Twins

Oh, it's been a while.

But for good reason: our darling identical boys were born on December 30th, and arrived home at a quarter to midnight on December 31st to a spectacular display of fireworks.

We've taken our sweet time getting to know them but even so, in the blink of an eye, the so-called "fourth trimester" has flown by and I've found myself putting away size 0-3 month sleepsuits and vest tops - forever.

The bony toes and ankles you see above have filled out into deliciously plump feet that I kiss every time I change their diapers; their saggy knees no longer the sharp obtrusions that jutted out below my ribcage but now round little mounds that dig into my postpartum belly when I lift them up to burp.

Although our house has remained inexplicably calm since their arrival (quiet, except for the indignant screams of hunger when I'm a second too slow in providing breast or bottle), for weeks I operated in a robotic survival mode: methodically changing diapers, feeding, and burping before gently laying them back down in their cot to sleep without so much as a cuddle.

"Don't!" I shouted at my parents who held them for a minute too long after burping. "They'll get too used to falling asleep on you!"

My mother obeyed me but looked forlorn putting Twin 1 into the cot; my dad almost always succeeded in making them fall asleep on him with his gentle, rhythmic pats.

I had trouble accepting them into our family life at first - it was an adjustment for us all. Their arrival was almost disruptive - a breaking of the bond between me and our eldest. At least, it felt like that to me. I wept as I watched my son play contentedly with his new fire engine, a "gift" from the twins, which felt deceptive and merely a tool to distract him from the fact that I was hobbling around the house, trying to stay on top of painkillers and night feeds.

And I worried. Oh, how I worried: that our eldest was having too much screen time; that we still hadn't been referred to the tongue-tie clinic and it had been nearly two weeks since we were discharged from the hospital (both boys were found to have severe ties, as was the case with my first); that my husband was fatigued and wrought with worry over work; that my c-section scar hadn't healed properly; that I wasn't bonding properly with the twins.

Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

And then, one day, I opened my eyes, and they opened their eyes and looked back at me, and in that moment, I knew, I knew. Suddenly, it clicked into place and they fit into me in this outside world just as they did inside. Our bond was complete.

They were born with heads full of jet black hair: a pair of little ravens, with cries that filled the operating room like squawks and sharp, pointed little fingernails that bewildered and freaked me out.

Our eldest took an immediate interest in them, gently stroking their hair and kissing their knees. That's changed a little now: the hair-stroking is interspersed with violent rocking of the bouncers when he thinks we aren't watching, and blankets snatched from their laps, followed by a cackle of laughter, especially after seeing our stern expressions and hearing our exclamations of, "No, gentle!"

But, here we are: a family of five.

And we just fit. Like so.

Frankly, I'm Terrified

The first thing the midwife said to me when she read my file and saw that I was expecting identical twins (and that I had an 18-month-old at home) was: "You'll need to let some things go."

She was kind, but firm in her advice. And what she meant was: I won't always have a clean home. I won't always have time to put my son to bed and massage his legs after bath time and read three stories after dinner. I won't always be able to head out into the world with a full face of makeup and a chic, put-together outfit (not that there's much of that these days anyway, unless I'm heading into work!).

John has been gently reminding (read: nagging) me to start by letting some things "go" now - for example, stop making separate meals for our son (one weekend morning, I found myself simultaneously stewing apple, oranges, prunes and cinnamon to help with his constipation and preparing a slow-cooker chicken soup with four different types of veggies so I could freeze it and ask his nanny to give it to him for lunch).

"Your perfectionism will destroy you - or us," he said.

And he's right.

At the very root of the anxiety and depression I've struggled with for years is this obsession with "being enough". Doing enough.

And after the recurrent miscarriages I experienced, together with my son's difficult birth and subsequent hospital stays, the way I dealt with the trauma was to do my best to provide the best for my child.

To me, this meant breastfeeding him exclusively for nearly a year (until his interest naturally waned and he became fully weaned), even if it meant I was waking up at 3 or 4 a.m. to pump when he was asleep; even if it meant I bled from over-pumping; or that I couldn't get my hair cut for months because I was so anxious about getting back in time for a feed.

And when he transitioned onto solid foods, it meant preparing meals from scratch for him (luckily, his nanny does the lion's share of this now and she is an excellent cook), ensuring he had a fresh supply of whole fruit replenished every week, and that I was baking sugar-free cakes and waffles that I knew he'd love as snacks.

It meant creating the perfect nursery for him: with perfect Scandi-inspired decor, the perfect breathable pillow to rest his head on, the perfect sheepskin mattress topper to "keep him cool in the summer and warm in the winter", the perfect organic cotton cot sheets, and the perfect hand-knit doll that I felt would best comfort him at night if he were to wake.

He doesn't need any of these things - I know that. I know it. (Though - can I just say - his bed looks insanely comfy?)

And I know I've been doing all these things for myself, more than I've perhaps been doing them for him. Reassurance. Insurance. An apology for those terrible first days and weeks. Because somehow I still see it as my fault.

Because each four-layered muslin blanket and soft toy is a whispered, "I'm sorry."

And I know what he wants more than anything else - more than any green garbage truck replica (his current favorite) - is for me to play with him; to hold and cuddle him. Which I do. As much as I can.

And so, I'm scared. I'm scared that I won't know how to cope when the twins arrive and I literally can't "do it all".

Because doing it all - or attempting to do it all - is what keeps me sane, even when it's driving me to madness.

My goal in the next few weeks and months is to try to gradually begin to find a balance in all of this ... and to find time for myself and my husband too.

But it may be the biggest challenge I've ever faced, and I'm terrified of this journey.

Freddie's Flowers: Beautiful, Lasting Blooms

One of my favorite luxuries is having fresh flowers in the house. They brighten up any room, but I especially love having a bouquet standing smack dab in the middle of our dining room table. It's one of the first things I see when I come through the door, and it brings a little bit of the outside "in". Even when it's dreary outside. Even when I'm feeling under the weather.

And I used to treat myself to fresh flowers at the flower stand outside the tube station after work every few weeks or so: a small bunch of fluffy peonies here; a handful of blush-pink roses there. But now that I'm rushing home to a small child, every second counts - and my floral habit was the first to go.

I'd seen Freddie's Flowers, a floral delivery service, advertised before. But, can I be honest? I never tried it because my previous experiences with similar fresh flower deliveries resulted in  disappointingly sparse and droopy bouquets that didn't last longer than a day or two.

