When my little boy first saw me this morning after I’d got showered and dressed, he said: “Mummy, you look beautiful!”

I’m knackered today. He’s not been well so he was up loads in the night and woke for the day at 4:46am. I felt so short-tempered and as thought I might burst into tears at any moment….until that. With those four little words, he changed the course of my day.

It got me thinking of all the little things he says that tell me that to him, I’m a superhero. No matter what I think about myself or how much I think I mess up at being his mummy every day, to him, I’m ace.

Isn’t it about time we all started looking at ourselves this way? Reminding ourselves that to our children, we’re perfect? Xx

Since this penny dropped for me, it’s been so liberating.

A strong sense of self-confidence isn’t something that just happens.

For so long I looked at people who appeared to be confident and wondered how they did it.

And now I know…..

You must believe in yourself, truly and wholeheartedly. You must trust the decisions you make. You must live according to what is true to you and never, ever allow anyone’s voice to become more powerful than your own.
You must be kind to yourself and become disciplined every day about treating yourself in a positive way. You must fill all aspects of your life with the things that create happiness.

When you do these things, you will nurture a beautiful sense of confidence in yourself.

It’s not easy.

But then, nothing worth having ever is, is it? X

No matter which way you cut it, the news this week that one of the world’s most famous families is disintegrating is shocking and sad.

But for me the most shocking and the saddest part about it right now is the vilification of both Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt and the endless speculation about how screwed whom over….alongside the cruel insinuation that Jennifer Aniston will inevitably be leaping around with joy and writing ‘karma is a bitch’ on her mirror in lipstick.

But everyone loves a good vs evil story, right?

What I want to know is this:

Where’s the sense of solidarity from other parents who feel empathy for this family in crisis?

Where’s the compassion for a couple who have built a life together, brought children into this world and have now lost their way?

Where’s the consideration for the most important ones at the centre of this tragedy – their children?

Those six children who right now are feeling vulnerable, overwhelmed and scared and at some point will inevitably wonder whether what’s happened to their family has anything to do with them.

We have no clue what the truth is about how their relationship started, what’s gone on since and why they’ve made the decision that it’s over. We have no right to know; it’s none of our business. None whatsoever.

We must always bear in mind that we are drip fed carefully-constructed, speculative and ethically questionable stories, snippets of statements and quotes from ‘sources’ that have been spun to fit the chosen narrative.

While the media feed us their take and as a culture we soak it up, we must remember that it’s impossible to form intelligent opinions based on a very small slither of the whole picture which we are deliberately fed.

Yes, Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt are arguably one of the world’s highest profile couples and along with that comes the only-to-be-expected permanent scrutiny and invasion of privacy.

But in this age when so many of us are sick to death of the judgment we endure from others, why can’t we see that by sharing smug memes, declaring which team we’re on and commenting on articles which could be based on complete fabrication we’re actually perpetuating the very same poisonous cycle of callous disregard for others’ emotional wellbeing that we hate so much?

Let’s imagine for a second that the most intimate moments of our own lives were played out in such a public way. That the days through which we’ve hurt the most profoundly were discussed, mocked and belittled by millions of people. I can only imagine the additional layer of trauma that this would bring, and the complication it would add to an already terrifying and daunting time.

We don’t know these people. We like to feel as if we do, but we don’t.

And they have every right to demand the same privacy and respect as we would want if we were enduring tough times ourselves. That demand may be futile, but we should at least hear their words and make attempts to play a part in enabling them to get their heads down and just get through this in the best way they can.

They’re just people. And right now, while they’re suffering some of the most uncertain and traumatic days of their life together – in spite of all the perceived glamour and privilege it brings – they’re being picked apart in the most brutal of ways.

I think they deserve the respect they’ve asked for, along with some solidarity and compassion.

I can’t remember when I first discovered COOK food. I’ve been a loyal customer of theirs for a long time.

What I do remember though, is my reaction to being told about it. It’s a very simple concept, but one that – for me, anyway – is complete genius and it has come into its own now I’m a parent.

COOK food is frozen and ready-prepared to be cooked, but it’s cooked by chefs in the COOK kitchen in Sittingbourne (which, by the way, you’re welcome to go and have a nosy around any time – it’s an open house) using the same ingredients and techniques as you would if you were cooking at home from scratch.

It’s homemade, nutritious and prepared using carefully selected, ethically produced ingredients and nothing sinister. And you can even find out the name of the chef who made it as it’ll be printed on the box.

Convenient? Absolutely. But convenience food, this ain’t. You know how some ready meals taste bland and looks unappetising? Not this stuff. Every single dish we’ve tried has been utterly delicious, perfectly seasoned and about as far removed from every other freezer meal we’ve ever eaten.

See? I told you. GENIUS.

So when a new COOK shop opened up at our local shopping centre and I was given the opportunity to write about them, I jumped at the chance.

For people with hectic lives who need convenient meal options but don’t want to feed their family rubbish, this brand is an absolute godsend.

I like to think of myself as pretty organised. Still though, much to my own annoyance I regularly find myself realising at 6.55pm that I haven’t given any thought to what we’re going to eat for dinner when X has gone to bed.

It is on these nights that I have recently been unbelievably grateful to have some of COOK’s range in my freezer.

This food also comes into its own when it’s just been one of those days and even with the best of intentions, cooking a meal just ain’t gonna happen. Ideal if, like me, you’re quite often awoken at the most anti-social of hours by an energetic toddler who wants to play trains….meaning that by early evening you can’t string a sentence together, let alone cobble together a vaguely appetising family feed.

