Keeping an open mind (aka 'Whatever Works')

As a naive parent-in-waiting I was confidently clear on where my boundaries would lie as a parent. Determined not to form bad habits, but also keen not to be hard on Lady P too quickly, there were some things I thought I'd never do.

Funny how it goes, isn't it?

I was determined never allow her to sleep with us, for fear of creating an annoying toddler who insists on joining us in bed. Well, it's a long way from that but I must admit one of my favourite ways to wake up is to smuggle Lady P into bed with us and steal an extra half hour's kip while she wriggles and naps next to me.

I was confident I wouldn't want to deposit her in a mechanised swing, at least not until she was much older. Why would I want to put my darling cherub into a large piece of plastic, when I could rock her myself?!

Because sometimes you just want a bit of hands-free, coffee-and-Twitter time. Or, less indulgently, time to pee and empty the dishwasher. That's why.

I was certain that controlled crying, or any kind of encouragement of self-soothing, would be cruel and ineffective before at least 3 or even 6 months old. But the other day, we did it by accident. When TLOML stepped out of a crying Lady P's nursery for ten seconds she silenced her whimper and fell asleep. Now that may be just coincidence, but we'll try it again next time she refuses to sleep, just in case it turns out she can - controversially - self soothe.

I was very clear that we wouldn't let Jack, our obese cat, have access to our room while she's sleeping in there. But he's a pest for scratching at the door, and he'll yowl if we leave him in the kitchen. On the basis he hasn't killed her yet, we let him sleep on our bed. He avoids the Moses basket as if it were a yapping terrier anyway, but I still find it difficult to relax when he's in the room - until sheer sleep deprivation pulls me under and makes 'keeping an eye on him' a physical impossibility.

Lady P is now almost able to sleep through the night. On a couple of occasions now she's woken only once between 7pm and 7am  for a quick feed. I had always thought we'd keep her in our room until she outgrew the Moses basket and maybe even longer. But I'm keeping an open mind about that too. I think when I no longer need to get up to feed her, I might be quite happy to tuck her up in her own room at night and enjoy an adults-only bedroom where Jack can roam without me keeping a paranoid half-asleep half-open eye on him.

We shall see. I feel like the only prediction I can make with certainty is that anything could happen. Isn't parenthood marvellous? Every day is a new lesson in humility.

Bouillabaisse news

The first bouillabaisse in a new home is always special for us. It marks the point at which we've discovered the best place to buy fish locally, and the first time we've been bothered to make a dish which requires the rather labourious task of making rouille. (For the unenlightened - this involves adding a cup of olive oil to some egg'n'stuff, drop by drop. It can easily take half an hour, and that's just to make what is essentially a condiment.)

Back in the days when we lived like there was no tomorrow, bouillabaisse was an extravagant affair. Perhaps that's why it evolved to become the signature dish of our relationship. We'd pony up to the fish counter at Bristol Farms, or Ralphs and pick out several different white fish, some scallops, a dozen clams, and perhaps some king prawn or lobster tail to top it off. We sort of lost sight of the dish's humble roots as a way of using up leftover fish, with items a Marseillais fishwife couldn't even dream of. When we moved to New York, within spitting distance of the Lobster Place with its mile long slab of marble laden with fresh fish, we started throwing in things like baby octopus, and fresh crab meat too.

Well, reality has bit since then and we take a rather more restrained approach. We've got a baby to keep in ribbons and shoes after all. We rarely add lobster tail and are not above bulking the dish out with tinned crab, or even pilchards. Still, we always start with quality fresh fish.

Just about the only thing Saltburn lacks (besides a decent cocktail bar) is a fishmongers. But our corner shop is a treasure trove of local produce, and gets a weekly order of fish in from a local fishmonger. Order by Wednesday lunchtime and by Friday afternoon Picknetts of Redcar will have delivered your selection.

When I say 'your selection' I mean the items you chose from a rather limited range of options. Which means no squid, for that was not on the list. Still, we ordered a dozen mussels as well as some white fish.

