Category Archives: Children

Doha’s darkest day

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There was a sombre mood among Dubai mums today. A sense of loss. As though the world had tipped on its axis.

Shockwaves were ricocheting through the Middle East as we learnt more about the Villaggio tragedy in the Qatari capital of Doha, in which 13 toddlers, four teachers and two brave firefighters lost their lives as a popular shopping centre was engulfed in flames.

We might not have been directly affected, but with the three degrees of separation that is expat life, nearly everyone in Dubai has connections with Doha. Most of us have searched for childcare in a country that is not our own and every Dubai mum knows exactly what it’s like to rely on malls during the hot months.

What is unimaginable is the pain that the families must be going through. When the little ones were dropped at the mall’s Gympanzee nursery, and the teachers went to work that morning, the idea that a couple of hours later the daycare centre would be ablaze – with firemen unable to access it because the staircase had collapsed – was unthinkable.

The firefighters reportedly had to break through the roof to get to the trapped children, but it was too late. They died from asphyxiation. One family, from New Zealand, lost their triplets, aged just two.

Here in Dubai, we also watched the tragedy unfolding on social media sites, hours before the news was officially reported. On Twitter, we witnessed the panic spreading among Doha mums who didn’t know if their children were safe. On Facebook, there were photos. It was indescribably awful. We prayed it was all rumours and scaremongering. It wasn’t. Nearly 12 hours after the fire broke out, the devastating news was finally released to the world’s media.

And today, as stories of a chaotic evacuation, defunct sprinklers, floor plans that didn’t have emergency exits correctly marked and inaudible fire alarms emerge, we’re asking our children’s nurseries and schools about their evacuation plans and fire drills.

Words simply aren’t enough. My thoughts are with all the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy – and with Doha’s expat mums, a small community, who are still in shock.

Our ‘snow day’ in the Middle East

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Within hours of my first son’s birth in Minneapolis, the ground started glistening as though a fairy had sprinkled dust over the entire city.

No, I wasn’t still high on the cocktail of drugs. It was the end of November and a blizzard had set in, covering everything with a blanket of thick white snow and turning the houses, with their undisturbed snowy roofs, into works of art.

We drove BB home from the hospital – very gingerly – in a snow storm and during the first two years of his life in the midwest of America, there was snow and ice on the ground for at least four months each winter.

Yet, of all this, BB remembers nothing! Despite my valiant efforts to bundle a wriggling, obstinate toddler into an all-in-one snow suit (I honestly think it would have been easier to dress an octopus) and drag him along on a sled, he has no recollection of the fluffy, white stuff.

LB has never seen real snow and so it was with great excitement that we set off last week to the top of a mountain range in Lebanon. Our goal was to build LB’s first ever snowman and so carrots were grabbed from the kitchen, jumpers stuffed into the back of the car.

I have to admit I was sceptical: it was so hot in Beirut. How could there possibly still be snow, I wondered? The temperature remained warm even as we climbed higher – our slow ascent through 1850 metres monitored by my DH and his Dad who, being pilots, checked the altitude on the car’s GPS at every opportunity.

Songs were sung, wrong turns taken, then, low and behold, we suddenly saw snowy peaks! Real snow pasted on the already-stunning scenery like icing sugar.

In Lebanon, you can surf the sea and ski all in one day! Snowballs were thrown, of course – despite the lack of gloves

The winding mountain road led us to a ski resort called Faraya, closed now for the season but beautiful nevertheless. Beautiful and cold.

Straight out of the desert in Crocs and with a constitution that means they shiver in the refrigerated section of the supermarket, the boys whined at first – but after wrapping LB in a pashmina and donating DH’s socks to BB (who knew we’d need winter clothes in the Middle East?) we set about building our snowman with cold wet hands.

A glamorous Lebanese lass climbed on a snowmobile – driven to the very edge of the snow so she wouldn’t get her bejewelled black-suede boots wet – and set off at speed clinging to her boyfriend. If she can do it, I can too, I thought – and so I hopped on the back when the boys went for a spin.

Precious memories were made, but I have to admit one of the most memorable moments was a conversation in the car on the way up:

“Have you ever seen snow before?” my mother-in-law asked the boys.

“Yes,” they replied, nodding their heads earnestly.

“Where? In England? America?” she prompted.

“Nooo. Dubai,” corrected BB, as though it was the most obvious answer and you’d be a ninny to think otherwise.

And then, “Will we see penguins on the mountain Grannie Jane?”

Ski Dubai (our ski slope in a shopping mall and home to the most-pampered penguins in the world) has a lot to answer for!

Overheard after flying (with kids)

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Last week I was listening in on my two sons and LB’s best friend D, the cutest boy with the most beautiful white-blonde curls.