But not my deliveries from Freddie's Flowers. I woke to my first box on Monday morning. They'd been delivered to my doorstep when I was fast asleep, around 5:45 a.m. or so. I opened the box to the heaping pile of beautiful blooms above, carefully selected for their subtle but complementary colors - nothing stiff or old-fashioned about this bouquet. 

No - this was modern, fresh, and felt so very me. They instantly looked like they belonged in my home; something I would have chosen if I'd had time to peruse a flower shop for half an hour.

The plus side? This stunning bouquet stayed strong for over a week and a half before it began to show any signs of fading.

My second delivery from Freddie's Flowers arrived exactly one week later. This time, I knew whatever was in the box was bound to be fabulous, so I eagerly anticipated it all day (our nanny kindly took them in and arranged them for me, but you don't have to be home when the box is delivered!).

When I got home, I saw the most impressive bouquet of gladioli waiting for me. All Freddie's Flowers' arrangements arrive in bud and slowly bloom over a few days, so you can fully appreciate the flowers (and they last so much longer).

These gladioli were a magnificent statement piece in our house for several days (again, lasting well over a week) - especially when the bright pink, purple, and red reached their peaks.

I especially love that each delivery comes with detailed information about each variety featured in your bouquet that week, along with a sweet "snapshot" of how it looks when it's displayed. Plus, there are helpful, detailed instructions showing you exactly how to arrange them in a vase (raise your hand if you've been completely flummoxed before, and ending up hastily arranging the flowers in a way that resembles nothing close to what they were intended to look like!).

I have to say, as a former skeptic of flower deliveries, Freddie's Flowers has totally changed my mind. Their premium yet affordable bouquets are worth the treat - especially since they last for quite a while and the deliveries fit seamlessly into my busy lifestyle as a working mom. It's made me realize that maybe I can indulge in one of my favorite little luxuries once again.

Great news! Freddie's Flowers is offering Angloyankophile readers their first two boxes of fresh flowers delivered to their door for £12 each (saving £24!) with the code 'JAIMEFF' . Treat yourself! 

(I received my beautiful blooms as gifts from Freddie's Flowers. All opinions are my own.)

18 Months

Dear A,

Last night, you had a coughing fit. I went to your room and you were sitting up, crying - feeling very sorry for yourself. I picked you up and smoothed your hair back and held you in my lap until your eyes rolled back and your lids began to flutter closed. It was then that I noticed your feet were propped up against Goodnight Moon on the sofa. When did your legs get long enough to do that? I marvelled at this new discovery. As hard as I tried, I couldn't remember a time when your feet barely extended past my side - hovering mid-air, as I nursed you to sleep. I closed my eyes, partly through exhaustion, but partly because I wanted - so badly - to remember that time. 

I couldn't. 

You have grown again.

Last week, I took you to a play centre: a little town designed for babies and toddlers, with mini garages and a mini store and mini Bentleys and mini ice-cream vans and mini everythings. You always go for the cars. But halfway into the session, it was carnage: older kids commandeered wheelbarrows, shoving them into unsuspecting bare ankles while their moms chatted and ignored; smaller babies threw soft vegetables. A fabric eggplant landed by my feet. You'd wandered off - probably in search of a car to steal - but I was watching you across the room. As soft oranges flew and a wooden London bus was mounted, I saw you looking. Searching. You weren't scared - I wouldn't let you be. Just looking: tummy poking out, feet slightly turned in, arms in T-rex position. And then: you saw me. And the smile that crossed your face - oh, my darling. A thousand cliches come true. In that instant, my heart had never felt fuller. Until you reached me - over the fake grass, past the ice-cream van with the wooden cones now discarded on the floor - then it nearly burst. 

Last month, we took you to the beach for the first time. The pastel beach huts, lining the neat semicircle of the promenade, were shut for the morning. No one was visiting, except for the early-rising dog walkers, because high tide was just an hour away and the beach would disappear soon. The clock was ticking. Yet, time somehow slowed. I remember it being very bright - the sun was already fairly high, and your father slathered sun cream on your legs and face as I fastened your hat below your chin. You'd never even seen the ocean before. But somehow, you just knew: charging ahead with delight, curling your toes around the sand beneath your feet. You aimed straight for the water. I held your hands as the first tiny wave lapped towards us, covering your ankles. You shrieked with joy. You wanted to go further in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" I laughed, holding you back. The second wave caught your bloomers and soaked the edges. Again, you laughed. And I felt the happiest I'd been for a very long time. 

Because I remembered: we met in the ocean. 

An hour after you were born, I was wheeled - drugged and half asleep - to the maternity ward while you travelled by incubator upstairs to SCBU. In my post-labor/post-birth daze, I had a vision: we were both submerged, deep in the inky blue darkness of a vast sea. I saw you first, paddling towards me, gently pawing your way to me as I held my arms outstretched. Waiting. Ready. Your face had a curious, but certain, expression. 

You knew. So did I. 

You were not wrenched from me with forceps 18 months ago in an operating room with bright lights and doctors in scrubs and masks. You did not meet me for the first time wrapped in a white towel stained with both our blood, my finger shakily grazing your left cheek. You did not leave the hospital with notes that read, "born in poor condition". I did not weep for hours for you in the shower when we were apart. 

No, that is not how we met. We met before - in this brilliant blue ocean, surrounded by the force of love pulled from another dimension. I knew you, and you knew me, already. 

A (Baby-Free!) Spanish Feasting Brunch at Aqua Nueva

My best friend likes to say that we live our lives 'in parallel': when I studied abroad in England, she studied abroad in Spain. There, she dated a Juan while I dated John. A few years after I moved to London, my ultimate dream came true and she moved to the city too. We got engaged on the same weekend. And then: our babies were born four months apart. See? 

Sandwiched somewhere between the years above, when I was studying for a Master's degree in Renaissance Literature at York, Udita moved to Huelva, Spain - a little town outside Seville - and taught English to schoolchildren there. John and I flew to Jerez to visit her over Easter weekend and I have vibrant memories of waking groggily to the sounds of a Semana Santa procession; of drinking freshly squeezed orange juice with the scent of jasmine hanging heavily in the air; of shyly ordering a Shandy Cruzcampo at the bar in a terrible attempt at Spanish. Of an everlasting friendship that would ensure distances across oceans, continents, and life changes. 

