out. Runs into bedroom with towel and hides underneath it. I need to be a pillow!

Mum: Pretends to use towel-wrapped 4yo as a pillow (like every night) Wow, this pillow is sooo comfy. Ok now put on your pajamas.

No response. Mum picks up 4yo and applies his pajamas while he ignores her and attempts to build a bus stop out of Duplo bricks.

Right, now play in your room while I get your brother to sleep.

19:00 BST

Mum reads stories to 1yo and actually enjoys this bit, with cuddles and giggles. Then she lets him drink a large quantity of water. Then she sings Twinkle Star and places him into bed with appropriate toys and dummy. Turns musical projection mobile on. Does secret prayer that this bedtime ritual will work tonight.

Mum: Night night, sleep tight, Mummy loves you, see you in the morning. Magical phrase must be repeated exactly the same each night.

19:10 BST

Mum reads no less than 4 stories with 4yo while he offers continual non-stop explanation of all the illustrations. 4yo gets in bed and mum turns the Gro Clock on (VERY IMPORTANT).

Mum: Would you like a song tonight?

4yo: Yes but it has to be a NEW song that you haven’t sung before.

Mum: But I have already sung you all the songs I’ve ever known.

4yo: Fine, then just sing “Summer of ’69” again.

Mum: I got my first real six-string, bought it at the five and dime, played it ’til my fingers bled, was the summer of ’69! Mum continues to do her best Bryan Adams impersonation while 1yo starts crying in the other room. Okay, big boy, time for sleep. Kisses 4yo.

4yo: 4yo kisses Mum precisely 5 times on the cheek in return and then shouts, Weird!!!

Mum: Night night, sleep tight, mummy loves you, see you when your sun comes up. Runs next door and puts 1yo back in bed.

19:30 BST

Mum goes downstairs, cleans up toys, does the washing up, puts a load of washing on, pours a drink and sits down to watch telly and/or blog. She hears a squeaking doorknob and crying. She runs upstairs and puts 1yo back in bed. Goes back downstairs, takes a drink.

19:40 BST

4yo: shouting from his bed I NEED A POO!!

Mum: Shouting back from downstairs THEN JUST GO!!

19:55 BST

4yo: Still on the toilet, singing Tomblibooo, tombli tombli boooooo!

1yo: Waaaaaa! Mummy mummy mummy!

Mum: runs upstairs. 4yo, please get off the toilet. Puts 1yo back in bed. 4yo is still on the toilet. Mum has to physically remove him from the toilet and assist with wiping and hand washing. Puts 4yo back into bed. Then puts 1yo back into bed again.

20:05 BST

Mum goes downstairs and gets in a solid 10 minutes of blogging.

20:15 BST

CRASH BANG! Mum runs upstairs. Toddler has removed all the clothes from his wardrobe and wedged a toy lightsaber behind the radiator. Mum tidies up, puts toddler back in bed, and goes downstairs.

20:30 BST

4yo: Shouting from his bed again Mummmmyyyyy! My covers are all messed up.

Mum: runs upstairs, fixes 4yo’s slightly disarrayed covers. You know, you could fix these yourself.

4yo: I love you mummy.

Mum: I love you too now please please please go to sleep!

1yo: Waaaaaaa! Mum puts 1yo back into bed again.

21:00 BST

All is finally quiet. At last, mum can do some writing, maybe watch Bake Off. She finishes her glass of wine and falls asleep drooling on the sofa.

What’s bedtime like in your house?

Shredded coriander (cilantro) chicken recipe

I grew up in California, and I’m pretty sure my first solid food was refried beans. My grandma used to joke that my mother’s first meal outside of the home was at their local Mexican restaurant – a mom & pop kind of place. The owner scooped up my infant mom and sat down with my grandparents, ordered her husband to fetch some refried beans and soft tortilla, and let my mom suck the beans off rolled tortilla while they ate. Home-cooked Southern food is in my Texas-born grandfather’s recipes, and Latin food is a staple I’ve grown up with.

This recipe has been adapted for family life, like so many of mine. I desperately try to balance home-cooked goodness for my family and the desire to let someone else cook. As an essentially lazy cook, I’ve ditched the whole chicken version my family used in days gone by. I go for boneless, skinless breasts and thighs … let the butcher do it! I have made this with a whole chicken, when I was away from home and wanted it ‘just like mom’s’, but I spent so much time scooping out bones and yuck that I got a facial. Using the prepared meat allows you to walk away for ages and never steam your glasses.