“Just look at those gorgeous curls,” I always say to his mother, as though she hasn’t noticed!

D’s dad is also a pilot and D had just returned from a trip home to see family in South Africa. We’d just got back from visiting my in-laws in Lebanon and LB and D were over the moon to see each other again.

In between discussing D’s new pirate ship, the three boys started talking about their trip. Obviously, being expat children, seeing family involves an airplane ride and it made me smile how small boys, who know no other way, view the mode of transport that takes them *home*.

BB: “I just got back from Leb-alon.”

LB: “And meeee!”

BB: “What country did you go to D?”

D: “Af-rika!”

BB: “Is that a long way?”

D: “Yes. But my daddy’s airplane went fast! Like this….whoooooosh”, pretending his fingers were an airplane and whizzing them through the air.

LB: “Whooooosh,” for effect.

BB: “But my daddy’s airplane went faster than yours,” his hand turning into a blur of motion as he illustrated high speed.

D: “No, it didn’t! My daddy’s airplane went super-fast!”

Followed by a detailed explanation from BB of the games he played on the in-flight entertainment system.

It’s a funny ole’ lifestyle sometimes, but never seems to phase little boys.

With a ‘need for speed’ already ingrained, heaven help us when they’re 16!

Wishing all my American mom friends a very happy Mother’s Day next weekend!

20 things to do before you’re 12 (in Dubai)

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On my favourite radio breakfast show this week, the DJs – Catboy and Geordiebird – were talking about a list that’s been compiled of things to do before you turn 12.

Skim a stone, climb a tree, roll down a really big hill, camp out in the wild, play conkers, get behind a waterfall, hunt for bugs, feel like you’re flying in the wind and go on a nature walk at night were all included in the list of 50 things to do before the age of 11 ¾ – put together by the National Trust.

It was nostalgic stuff, especially as the NT’s intention was to inspire today’s high-wired pre-teen generation – shackled as they are to their computers, Xboxes and TVs – to get out the house and have a go at what we used to do by default.

Listeners to the show then came up with a number of other suggestions – like buy your own school shoes, drink water from a hose pipe, ring the bell and run away, drop a stone down a well and listen for the splash, race lolly sticks under a bridge, let frogspawn run through your fingers and show someone yours (if they show you theirs).

By this point, I was getting so wistful, I was ready to ditch city-living, move to the hills and raise BB and LB as free-range kids – hunting for worms with them every morning and playing Pooh sticks.

Anyway, it got me thinking that a Dubai version of this list would look somewhat different. It might read something like this:

● Feel like you’re flying in the wind at iFLY, Dubai’s indoor skydiving facility

● Go sand boarding down a massive sand dune, standing up

KidZania is a scaled-down city where kids can play at being grown ups. They can take jobs such as doctor, mechanic, pilot; drive cars; earn money and spend it on petrol and pizza

● Spend the night at KidZania

● Go camping / drumming / hunting for scorpions in the desert

● Take a telescope into the desert at night and try to spot at least three planets among the stars

● Get picked up in a Hummer to go to a party at the Atlantis hotel

● Climb the stairs up the Burj Khalifa

● Throw snowballs / cuddle a penguin at the Mall of the Emirates

● Play pass-the-parcel and unwrap a Tag Heuer watch at the end

● Go on a hot-air balloon ride over the desert at dawn

● Run around in the rain

● Visit a World Island

● Find gold, at a gold-dispensing ATM machine

● Canoe down the creek

● Take a glass-bottom boat ride on top of the Dubai Aquarium

● Get behind the fountain inside the Dubai Mall

● Swim with dolphins

● Play with a friend’s lion cub

● Fry an egg on the bonnet of a car in summer

● Learn Arabic and the history of our amazing little-fishing-village-that-could

To see the National Trust’s list, click here

You can take a horse to water…

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The temperature was perfect. Just a hint of summer heat hanging in the air. Turquoise highlights glistened on the surface of the Arabian Gulf and sail boats dotted the horizon.

A kite danced in the sea breeze. There were sculpted bodies in beautiful bikinis. Children playing happily. Mums reading – the sand cushioning their toes with marshmallow softness.

Waves rolled towards the shore, lapping the white sand. Kids squealed as the watery haven moved perpetually closer. The smell of sea salt and sunscreen filled the air.

Expat life at its finest.

Except this Easter weekend, BB wasn’t in the mood for the beach. All he wanted to do was play with his new Lego helicopter, a present from my parents, who’ve just arrived (and are providing the most wonderful distraction at silly o clock, when the kids – on school holidays – leap out of bed).

A bigger hit than the Easter eggs


You can take a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink, I’ve realised – especially when the ‘horse’, ie, my oldest son, has suddenly and inexplicably developed a fear of crabs.