So, Saturday, we found ourselves at Aqua Nueva on Argyll Street near Oxford Circus, excitedly eyeing the new Saturday Spanish Feasting Brunch menu. 

Neither of us had a drop of alcohol when we were nursing our babies and the temptation of Cava, wine, AND sangria on the menu was all too real. 

We tucked into crispy slices of pan con tomate and delightful little spheres of croquettes, before sharing a bitter leaf avocado salad between us - all the while laughing at our own inside jokes. 

Because that's what brunch is REALLY for, after all: a relaxed, easy way to share food and memories with best friends. 

The tortilla arrived at our table and I was excited - a traditional Spanish recipe I try so hard to get right (and always get so wrong: too egg-y or too potato-y or too bland). This tortilla was delicious: dense yet refined; light, yet packed with flavor. I would have liked more, but then there wouldn't have been room for the seafood paella, which I made the unfortunate mistake of letting go cold as I took it outside to photograph. 

With generous helpings of saffron, this paella deserved to be enjoyed outside on Aqua Nueva's beautiful roof terrace, but the weather that day unfortunately didn't play ball, so we heaped portions onto our plates indoors instead. 

The much-anticipated dessert was a plate of light and airy pistachio churros, served with a tangy mango and passion fruit sauce - not too heavy, which was perfect for us as we slinked off afterwards to check out the homeware and kids' sections of H&M just a stone's throw away, taking advantage of this very rare baby-free opportunity. 

I can't think of a better way to spend a lazy Saturday morning: brunch at Aqua Nueva, followed by a mini shopping spree on Oxford Street. 

We were guests of Aqua Nueva. All opinions are my own. The Spanish Feasting Brunch is available at Aqua Nueva every Saturday from 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm and is priced at £35 per person. (Information correct at the time of publication, but please call ahead if you want to confirm!).

Firsts

Last weekend, I drove with my baby in the car for the first time.

It was terrifying.

We were on our way to a first birthday party (there have been lots of those lately!) just an 11-minute drive away. And though there were no meltdowns from either of us (thank goodness) and though I successfully navigated two incidences of cars playing chicken with me on narrow roads (one of which was a police car with sirens on full blast), I was still shaking when I reached my destination and close to tears when I asked my friend to check that where I parked was okay.

But, I did it, and I talked to A in the car the whole time - trying to keep myself calm while listening to his sweet babbling.

On our way home, my GPS didn't take me the back the way I came for some reason, and I ended up on the roundabout of my nightmares, plus the freeway! Instead of panicking, I just laughed. Much like my first solo trip to IKEA (where I took a wrong turn and ended up on an industrial estate before going the wrong way down a one-way street while a bemused driver watched as I reversed onto a busy road), I took it as a sign from the universe that I could handle the unexpected.

And, thankfully, although I got into the wrong lane for the 20th time at yet another roundabout while exiting the freeway, I managed to get us home and through the door in one piece.

I know I need to practice more and I know my confidence drops the less I drive here.

But.

Oh, how I miss the wide lanes and generous parking spaces in the US!

Stay tuned for more driving adventures ...

p.s. how sweet is this hanger from Red Hand Gang - and this Tobias & The Bear tee (a gift from a friend!)?

To My Son, On His First Birthday

Dear A,

I got a paper cut the other day when I was opening a box of party decorations for your birthday. It was one of those stiff, cardboard Amazon envelopes and it sliced into the crease of my middle finger and palm, just as I tore it open. I yelped, but forgot all about it until I went to wash my hands later and felt a sharp sting: ah, that paper cut.

Just like how, after twelve months of getting to know you (of loving you), I've forgotten how much it stung to hear the words, "I'm so sorry, but the embryo stopped growing some time ago," in a darkened ultrasound room. The tears I cried when I saw the pregnancy test read 'negative' again. And again, and again. How I felt ripped in half when you were taken from me in the delivery room and whisked straight to the Special Care Baby Unit in an incubator your Daddy called, "the little fire engine".

Those paper cuts were cuts on my heart, but you healed them.

You know, your Gung Gung wrote me the nicest note when I told him about my miscarriages (note: your Gung Gung is one of the kindest, funniest human beings in the world, and you are too lucky to have a Gung Gung like him). He said: "Jaime, don't feel too sad about it, because it was not meant to be. Take good care of yourself, and a real healthy little person who is truly belong to you will come along [sic]."

And he couldn't have been more right: you truly belong to me, and to your Daddy, and you to us. You, with your expressive eyebrows and your mischievous grin; you, with your long lashes and perpetually flexed feet; you, who loves to explore your surroundings safely from atop the "Mommy Perch" i.e. in my arms.

My darling: on your first birthday, I want you to know just how loved you are, and how your Daddy and I wanted you - you - in our lives so very, very much. You have brought us more joy and laughter than we could have ever imagined and you make me, your mom, so happy every minute of the day.

Even when you sneeze oatmeal on my work clothes. Even when you bust out of your sleeping bag after I tell you not to. Even when you flip on your stomach and push the bear nightlight off the changing table when I'm getting you dressed in the morning. Even when I wake up with your feet firmly wedged between my eye and my nose, your big toe occasionally twitching (btw, sleep training officially resumes after your party. Sorry, mister!).

All these things make me smile.

And I hope we make you happy too: when Daddy blows raspberries on your tummy in the morning; when we take you to the park and push you on the swings; when I make cinnamon apple waffles for your snack.

I love you, A, always and forever. Thank you for making these past twelve months the most wonderous days and nights of my life.

Love,
Your Mommy xxx

The Juggle Is Real

I stole this line from an Instagram friend (@anglopologie), but it sums up my first week as a working mama pretty darn well.

I mean, it was a shock to the system!

I'm currently working four days per week: Monday - Wednesday in the office and Thursday from home. On Monday morning, I anxiously woke before my alarm went off, peered at my little one's sleeping face, crept out of bed, and proceeded to dress in the dark (I plan my outfit the night before now!). Gone are the days I'd change 5-6 times before leaving the house because I was unhappy with my original outfit. And buh-bye rolling-out-of bed-at-the-very-last-minute!