You can easily and quickly make this recipe with just one breast (of chicken) if you’re only cooking for two, but I tend to go all out so I have plenty of leftovers. I use this in burritos, nachos, salads, sandwiches – it’s incredibly versatile. If you make a large batch, you can freeze a fair bit for an even easier midweek solution. For this recipe, I gave the kids burritos with a little cheese and soft flour tortillas, I had a taco salad with the meat, cheese and salsa as dressing, and my husband opted for corn tacos. Everyone is happy! Hope you enjoy this as much as we do!

You’ll need:

2 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2-4 boneless, skinless chicken thighs
1 tsp vegetable oil
1 cup chopped onion (I use frozen)
1 cup chopped red/yellow peppers (I use frozen bell pepper mix with green if tight on time)
1 medium carrot, shredded (about ½ cup if you’re using pre-shredded/julienne)
1 large bunch/2 cups chopped fresh coriander/cilantro (4+ cubes if you’re using frozen)
1 TB minced garlic
1 tsp ground cumin
1 tsp smoked paprika
1 tsp dried oregano
½ tsp chili powder for heat (optional)
1 tsp salt
½ tsp ground black pepper

For serving:

Tortillas, taco shells, salad, bread rolls or corn chips – your choice.
Shredded cheese to serve with the above as you see fit. I like Red Leicester or Double Gloucester for creaminess.

The method:

I despise chopping onions, so I’m a big fan of frozen chopped onion I can keep on hand. I’ve also found the onion and three pepper blend from the frozen section really useful for this recipe in particular, but if I can’t find it in the shop, I start with chopping the onion, a red pepper and a yellow pepper. The same goes for the carrot … I’m super lazy and buy pre-shredded, but if you’re cool doing it yourself, I recommend the cheese grater for one medium carrot.

Use a nice, big, deep pot for this one, and start with the oil, onion, peppers and garlic over a medium-high heat.

Toss in the dry spices and mix well. Add the chicken pieces and coat with the mixture before allowing it to sit for a minute and add colour.

You’ll only want to cook the chicken for a minute or two on each side, not nearly cooking through, for colour/flavour only. Once the chicken has a little golden brown on a couple of sides, add the shredded carrot and completely cover the chicken with water. The chicken will boil now until it shreds completely, as the water reduces.

While the water comes to a boil, rinse and roughly chop the cilantro/coriander, including the stalks. The more the better, in my opinion, so feel free to add up to 3 cups if you’ve used a lot of chicken. I prefer to take the time with fresh coriander here, because frozen just doesn’t have the same punch.

Add the chopped coriander to the boiling water and reduce the heat to maintain a simmer.

This is where you can walk away for ages. Occasionally give the mixture a stir to check the chicken is still mostly covered with water. After 30-45 minutes, the chicken should break apart if pressed against the side of the pot with a wooden spoon. Every once in a while, over the course of the next 30 minutes, use your spoon to encourage the chicken into smaller pieces.

If you’re rushed for time, or just keen to help, keep the temperature a bit higher to keep a rolling boil and use two spoons to break up the chicken. If you’re happy to let the water do the work, you can keep a mild boil ‘stirring’ the meat for you for about an hour. Just be sure to check it’s not sticking on the bottom once in a while.

As the water reduces, step in and break up the meat to expose it all to the sauce before it’s gone completely. I usually find a fork isn’t necessary – just good stabbing, twisting and mashing with the wooden spoon (great for letting off a bit of aggression in a legitimate way).

Once the chicken is nicely broken up, allow the remaining water to boil away, stirring frequently at the end to avoid burring.

The result is an easy filler for lots of different dishes. Straight from the pot, I load up a flour tortilla with a bit of shredded cheese for my kids and roll it up. They’ve been smelling it and can’t wait!

What to do with those roast dinner leftovers?

I love soup, especially in autumn, and I’m always so excited to have steamy bowls of slurpy goodness. My kids, not as keen, and certainly not as clean, on soup. My go-to solution since they were tiny is to serve soup over rice, like in my albondigas recipe.

Add a little, add a lot – it depends on the consistency and flavor your kid enjoys most. If the soup is liquidy, a couple of teaspoon of cooked rice soaks it up. If it’s a cheesy or creamy soup, just a small amount will add texture and thicken, allowing young diners to use their own spoon. We love encouraging our little ones to feed themselves, freeing our hands for food of our own.

This little tip comes in handy for all sorts. I’ve been known to make an enormous roast dinner with too many leftovers (haven’t we all?).