The menu is extensive and offers something for every palate. From more traditional options such as lasagne, cottage pie and lamb hotpot to the slightly more exotic dishes such as salmon and edamame thai noodles, vegetable and chickpea tagine or dishes from the Chinese, Indian and Thai takeaway range, the development team have done their utmost to cater for everyone, it seems to me. The kids range is superb – the paella and the chicken nuggets were a hit – not just with the kids, either 😉 and the under-400-calories range offers an unusually scintillating array of options unlike most ‘skinny’ ranges out there.

So far we’ve bought COOK food to cater just for ourselves, but if you’re looking for a simple and easy way to host a dinner party then this is what you need. I had no idea that things like pates, gammon and tabbouleh salads could be frozen, but these guys have found a way to make catering for a crowd an absolute dream. We will definitely be heading straight there next time we are feeding the masses!

You’ve probably gathered that I’m fairly animated about this brand. And I’ve promised that through Mumbelievable I will only involve brands that I completely believe in, trust and that I think will add something to your life or make it easier or better in some way.

But for me, the food (while delicious) isn’t the best thing about COOK. It’s the way they do business that I love, and why they have a loyal customer in me.

The original founders, Edward and Dale, are still at the helm. And 20 years since they started out, they’re still trying to do great things in the world. Their philanthropic work is far too in depth to cover here, but one example of this is the One Feeds Two campaign they’re running on the COOK kids and family ranges. When you buy a meal from this range, the company donates enough money to buy a school meal for a child living in poverty. COOK also donates the money raised through the new carrier bag charge to Foodcycle, a charity that uses surplus supermarket food to cook meals in underprivileged parts of communities.

When you speak to a member of staff in their shops or over the phone, they’re all singing from the same songsheet. It’s clear they LOVE what they do and what the company stands for.

And I love to be a customer of companies who not only clearly value their customers and employees, but care very deeply about their suppliers, the environment and our society as well.

If only more companies were like COOK. The world would be such a nicer place.

Disclosure: The lovely people at COOK provided me with some of their yummy dishes to sample by way of compensation for this review. (In all honesty, I wanted to write about them anyway, so that was just a big bonus!)

You can find out where your nearest Cook shop is or order online via their website www.cookfood.net.

I am more than just a body.

Three years into parenting and at thirty-three years old, I am finally able to utter these words without adding silent caveats, such as: “but it would be nice if my thighs were a bit thinner and my legs were a bit longer”.

Being pregnant, giving birth and the (to use the words of the brilliant Mother Pukka) mangled undercarriage aftermath did not destroy my body confidence. There was never really much there to work with.

It’s taken all this time since he was born, but my son has bestowed upon me a gift that has come as a huge shock: a sense that actually, I do not any longer need to define myself according to what my body looks like.

Confidence for me has been, in my living memory, inextricably linked to how I feel about how I look. Sure, I’ve been up there with the best of ‘em all these years, faking it and putting on a good show. Underneath? Train wreck.

I’ve had stretch marks since I was 12. Overnight I grew boobs, a bum, hips and thighs and my skin couldn’t keep up. My weight fluctuates and has done ever since then; I’ve been overweight for my build and I’ve also fought through a debilitating period of anorexia in my mid-late twenties. One thing I now know is that what I look like and what size I am are immaterial: my mind’s opinion of my body, no matter how much weight I lost, remained the same. I was not good enough.

I think that embracing and accepting the fact that the messaging we’re conditioned by dictates our definition of ‘perfection’ and that the mythical body-we-all-think-we-should-have does not actually exist has been one part of my newly-acquired appearance freedom.

But more than that – for me, anyway – feeling better about myself and the value that I have to offer the world beyond my physical being has been a process of distraction. I simply don’t have the time to be as self-involved as I was when it was just me. That is another part of this gift that Xav has given me.

The final part is that he has taught me the joy I can experience by placing more importance than I ever did before on my real achievements, like teaching him ways to cope calmly with a daunting situation and watching his face break into a beaming smile as he looks up, searching for my face to share in his pride at having accomplished it by himself. Why would I choose to cloud moments like that with the worry that my tummy isn’t flat enough today or that I’ve put on a few pounds over the summer? (Both are thoughts I’ve had, and batted away, today.)

This body, the body that I have loathed all these years, has created human life. It is more imperfect than ever, but I’m trying to love this mumbod as it is. No caveats, no ‘if only….’.

It is because of this body that I have experienced everything I have with these precious days and years. It is the vessel through which I see, feel and breathe in the beauty of this world hand-in-hand with my husband and our baby, and through which I will achieve all of my dreams.

Confidence, I am learning, grows when we pursue the things we love and which make us happy. It grows when we nurture the things that make us feel great and do more of them. It grows through our achievements as people, as parents and in our professional lives. I’m learning that neglecting ourselves only serves to perpetuate this most vicious of circles. Concerning ourselves with what other people may or may not think of us consumes time that cannot ever be reclaimed; time that could have otherwise been spent soaking up something infinitely more fulfilling.

Do we really look at each other, silently analysing one another’s bodies and competing against those we love, expecting that more love and adoration will beat our doors down if only we could just be a step closer towards our un-achievable vision of ‘perfection’? I don’t think so. But my paranoid brain used to believe this was true. Sure, there are some judgy people who would think those thoughts. But that says so much more about them than it does about you or I. Let them get on with their miserable lives.

The decision to choose to feel comfortable in our own skin is a complex one, but by making that choice repeatedly, we can – slowly but surely – change our minds. Our brilliant minds that mean we are so much more than our mumbods.

I choose, for the first time in my life, to accept this flawed body and to declare that it is beautiful. It has created a human, for crying out loud.

It’s imperfect, but maybe that’s the new perfect.

I kinda like it.

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