Imagine our disappointment when this is how the mussels appeared:

'Dead' mussels, out of their shells, kinda takes the fun out of adding them to stew.

Never mind, they were cheap. And we learned our lesson: next time, specify 'in their shells'. Or better yet, make the 10 minute journey into Redcar and pick the stuff ourself. Easy fix, that one.

It wasn't our finest bouillabaisse ever. But it was a very good start for our new home. Here's to many more - maybe next time our shellfish will be in their shells too.

Local hazards

Here's a health and safety poster you don't see in every town. Certainly I've never seen one in London, let alone the States.

This poster is displayed in Saltburn Sainsburys, and flyer versions can be found in quite a few local pubs.

It's a warning about the dangers of having a massive night out and then frying up egg and chips when you get home.

As I said, it's not advice that's needed in New York (why would you drink and fry when you can grab a perfect slice of pizza on your way home?) or Los Angeles ('what's "frying"?'). But up here in God's County the dangers of drinking and frying are very very real. In Saltburn itself all the decent chippies are shut before 9pm, further increasing the risk of a little late night fry up. We consider ourselves duly cautioned.

Coming full circle

TLOML and I decided to spend our summer in Saltburn on a bit of a whim. The lease on Fox Corner was up, and my maternity leave meant we didn't particularly need to be in London (plus our income was taking a hit). Saltburn is a lovely place to live, and we thought it would be nice to have family nearby.

I didn't really think about the strangeness of coming full circle, though. I was born in Saltburn. We lived a few miles away but Saltburn baths is where I learned to swim. The Marine is where I drank on a Friday night as a sixth former.  I wooed my first boyfriend in Saltburn, having asked him to teach me to surf  as a way to get to know him better.

All of this was twenty years and more ago. And now I'm back. Seeing my sister almost every day and my parents for Sunday lunch, drinking in the Marine, and so on. Have I regressed? My horizons suddenly narrowed? For a moment, as we drove the familiar road the night we arrived, I thought so. After all, I spent my teenage years longing to live somewhere bigger and more exciting. How strange to be driving 'home' and home be the place I spent my childhood. When I next travel I will write the same town in my 'place of birth' and in my 'place of residence'. Weird.

Despite that brief shuddering moment I actually think it's quite brilliant to be back here. How nice that Lady P's first swim will be in the pool I learned in. And how funny that we're living in a house my mum used to visit 40 years ago. I passed a house called Coverdale the other day. Coverdale is a local name, and the printer to whom my great grandfather was apprenticed was called Coverdale.

At every corner I see something that was part of my formative years or my family history, and I rather like it.

Saltburn - Yorkshire's answer to Malibu

TLOML and I have missed Malibu since we left two years ago. So we're very happy to be enjoying coastal living again.

In many ways Saltburn is a lot like Malibu.

Like Malibu, it has a pier.

Only Malibu's pier, so far as I know, had never won any awards.

Both towns have their fine seafood dining options. Malibu offered us the irritatingly pronounced Geoffrey's (they call it 'Joffreys', go figure), Nobu for upmarket sushi, and Malibu Seafood for fast food. Saltburn has several chippies.

I doubt you could buy a slap up meal in any of those Malibu options for less than a tenner (say, fifteen bucks). You can in Saltburn.

Both towns have a surf school, and draw keen surfers from many miles around.

But I bet those SoCal softies couldn't handle surfing when the weather is literally freezing. My brother-in-law has walked across snow on the beach in order to surf. That's how tough they are up here.

Both have a diner at the pier. In Saltburn the lady in 'Surf's Up' gives my little nephews a free biscuit every time they visit. I don't imagine that happens at Ruby's, though to be fair I never walked in there with two adorable toddlers to test the hypothesis.

I think Saltburn might just have the edge on Malibu. So long as we don't mention the weather. Year round warmth and sunshine is overrated: that's my position and I'm sticking to it.