Warming autumn dishes using whatever ingredients you have in

The method:

Cube up some gammon/chicken/beef (or forget the meat!)
Warm it in a small shallow pan with a splash of water
Take some leftover cauliflower cheese, put it in a deep bowl, add some milk and warm it covered in the microwave for a minute or two
Give it a good smash up and it basically becomes soup.
You can add a bit more milk if you want to loosen it.
Once it’s nice and warm, and considerably smashed, add a little rice, the meat, and any spare veg you have from the roast

It’s a bit like bubble and squeak, but with rice instead of potatoes. Enjoy!

Hope and the jumping bean

I was inspired to try my hand at a bit of fiction by One Frazzled Mum’s writing in response to The Prompt linky on Mum turned Mom. This week’s prompt is hope. Please be gentle with me. I haven’t tried to write fiction since I was about 12. This is completely made up and not autobiographical or about any real person.

Hope stands at the window looking at the driving rain. She loves being indoors in her warm home while rain batters the window and the branches of trees bend in the wind. She cracks the window open and takes a breath of the air that smells of dry soil stirred by raindrops.

The rest of the house is silent and empty. She walks to the sofa and picks up her phone. No messages. No notifications. She opens up her Facebook app and starts scrolling.

All of the usual stuff is there. A friend from school who works as an estate agent has closed on another mansion. Political posts. Someone baked a cake. Someone else is on holiday. Several people have adorable children.

Hope checks her watch. Another ten minutes has passed. Some people think she’s old fashioned for wearing a watch. Most people just look at their phone. If she did that, she would have lost her phone a hundred times over. She checks the time a lot. She lives by the clock.

She hears the key rattle in the lock and feels that familiar little jump of happiness in her chest every time her other half comes home. It mixes in with all the nervous flip flops that were cavorting in her stomach and makes her feel sick again. As her partner, Peter, walks in the door, she rummages in her handbag for a piece of gum.

“Oh finally you’re back! We’re going to be late,” she says, anxious and distracted at the same time. She finds the pack of gum and pops a piece in her mouth.

“We’ve got plenty of time!” Peter says brightly. “Are you ready to go then?

Hope smacks her gum loudly and gives him a look. “What do you think?” Then she stands up, grabs her coat and walks purposefully out the front door to get in the car. Peter follows.

The radio blares loudly when the car is first turned on. Hope loves listening to the radio on full blast. An Ed Sheeran song is playing. He’s one of her favourite artists, but not today. She quickly changes the channel, then pairs up her phone to the sound system so she can choose what music she wants to hear. Maybe a bit of Iron Maiden. Aggression and no fear.

Hope sits in the car with her hand on her stomach. She can’t feel anything really. Just like last time. She has felt just exactly the same as last time all the way through. A little bit sick. A little bit hungry. A little bit like her bra is becoming too small. Does this mean that it would happen again?

She had told her friends this time. She wasn’t waiting for this appointment. Last time it was harder to tell them when she was already grieving. When they couldn’t understand why she disappeared for a while. Why she was so sad – and is still so sad. Nothing is ever going to bring back what was lost, even if today brings good news.

Peter parks the car and they walk across the car park, through the sliding doors, up the two flights of stairs and down a long hallway. They enter a small waiting room and Hope walks up to the counter.

“I’ve got an appointment at 1:15,” she tells the receptionist.

The receptionist is distracted, doing twenty things at once. She asks, “Do you have your notes?” Hope hands them over. The receptionist takes them. “Take a seat,” she says.

Hope and Peter sit down on the hard plastic seats. There aren’t any magazines in the waiting room. Just various health-related leaflets. Hope ignores them and tries to check her phone, but she doesn’t have any signal. She grabs Peter’s hand and he squeezes hers in return. They wait in silence for what seems an eternity.

A woman calls Hope’s name. Her stomach jumps, flips and ties itself into a knot. Her eyes start to black out a little bit around the edges and she feels lightheaded. She has to take deep breaths to stop herself from total panic.

Hope and Peter follow the woman who called her name into a darkened room. “Right,” the woman says, “just lie down and lift up your top, and we’ll go ahead and take a look.” Mercifully, she doesn’t ask any other questions or say anything else.

“This might be a bit cold,” the sonographer says as she squirts gel on Hope’s stomach.

Hope holds her breath as the sonographer probes her stomach with the ultrasound wand. She pushes the wand into her stomach and Hope hears nothing. She moves it again and again. Hope takes a deep breath and then holds it some more. She closes her eyes tight.

Then, a swishing noise. The sonographer smiles and turns her screen to where Hope can see it. “There we go,” she says, “you take a look while I just take some measurements.”

Hope’s eyes fly open and she looks at the screen. She decides to hold her breath some more while the sonographer draws little lines on the screen with her mouse.