I did my make-up in a flash and scooped up the baby, who looked as bewildered as me to be up at this time of the morning. I changed him ("No, really, stop - STOP - wriggling. Mama does NOT have time for - STOP. STOP IT!") before plonking him in his high chair downstairs and proceeding to run around like a chicken with its head cut off in the kitchen, defrosting frozen cubes of food I'd prepared the day before for his lunch, while making peanut butter toast fingers for his breakfast and periodically feeding him spoonfuls of oatmeal.

Before I knew it, I heard a key turn in the door and our nanny arrived with her baby in tow (who's three months younger than mine), shouting a cheerful, "Good morning!". I threw on my coat and babbled, "He's not finished with his breakfast. He's due a poo today. He can have a yogurt as a snack and the porridge fingers I made last night. OH. I accidentally left his snowsuit in the washing machine, so you'll need to put him in the back-up-snowsuit if you take them outside. THANK YOU!"

And - silly move on my part - as I closed the door behind me, I looked back. What did the movies teach us? TO NEVER LOOK BACK. And I did, and it was THE WORST. My baby's high chair is (foolishly) positioned in view of the front door. So what did I see when I glanced back? The worried and confused expression on his little face; his neck craned to get a better look at me, his brows upturned in two perfect inverted commas. Right before the door clicked shut.

My eyes pricked with tears as I sped-walk to the bus and my emotions were made all the more worse when the bus route took us past the hospital and - I'm not kidding - the actual room I labored in. I mean, crazy, right?

But as soon as I got on the tube, I was in "work mode" again and everything quickly became both strange and familiar: the crush of commuters angling for an empty seat; the passive-aggressive 'tuts' and sighs when someone took up too much room in the doorway or aisle; the rush to get out of the station.

At work, everyone was very lovely and kept exclaiming how glad they were to have me back. I spent my first day or so filing away some papers (and re-reading previous emails I'd sent, surprised at my confident and authoritative tone and wondering if I'd ever achieve that level of assurance again) and scraping the dusty crevices of my brain for answers when co-workers came to ask me questions. They were there - just a little out of reach. I realized I need to re-familiarize myself quickly; like returning to school after summer vacation.

I nervously checked my phone for WhatsApp updates from our nanny (she sent pictures of a smiling baby clutching a balloon, then eating a mini quiche with his hands) and bolted out the door at the end of the day, running - no, sprinting - for the train home.

And he was not happy to see me. He was angry. I opened the door to a furious baby, standing in his Stokke Tripp Trapp chair, flapping his arms and angry-crying with an accusatory look as if to say, 'Where have you BEEN?' But, as soon as I picked him up and we had a cuddle, he forgave me (and when his dad came home from work early, he was even happier - I thought he'd take flight, his arms began flapping so maniacally!). We did his bath-time routine together as a family and put him to bed, before John and I cooked dinner together and caught up on our day.

By the time Friday rolled along, I really, really cherished having the whole day to ourselves - just the two of us. More so, admittedly, than if I were home all week long.

I still feel a little sick to my stomach on Sunday night just thinking of the workload ahead of me (I'm effectively cramming five days into four) and I'm sad that my juggling act has taken a real toll on this blog and my Instagram presence, but - I hope to carve a tiny slice of time out of my schedule to keep writing and creating.

Sending lots of love to working mamas (and SINGLE mamas - how do you do it?) out there. The juggle is very, very real.

Just A Spoonful of Sugar: The Mary Poppins Afternoon Tea at Aqua Shard

I was on cloud nine when I passed my UK driving test in November, so I took this feeling rather literally and treated myself to the Mary Poppins afternoon tea at Aqua Shard, a restaurant with stunning panoramic views of London located on Level 31 of the Shard.

Now, I don't want to ruin any surprises for you (in case you decide to treat yourself too), but suffice to say, the Mary Poppins Afternoon Tea is full of them. It's a tea for those who want to be delighted and dazzled; charmed and enchanted.

In short, it's anything but ordinary - and those who know P.L. Travers' books well will fan-girl all over the details.

From the menu etched into a gold-framed mirror (a recurring symbol in the books) to the plates adorned with Mary Shepard's original illustrations and the little bottles of "medicine" (homemade rum punch, lime cordial, and strawberry liqueurs that can be added to your champagne glass) - not to mention the warm scones which are presented at the table from within Mary's bottomless carpet bag - nearly every little detail from the books has been cleverly re-imagined for this afternoon tea with a literary twist.

Two bespoke teas have been created for this delicious afternoon tea experience, which I think work beautifully well with the selection of sandwiches and sweets: "Mary's Tea", which is an exotic but delicate blend of Darjeeling from India, Ceylon from Sri Lanka, Keemun and fragrant rose petals from China (a truly worldly blend!) and "Bert's Tea" for those who favor a smokier, richer fragrance to their tea (Souchong and Keemun from China, plus Ceylon from Sri Lanka, a hint of vanilla and Sussex cornflower).

The delicious finger sandwiches include Cackleberry farm egg and truffle (my favorite - I could eat that every day for lunch and never tire of it - the truffle lends a wonderful umami flavor), Dingley Dell honey roast ham and mustard, Ploughman's and a Devon crab and cucumber brioche (my second favorite!), plus mini crumpets topped with smoked salmon and cream cheese.

If, like me, however, you like to rush through the savoury bits of an afternoon tea just to enjoy the sweet selection, the Mary Poppins Afternoon Tea does not disappoint in this respect. My favorites were the oh-so-creative Mary Poppins' "hat" (mousse covered in dark chocolate with an edible flower brim and a black cherry on top) and the more understated homemade plum jam, which I greedily slathered onto warm raisin scones (pulled straight out of Mary's magical carpet bag!) before topping with clotted cream.

And of course, the "Fairground Candy Floss" (or "cotton candy", to my fellow Americans) was a very (and literally) sweet way to end the afternoon tea experience.

I savoured the view as much as I did the sandwiches, scones, and cakes (we had an incredibly sunny day, which offered spectacular views of the Thames and beyond) - and left humming, "Just a spoonful of sugar ..." on my way to the tube.

The Mary Poppins Afternoon Tea is the perfect gift for the New Year - I can't think of a better way to kick-start 2019 than with this whimsical tea (which will have you humming, "Just a spoonful of sugar ..." in no time).

Huge thanks to Aqua Shard for generously hosting us. All opinions are my own. The Mary Poppins Afternoon Tea is currently running until 3 November 2019 and is priced at £49 per person, or £66 with a glass of Veuve Clicquot Yellow Label Champagne, and £72 with a glass of Veuve Clicquot Rose. Book your table here. 