“Everything looks fine,” the sonographer says. Hope breathes out and finally allows herself to look – really look – at the screen. She sees a little jumping bean, full of life and potential.

If you’ve been affected by the issues in this story, please check out Tommy’s for support.

PND and believing you deserve to get help

Recognising the problem

I’ve been procrastinating over writing this post for a while. I’m hoping to publish a series of guest posts on parental mental health, which I’m kicking off with my own contributions. I’ve published my story of anxiety after having my first child, and a guest post on new mums and mental health generally.

But this post – the story of the PND I experienced after my second child – is the most difficult. World Mental Health day is on 10 October and it’s given me a kick up the rear end to share this story. I’m not sharing it to get sympathy, but because of the fact that I doubted myself. I doubted that I was sick enough to get help. I thought I ought to just get over it.

There is a huge problem in our society in which mental illness is not taken as seriously as other types of physical illness, including within the National Health Service. It is well known that there is not enough help for mental illness on the NHS. It is not clear what help is available and much of the help that is available sits at the top of a long waiting list.

On top of this, many still feel that admitting to struggling with mental illness carries a stigma. This is particularly a problem for women suffering with postnatal depression.

“What if they think I’m a bad mother?”

“What if they want to take my baby away?”

“What if the medication means I can’t breastfeed?”

My story

For me, I was not worried about the stigma, nor intimidated by the difficulties of getting help. It was taking myself seriously that was the problem. I didn’t even realise that I needed help.

I was over the moon at the birth of my second son. I had a natural birth – the thing that I’d wished for and had eluded me with my first. I was also happy that with the second child, I felt that my family was complete. I did not enjoy pregnancy and was incredibly happy to know it was finished and I never needed to do it again. And of course, my son was beautiful, as babies always are.

It’s hard to say if there were any number of factors that contributed to my PND. My baby spent time in special care for feeding problems. Some other things happened to friends and family that upset me, and then we had a house guest that came for a week and stayed for a month. My son was born in November, but by the time February rolled around – that darkest month of the year – I was in a dark place.

I spent every day on my sofa crying. I wasn’t even sure what I was crying about. I felt insecure. I didn’t want to leave the house. Also, I felt so incredibly angry. My older son, who was about 3 years old at the time, was having some difficulties getting used to having a baby brother and that was affecting his behaviour. So he was a little more challenging than usual and I was less equipped to deal with it. I used to bite my bottom lip so hard to stop myself from shouting and exploding with anger. It seemed like my bottom lip was permanently stuck under my teeth. I felt guilty for being angry with my son.

It took me a long time to take my feelings seriously. I blamed myself and my own lack of self-control for the feelings of anger. I called myself lazy and weak for not wanting to leave the house. I felt foolish for feeling sad so much of the time. I had everything I wanted, so what excuse did I have to be sad?

I didn’t think there was anything a doctor could do for me. I thought I just needed to grow up and deal with it. Having a baby and a young child is hard work. I thought it was par for the course. And I kept suffering.

And then one day a leaflet dropped through my door. It was for Ieso Digital Health, an NHS service that offers Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) via secure instant messaging on a computer, smartphone or table. It said that you could refer yourself to the service, and it didn’t matter if your symptoms were mild, moderate or severe.

The penny dropped. I realised I desperately wanted to talk to someone about how I was feeling.

So I took the leaflet to my doctor and asked her to refer me to the service. It turns out that was the wrong thing to do, and I could have just signed up online without even going to the doctor. In the end, she referred me to a different service that involved talking on the phone instead of online.

I found CBT difficult in a lot of ways, especially over the phone. I think I would have preferred hiding behind my laptop screen. The idea of CBT is that it helps you examine your patterns of thinking so that you can see how they’re being unhelpful to you, and this can empower you to change them.

In some ways I didn’t like it because I felt like I was being blamed for how I feel. But I made an effort to engage with the therapy, and it did help me channel some of my angry feelings when my son was winding me up. The therapy helped me remember logically that he wasn’t doing it on purpose – he was only a young child – and that I had the power to choose how I reacted to it.

The sad and insecure feelings were more stubborn. They hung around until I ran out of birth control pills and forgot to refill the prescription. Within a week of stopping the pill, I started to feel better. I decided to stop taking them altogether and I’ve felt better ever since. It may have been a coincidence, but recent research is showing that depression can be an adverse effect of hormonal contraceptives.

What I’ve learned

My story exemplifies a number of challenges we have around mental health, and maternal mental health specifically. These include:

Helping women to take their feelings seriously – to not to be ashamed or afraid to talk about how they’re feeling and to ask for help.
Taking mental health as seriously as physical health.
Raising awareness of the symptoms of PND and other maternal mental health problems so that people will be equipped to recognise when there is something wrong – not just in themselves but in their friends and family.
Increasing the availability of appropriate mental health services on the NHS.
Increasing awareness of how to get help on the NHS, and the range of services that are already available.

The leaflet that popped through my door saved me. It came at the right moment. But we shouldn’t have to rely on chance for people to receive the help they need.

If you are feeling down, angry or anxious, please speak to someone. The Mental Health Foundation has a useful list of some of your options for getting help. And if you see a friend or relative struggling, please don’t look the other way.

I would like to publish as many stories about maternal mental health as I can to spread awareness. If you would like to write a guest post with your own story or perspective, please email me: themumreviews (at) gmail.com.

Potatoes ‘Bravas’ with chicken recipe

My husband is Portuguese South-African, and I’ve grown to love paprika in an unusual way. Chorizo is something special; if you’ve never tried cooking with this sausage, I encourage you to try this recipe and discover the joy. I try to find a good quality, hard chorizo, simply because most ‘cooking’ chorizo is incredibly fatty. If you can’t find any, don’t worry, the recipe calls for it optionally for depth of flavour.

This is a take on the Spanish patatas bravas: crispy cubed potatoes heavily spiced and fried. I try to keep midweek meals to one pot, and this is a good one if you add chicken strips/chunks to the pan. My kids are big fans of sweetcorn, so I always keep a tin on hand. With this dish, it adds a crunchy sweet freshness that curbs some of the spice. I usually drain the corn, but keep it room temperature and sprinkle on like a sort of veggie crouton.

If I don’t have a lot of time to stand at the stove, this is also a fabulous tray bake for about 40 minutes in a 180C/375F oven. I try not to use too much oil and salt, but you can use your judgement and taste buds for this quick, flavourful meal. It usually only takes twenty minutes to cook, if the potatoes are in small cubes, and it’s something I fall back on if I’m short on ingredients. Most are staples I have on hand, and it takes very little prep.

You’ll need:

1 or 2 white potatoes, peeled and cubed
1/3 cup chopped red or white onion
1/3 cup roughly cubed chorizo sausage (optional)
2 tsp veg oil of choice
1 or 2 chicken breasts sliced into strips
1 tsp garlic granules
½ tsp paprika
½ tsp cumin
½ tsp oregano
1 tsp salt (to taste)
2 TB chopped tomato
Approximately 1 cup sweet corn

The method:

If you’re lucky enough to have found a lovely chorizo, start with slicing and quartering about a 1/3 of a cup and add it to the warming pan. I use a cast iron pan, but you can also use a wide-based pan that’s good for browning. I keep the temperature around a medium-high while the chorizo warms and begins to run paprika juices – it smells amazing!

Add the onion and potato to the oil produced and stir until they are coated with the colourful paprika oil from the chorizo. Then add the veg oil and dry spices, coating the potatoes evenly before leaving them to brown.

If you aren’t using chorizo, add the oil, potatoes and onions all together with the dry spices and give it a good mix before leaving to fry over a medium high heat.

Stir infrequently to allow colour to form on all sides of the potatoes. If the spices begin to stick to the bottom, rather than adding more oil, try adding a splash of water from the kettle and gently scraping the bottom of the pan with a spatula. This will also help soften the potatoes in the steam produced.

While the potatoes are softening, I slice up the chicken into small, even strips that will cook quickly. If you’re going for the tray bake, try to keep the chicken pieces a little larger so you can put everything in at the same time and they won’t be overdone.

Add the chicken to the potatoes before your next scheduled stir, and toss everything together to coat the chicken with the contents of the pot. Again, refrain from too much stirring so you’re sure to get good colour on most sides of the potato cubes and chicken.

Add the chopped tomato and give it another good mix-in. The chicken should be cooked after 10-15 minutes, and the tomato adds a bit of tenderising acidity.

You should be able to break a piece of chicken apart easily with your spoon, and the same again with a potato cube, after 20-25 minutes. Drain your sweet corn, or slice from a fresh cob if it’s the right season.

Plate up with a sprinkle of corn over the bravas, and enjoy! My kids don’t even ask for ketchup with this, because the tomato and spices in the dish keep it moist. The chicken stays tender and flavourful for the quick cooking, and I’m in and out of the kitchen in no time. If I’m really pressed for time, I toss everything together into an oven tray and check on it for a stir every 15 minutes until it’s done. Either way, it’s a winner, winner chicken dinner in my house!