Expat Talk: I Passed My UK Driving Test!

You guys. After three months of lessons, a short hiatus (you know, while I gave birth and raised a baby, NBD), and two more months of lessons ... I passed my UK driving test!

It's probably my greatest achievement to date (besides giving birth).

I kid you not.

Driving in the UK is so hard.

"Oh, because it's on the wrong side of the road?" I hear you say.

No.

Because there are bikes that weave in and out of traffic, big red buses that look like they're heading straight for you, streets that are narrow AF, pedestrians who oh-so-casually just decide to dart in front of you while you're driving through a busy part of town because they can, and ... did I mention the streets are NARROW AF??

They are. (I once screamed during a lesson when a bus passed me because I thought we were going to collide. We didn't. Obviously.)

Not to mention, I was taking my lessons at 9:00 p.m. at night, when I was completely zombified after a full-on day (and night before) of taking care of an 8-month-old.

The first time I took (and failed) my test in London, I was 8 months pregnant. I waited too long to enter a mini roundabout and failed for "undue hesitation". I was so disappointed because I seemed to have the perfect test conditions: relatively empty roads, a sunny (but not too sunny!) day, a super easy route, and the easiest manoeuvre possible (pull over to the right and reverse two car spaces - versus parallel parking or bay parking).

I cried about it when I got home.

Then I went into labor two weeks later and had a baby.

Anyway.

This time, I had less than ideal conditions: heavy rain and heavy traffic. I was so flustered during my "practice run" with my instructor, I nearly burst into tears. Then, when I met the examiner, I was so nervous and disoriented, I started walking in the opposite direction to where the car was parked!

The first part of the test was the "independent driving" portion of the exam - basically, the examiner attaches a sat nav to your dashboard and expects you to follow the instructions for 20 minutes or so (they give you directions after that). You're allowed to ask questions for clarity, etc. but I nearly missed a turn, and thought two turns were much earlier than they were ... so, basically, I was pretty sure I'd failed early on.

At this point, I was feeling pretty miserable and, coming up to a mini roundabout (where I failed the first time around), I whispered, "What am I doing?" which probably wasn't the best thing to do aloud, but my brain somehow comprehended that I had the right of way, so I completed the turn with just about the appropriate amount of slowing down.

Phew.

By the time we returned to the test center, I was a shaky mess. And when the examiner turned to say, "I'm pleased to say you passed", my reaction wasn't one of joy, but of actual concern. I nearly began to point out all the mistakes I thought I'd made, but thought better of it at the last minute and clamped my mouth shut, mumbling a "thank you" instead, as she filled out my pass certificate (I ended up completing the test with only one minor fault).

Having taken nearly six months of lessons and taken the theory and driving exams in the UK, I can say that the standard of driving here is definitely higher than that of the US (though you wouldn't know it with the maniacs driving around where I live). For example, you're taught to check your mirrors each time before signalling, stopping, or pulling away (basically if you're ever changing speed or direction) which - unless I'm mistaken - we were never taught in the US. If you're caught signalling too early or too late (or not checking your mirrors at the appropriate time), it could be (depending on the situation) grounds for failing your test.

And yeah, I haven't driven yet since I passed (especially not with the baby in the back!). But I'm eager to get more practice in and build up my confidence again!

Do you drive? How many times did it take for you to pass your test? I passed my practical test in the US the first time, but failed the theory twice!

Interior Inspiration: The Baby Shelfie

As the end to our kitchen renovations draws tantalizingly near, I've shifted my focus to the nursery, where I'm hoping to move our little one imminently (though every night of sleeping next to him in his co-sleeping crib, I think to myself, 'Just one more night!').

It's pretty blank, save for a changing table, a single sofa bed, a rug, and a toy box, but we've ordered his "big boy cot" (a present from Granny, my mother-in-law) and I'm hoping to replace the framed poster on the wall where his cot will go (so not baby-friendly!) with wallpaper and some kind of soft wall-hanging (I've been trawling Etsy, but if you have any links, send them my way!).

So, I was super excited to get this bookshelf from Great Little Trading Company, which I'd pined after for quite a while. 

I built it myself (which basically involved putting a few screws in and using an Allen key once) and basically felt like Rosie the Riveter (though I waited for John to get home and mount it on the wall because I don't trust myself with a drill).

Annoyingly, one of the rods arrived warped, but I've rotated it in such a way that it doesn't show too much (I don't think). I wrote to Great Little Trading Company and asked for a replacement, but since they didn't have spares, they gave me the option of picking out the part I needed from a new set (and then returning that set to them - yawn, who has time for that?!) or opting for a £10 gift card ... I took the easy option, as I can see myself buying something else from them down the line (I love their toy boxes - we have a little pull along one).

Which leads me to the question ... what was your favorite book as a child? We've been reading 'Goodnight Moon' every single night (which my mom and dad read to me when I was small) ... and I keep skipping the same page every single night ('Goodnight nobody, goodnight mush.').

Let me know in the comments below!

Work in Progress

Week 3 of not having a kitchen.

First world problems - I know.

My dream fridge is in place (and is dispensing water and ice with a merry twinkle) and I've already (impatiently) stocked the pantry with spices, baby food pouches, Cadbury fingers, mango chutney and more ...

... but ...

... it's this view that's been making me smile every time I walk through the front door: by replacing the window that was previously there with this a single-leaf steel-framed door, we're now greeted by this glimpse into our garden instead of a sad-looking washing machine and sink.

And, my neighbor has given me a set of keys so I can use his kitchen whenever I need to ... we've been cooking and eating together, which has been lovely (he holds and entertains the baby while I eat!). I know. What did I do to deserve such amazing neighbors (they also nearly performed a citizen's arrest on John's brother who came to check on the house for us while we were away, as they thought he was breaking in - ha!)?

In any case, this work in progress is teaching me lessons in both patience and gratitude. Patience ... well, that's self-explanatory. But gratitude for the things we have and can hold and can press a button to operate and can open and shut ... but gratitude, also, for the things we can't immediately see: friendships, kind neighbors, beautiful views, and this life. 

News

Dear Friends,

Many of you will have already seen our news on Instagram, but John and I recently welcomed our sweet little boy into the world, four weeks earlier than expected. As a result, we spent quite a bit of time in the Special Care Baby Unit immediately after he was born and, subsequently, in the children's ward of the hospital for a further stay, but hopefully he'll be home for good now.

There were so many things I wanted to share with you about my pregnancy (it was a very, very happy time for me), but I chose to keep it offline for a few reasons - mostly because I've experienced multiple pregnancy losses and I wanted to protect friends who were in similar situations. I knew how difficult it was for me to see "bump updates" and week-by-week pregnancy updates online (even from people I knew and loved) when I was trying to navigate some of the darkest days of my life.

And because of this, I wanted to protect myself too, during this incredibly precious (and often terrifying) time.

I would love to write more about my experiences and share the story of our journey when I have a moment to begin processing it all, but for now, we are just enjoying getting to know our lovely boy. I won't be sharing any photos of him or his name at this time, but I look forward to slowly introducing him to you in different ways on this blog in the following weeks and months.

Welcome to the world, Angloyankobaby.

Lots of love,
Jaime xo

10 Things I'm Grateful For in 2018

1. Having a job that I secretly look forward to going back to after the Christmas break. When I was making dinner yesterday, John came up to me, all sad looking, and said he had a "case of the Mondays". First, I corrected him and said that he actually had a case of the Tuesdays, since that's when we were actually heading back to work, but then I felt bad for him because it made me realize that - sure, I was sad that our lovely holiday was over - but I genuinely wanted to go back to work again (and to see my friends there!). "Never leave that place!" he said, like a puppy that had been kicked. Poor thing.

2. Having a husband who puts Frozen on BBC iPlayer on his phone for us to watch when our flight's delayed (and who laughs at all of Olaf's jokes). Our recent flight from Innsbruck to London Stansted was delayed, then eventually cancelled (we had to take a bus to Salzburg in the end) due to "poor weather conditions" (i.e. fog). As I wasn't feeling great already, John wasted no time in distracting me with Elsa's magical ice kingdom. And I might have caught him crooning, "For the first time in foreverrrrrr ..." when we got home like, six hours later.

3. Peppermint tea. An all-around winner. Digestif and anxiety-reducer all-in-one.

4. Underfloor heating. We returned from our week in Austria with cold bathroom floors after turning off the underfloor heating before we left and I bellowed, "THIS IS INHUMANE!" (Yes, I absolutely realize that underfloor heating is a luxurious privilege and has nothing to do with human rights, but just roll with me for a moment on this one ...)

5. New technology. My UK driving test is scheduled for later this month and can I just say how much I'm looking forward to having driver-less cars in our lives? Every time I approach a roundabout, I feel like closing my eyes and hoping for the best (please don't tell my driving instructor that. Please.). For now, apps, Google Home (who provides witty answers to questions like, "Hey Google, do you want to build a snowman?" with, "Sure, the cold never bothered me anyway!"), etc. are making my life so much easier (which is all great until we begin to encroach on Black Mirror territory, at which point it all becomes a bit terrifying).

6. Our neighbors. They take in our oversized post when we're at work, put our trash bins back in their place when we're away, and popped around on Christmas Day for a chat and a drink. They cook for me when John's travelling for work and bring champagne over to share when it's their birthday. They shared their shower when our boiler was broken. WHAT KIND OF STREET IS THIS?!?!

7. London bus drivers. They deal with drunken abuse, the narrowest of streets, and cyclists that come out of nowhere (and I mean, nowhere - it's like they've Apparated ala Dobby in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets) with the patience of saints. 

8. Pubs. It took me over a decade of living in the UK to finally appreciate them, but yeah, I was the one who brightly suggested we stop in for a drink at the local pub on our muddy country walk to the next village last weekend when we stayed with John's dad. Back in London, we have our favorite (with our favorite table), and heading there on a frosty (or sunny) evening for delicious food, friendly company, and (sometimes) live music, is such a lovely treat.

9. Our new sofa, arriving February 2018. It's gonna be large, it's gonna be comfy, and I'm gonna disappear into it all day long.

10. Netflix, for introducing me to Korean soap operas. Thank you for providing endless hours of entertainment, which I listen to at a high volume despite not understanding a word and relying completely on subtitles.

What are you grateful for in 2018, whether or big or small? I'd love to know!

Floral Street

Nestled between Petersham Nurseries and Sandro on Covent Garden's fashionable King Street is the newest kid on the block, Floral Street - a gorgeous fragrance boutique founded by Michelle Feeney (best known for her role in bringing MAC cosmetics and that St Tropez glow-in-a-bottle to the UK).

You might have seen their beautifully designed bottles on Instagram already (which is where I originally spotted them), but the store itself is a treat to explore, especially if - like me - you've grown tired of the same fragrance brands popping up everywhere.

I've been wearing Neon Rose lately: a fresh, clean fragrance that's wearable in every season. Not too sweet or overly floral, it smells sophisticated - the kind of scent that makes your head turn when someone walks by. Its "hero flowers" are cyclamen, apple blossom, and bergamot, but its ingredients also contain a delicate blend of peach nectar, crisp amber, juniper berry, cassis kir, jasmine Egypt, white cedarwood and Sichuan pepper, for added depth and dimension.

Floral Street's fragrances range from fresh and flirty to dark and intriguing. I sat at their fragrance "bar" last week and sampled every bottle, wrinkling my nose at the thought of "Wild Vanilla Orchid" but exclaiming, "Wow!" as soon as I tried it, as none of the scents in Floral Street's collection can be placed in the box their names suggest. In this instance, the sweetness of vanilla is offset by bamboo, jasmine, sandalwood, lemon, patchouli fraction and red orchid, making it one of those scents you return to sniff again and again, because you couldn't quite believe it the first time around.

So, if you've been pounding the streets and department stores searching in vain for a new "signature" fragrance, I'd highly recommend a visit to Floral Street for something a bit different - and something you'll fall in love with, as I did.

Did I mention they also make scented stationery? The Wonderland Peony scented notebook smells like a dream and would make a great gift (the candles are on my wishlist too, and the perfume is sold in a purse-friendly 10 ml size as well).

What are your favorite fragrances?

Neon Rose perfume courtesy of Floral Street. All opinions are my own. Shop the collection online and at Floral Street, 30 King Street, Covent Garden, London, WC2E 8JD.

Travel Link-Up: Top 5 Cities For Christmas Festivities

For the past two years, my family has made the 5,000-mile trip to celebrate Christmas with us here in England. Why? Well, I'm hoping that they want to see me (*insert angelic emoji here*), but really, I think they secretly love a European Christmas. Who wouldn't? Mulled wine enjoyed in pubs with roaring fires; Christmas carol services at the local church; frosty Christmas morning walks in the countryside; the tradition of pulling Christmas "crackers" filled with little knick-knacks and jokes ... Christmas in Europe feels so authentic.

So, here are a few of my favorite cities that turn up the dial on Christmas festivities - cities that are always on my list for a short (or long) December getaway:

Amsterdam

We visited Amsterdam last December with my family with no expectations - and were blown away. The canals were lit with glittering lights (making a night-time canal boat tour especially memorable), the Amsterdam Light Festival was in full swing, and - best of all - we saw impossibly tall Christmas trees peeking out from the top windows of Amsterdam's famous canal-side apartments ('How did they get up there?' we wondered). There were plenty of places to enjoy hot chocolate and pancakes (or Poffertjes) dusted with powdered sugar, and the boutiques in De 9 Straatjes ("the Nine Streets") were perfect for last-minute Christmas shopping. Aside from visiting in the summer, when the air is balmy and the streets take on a dream-like quality, with people dangling their legs over the side of the canals, Christmas-time is probably the other best time to make a trip to Amsterdam. 

Paris 

Paris feels magical at any time of the year. On our recent visit in August, it felt like the city was winking at me the entire time! But it takes on an especially swoonworthy-quality at Christmas. Sure, it's packed, but strolling along the Seine with a furry hood pulled up over your head with a café au lait in hand and pushing past the crowds to get that shot of that tree at Galeries Lafayette makes a Christmas-time visit worth it. I especially love to browse the arcades in Paris around this time of year - the lights from the glow of the shops always make it look so enticing. 

Cologne

What could be more authentic than a German Christmas market in ... Germany? During our same visit to Amsterdam last year, we took a day-trip to Cologne to browse the famous German markets (and to sip gluhwein and eat bratwurst, naturally). The stalls were adorable, but my favorite part of the market was being served hot chocolate in keepsake mugs that you can either return (they take a deposit when you buy your drink) or purchase to keep as a souvenir! 
 

Bruges

Cobbled streets, horse-drawn carriages, and more Christmas trees than you can shake a stick at ... Bruges is ... well, it's a Christmas town. I spent most of my time there buying and eating all the chocolate, but cozy drinks by the fire and dinners in warm, candle-lit restaurants followed by evening walks in the bracing cold were equally fun ways to pass the time.

London 

Finally, my home city (it's so weird but exciting to say that!) is a fantastic place to visit for Christmas: from crafty Christmas markets to festive decorations on every street, London definitely has its gladrags on in December (lights and decorations go up as early as mid-November). I love Covent Garden at this time of year, but West London feels incredibly festive as well. One of my favorite things to do - no matter how busy and crazily frantic it gets - is to stop by Fortnum & Mason in Piccadilly and Liberty in Oxford Circus, to gawp at the beautiful ornaments and delicious Christmas hampers/cakes for sale.


What's your favorite city to spend Christmas in? I'd love to know!

This post is part of December's Travel Link-Up, hosted by Emma, Angie, Polly, and Zoe. Head over to their blogs for more posts about the festive holiday season!

Treat Yourself: Go Zen Boxes at Aqua Kyoto

Okay, so bad news: for various boring reasons I won't get into, we had to cancel our trip to Hong Kong and Japan this Christmas.

I know.

As a consolation prize for not being able to enjoy yakitori in tiny Tokyo diners and watch snow monkeys take dips in Sapporo onsens, I ditched my usual al desko lunch at work to try the new Go Zen boxes at Aqua Kyoto instead.

Located centrally (and conveniently!) near Oxford Circus, Aqua Kyoto is one of four London restaurants owned by the Aqua Restaurant Group; the other three being Aqua Nueva (home to contemporary Spanish cuisine), Aqua Shard (the stunning restaurant perched on Level 31 of the Shard), and Hutong (which I wrote about here).

Executive Chef Paul Greening designed the Go Zen boxes, taking inspiration from the traditional Japanese "go zen" cuisine (which typically consists of a selection of small dishes accompanied by rice and soup). Aqua Kyoto calls it an "elevated version of the bento box" - I call it one of the prettiest (and tastiest!) lunches I've ever experienced.

But first ...

We tried Aqua Kyoto's spinach salad, which is prepared at your table (with impressive flair) and served with toasted sesame seeds and a Japanese goma dressing, made of sesame paste, sanoto sugar (Japanese light brown sugar), organic gluten-free tamari and kombu dashi (seaweed stock) - a magical, delicate combination of ingredients. Despite its popularity on the menu, I was dubious about this humble-looking spinach salad - could it be a gimmick, I wondered? But peanut dressing was so moreish (not overly rich or cloying), I found myself absentmindedly helping myself to second, third, and fourth portions as I chatted with my friend Christina.

(It's one of those dishes where you get down to the last bite and look shyly at the other person, saying, "Go for it, it's all yours", while secretly hoping they'll say, "I couldn't - I'm too full" and then helping yourself!)

But there wasn't much time to deliberate over who'd get that last bite, because our Go Zen boxes appeared: the Kyoto Go Zen for me (12 "compartments" priced at £38, although a smaller version consisting of 6 compartments is available for £25) and the Shojin Go Zen for Christina - a vegan box (£29) which was just as beautifully presented as the Kyoto Go Zen and with - dare I say - even more interesting and innovative ingredients (kimchee was topped with nuka pearls, designed to resemble salmon roe. This (the kimchee) Korean touch was most welcomed, adding a bit of heat and excitement).

I listened attentively as Head Sous Chef Ken introduced each "compartment" to us, but really I was finding it difficult not to tuck into the Wagyu bavette, glazed with mustard teriyaki.

Amongst my favorites were the chawan mushi (a savoury steamed egg pudding, which I usually love eating with a hot bowl of sticky white rice), the gindara saikyo yaki (tender black cod cured in den miso for three days before being grilled), the classic tamago (Japanese omelette), and finally the rock shrimp tempura coated in a chilli garlic umami sauce.

Christina's vegan Shojin box looked equally delicious, particularly the kenji rolls (daikon, asparagus, avocado, white enoki mushrooms, with a daikon and ginger dressing), vegetarian sushi rolls (wrapped in mango and cranberry "skins"), and the sweet potato tempura.

And just when I thought I couldn't eat any more, a fresh-from-the-wok bowl full of green tea soba noodles appeared on the table - and I could have eaten this for days. Handmade by Chef Paul Greening, the flavor of these noodles reminded me of the yakisoba I miss from my favorite Japanese restaurants in the Pacific Northwest. It had a certain homemade taste, which is quite an achievement for any large restaurants such as Aqua Kyoto. Tossed with edamame, Japanese mushrooms, onion teriyaki and tamago, it's a dish I'd order again next time I'm in the restaurant.

And with these Go Zen boxes on the menu? It's likely that I'll be back soon.

Huge thanks to Aqua Kyoto for hosting me! My beautiful and delicious lunch was complimentary. All opinions are my own. The new Go Zen boxes are available for lunch from 12 pm - 2:30 pm, Monday - Friday. Book a table here.

Indefinite Leave to Remain

So, it's been a pretty crazy and momentous few weeks for me ... first, after months of nagging from John, I finally signed up for and passed my UK driving theory test.

Whew! That test was hard, compared to the US version (I also found it a little bewildering and intimidating to be subjected to nearly airport-style security upon arriving at the test center). I especially struggled with the infamous "hazard perception" section of the test, where you're shown 14 CGI clips of a drive (in a mix of rural and urban areas) from the driver's perspective and are instructed to click on "developing" hazards within a prescriped period of time. If you click too early? BAM! Zero points. Clicked too late? Sorry, buddy, ZERO POINTS. I was failing every single practice test up until the night before the real thing ... out of desperation, I watched a video on YouTube (hilariously filmed by some kid in his college dorm room) and ... passed the next day! (Tip: if you're thinking of studying for the theory test, the app is the best way to learn.)

Oh! And we bought a car. Hence the need for a UK driver's licence (US licenses don't simply transfer over).

In anticipation of my practical driving test in January (gulp!), I've booked in some lessons with "Dave" - my neighbor's kids' driving instructor - who said reassuringly, "Don't you worry about a thing - you'll do brilliantly. Just let me do the worrying, okay?" after I recounted the story of how I drove up on the curb with John recently and felt "traumatized" by my first UK driving experience. I can tell we're going to get along well.

But the biggest milestone of all, for me, was being granted Indefinite Leave to Remain status by the Home Office last Saturday. After over a decade of living in the UK, I finally submitted the application I'd been wanting to hand over for years. John came with me to the Premium Service Centre in Croydon (where you can typically get a same-day decision) to literally and figuratively hold my hand - and I'm so glad he did, because I had a slight hiccup with my application (which got figured out in the end) and I totally panicked.

After I received my congratulatory letter, all I wanted was a Nando's chicken feast and to pass out on my bed at home (I got both).

I spent the rest of the weekend in a bit of a daze - happy, grateful, nostalgic, and hopeful - especially after I found out that I can apply for British citizenship once my biometric permit arrives.

I went to yoga on Sunday morning and I think it all became a little too much for me: when the teacher asked us to imagine someone supportive and loving in our lives during savasana, John's face and his kind smile immediately appeared in my mind and I started quietly sobbing, until the teacher came around and surreptitously handed me a box of tissues.

(I kind of love him. Just a little bit.)

Speaking of John, he'd managed to score us some tickets to see Van Morrison at the Eventim Apollo earlier in the year - and it felt like the perfect way to celebrate. We had amazing seats, held hands, and marvelled at the fact that he had - at 72 - the stamina to complete a 90-minute set with no breaks. His voice was as strong as ever, and his instrumental skills alone were incredible. So, so special.

I sat there that night in the dark auditorium, along with the rest of audience, as Van sang, "When you don't need to worry, there'll be days like this," with the biggest grin plastered across my face.

It felt - and it feels - nice to be so happy.

Fall Haul

I was all "bah-humbug" about the arrival of fall, but then I saw this display of decorative gourds and flowers in autumnal colors at the Covent Garden Academy of Flowers last week and it was like - bam! - I was hit with the pumpkin spice stick. Suddenly, everything around me was wonderful: the swirling leaves, the darkening evenings, the unearthing of wool coats and jackets ... I found myself ready to ... well, hibernate.

So, I'm sharing some of my favorite things about fall, along with some goodies from the independent online store Magpie and London, which have made staying in an absolute pleasure:

Netflix and Chocolate

I wrote about some of my favorite TV shows here, but I'm currently working my way through every season of The Good Wife (after finishing Suits - I couldn't resist snapping up this issue of Vanity Fair with Meghan Markle on the cover). It can be a little yawn-inducing at times (there's only so much I can take of Alicia's steely gaze), but I like having it on in the background when I'm pottering around the house or cooking. This Cane & Bean chocolate tastes almost ... healthy. It's dark, and smells like freshly ground coffee beans. A bag of that, a warm blanket, and an afternoon of nothing but Netflix is my ideal way to spend a Saturday.

Long baths and magazines 

We recently remodelled our guest bathroom (which you can read about here!) and we've loved taking baths in the new, bright and airy space. These Isla Relax + Recover bath salts are healing and smell incredible - I can't resist opening the bottle and having a whiff everytime I wash my hands! It makes our bathroom feel like a spa. My favorite lifestyle magazine, Domino, is only available in the States, so I buy a copy whenever I'm over there, and treasure it for months to come back in the UK.

Arm candy reminiscent of summer holidays

Just because it's winter, doesn't mean I'll put away the bling: I love the bright color of this corded Ashiana St. Kitts bracelet. Something I'd wear to the office as readily as I'd wear it to St. Barths.

Banana pancakes

Do you know that cheesey Jack Johnson song, "Banana Pancakes"? I don't know why, but it somehow became a long-running joke between me and John, where one of us would sing it in a goofy voice just to make the other person laugh. Now, whenever I make banana pancakes (even if I'm by myself), I can't help but hum the tune, and laugh while I'm making the mix. I made these last week when I was suffering from a cold, but they're one of my favorite breakfast treats to have in the fall.

I'm giving away this beautiful pair of earrings from Magpie and London this week over on Instagram ... (just find the photo in my feed and follow me + Magpie and London, letting me know about your favorite part of fall! UK residents, you have until Friday to enter ...)

Happy Fall. xo

Gifts provided courtesy of Magpie and London, a store I love for gifts for myself and friends! All opinions are my own. Shop the collection here.