And scorpions.

As the rest of us enjoyed some sun, sea and sand and LB busied himself jumping waves – dissolving into laughter every time there was an incoming rush of water – his brother looked on forlornly.

“Mumm-EEE! Can we go home?” he pleaded. “I really W.A.N.T to go home.”

For a few moments at this point, I’m sure I saw a knowing smile flicker across my mum’s face – a kind of ‘been there, experienced that many years ago’ expression that was quickly hidden.

And then, “Mumm-eeee, I don’t like the beach. I just want to go home and sit on the sofa.”

Oh my goodness. I’m raising a couch potato. And there are 15 more days of Easter holidays to go!

HAPPY EASTER EVERYONE!

My painting parties

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With visitors on the way (at a slow pace, by boat via Singapore, Mumbai and pirate waters), I’ve been doing a few last-minute things, including painting the spare room.

I love decorating. Not the doing it part, but the concepts, the colours, the shopping and the putting-it-all-together parts.

I can spend hours watching programmes like Changing Rooms and secretly wish I could be an interior designer and get paid to shop in home decor stores and play around with fabrics, cushions, lighting and layouts, before blindfolding my clients for the big reveal.

I long ago had to give up on hiring painters to do the work for me as my schemes started getting too complicated to explain to non-English speaking decorators.

Like these clouds on the playroom ceiling:

I took over and did the blobby clouds. The airplanes are stickers

I bought special sponges and asked the painters to do ‘fluffy white clouds’. They looked at me like I was unhinged so I pointed out the window, gesturing at the heavens – to no avail because the bright-blue desert sky was, of course, devoid of clouds.

So now I do the painting myself – with help from Catherine the Great, who’s much more nimble up a ladder than I am. We’re a great team and tackle the 10ft-high walls with gusto (and a little knee-creaking on my part). But the trouble is I never quite know when to stop. As I finish a wall, other walls start to look anaemic and so I carry on, mixing and matching colours, quite possibly on a paint-fume-induced high.

It all gets a bit experimentalist too. The boys’ room features a beach at the bottom, blue waves in the middle and desert at the top. Our home also has a marble-effect wall, a multi-coloured chessboard wall and an aquarium wall to rival The Lost Chambers at the Atlantis hotel – all done as tastefully as possible.

I don’t stop when I run out of walls inside the house, either. Here’s the fairy-tale castle Catherine and I painted to liven up the boys’ sandpit outside. They were enchanted by it for all of five minutes.

I simply copied the castle from a design online and used exterior paints

DH (who won’t let me touch his study) occasionally rolls his eyes, but is mostly pleased with the results. If he starts to look nervous, I quote my mother-in-law, who once told us: “If you have a creative wife, you just have to say ‘Thank God!’ and let her get on with it.”

(My amazingly artistic m-i-l is actually my inspiration when it comes to interior design and – being such a petite lady – never ceases to amaze me with the way she lugs huge pieces of furniture around like an ant carrying 10 times its body weight).

As for my latest project, the spare room, allow me to do a big reveal right here. It’s more fig-grove than jungle (my original plan), but more grown-up than the Winnie-the-Pooh theme I replaced. So, blindfolds off……. Ta-daaaah:

The vertigo-inducing walls are so high, I couldn't resist a two-tone look. If you visit us in Dubai, this is where you'll sleep

Mother’s Day week

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I’ve realised that being a binational family, living in a country in which none of us was born, means Mother’s Day can go three ways.

Our surname is Lebanese, because that’s where DH’s family is originally from. DH is an American citizen and I’m from the UK. This all melts down into two kids who hold both US and British passports.

DH is really keen that the kids know they’re American and learn about American traditions, while I teach them all the British bits – Bonfire night, royal weddings, CBeebies, etc (in case you’re wondering, they have British accents and call ‘erasers’ ‘rubbers’!)

Since leaving the States, I've become mummy rather than mommy. They call pants 'trousers' now, but still say 'awesome' all the time!

When it comes to Mother’s Day, we’re a bit confused because DH has, for his whole life, observed American Mother’s Day, held each year on the second Sunday of May. I lean towards the British one (Sunday just gone) and then yesterday (Wednesday 21st) it was the UAE’s turn to celebrate mothers.

The result is it either all gets a bit diluted – or you can spin it out and spend a whole week doing Mother’s Day activities. At LB’s nursery, they made cards and roses out of tissue paper on Sunday, while BB’s school held a special picnic and sing-song for the mums yesterday.

Although the boys probably have no clue which day is actually ‘our’ Mother’s Day, they are being particularly affectionate at the moment, and as I’ve been feeling guilty that I’ve given them a bit of a bad press lately, I thought I’d elaborate.

“I lub you,” says LB, every 20 minutes or so – his deep brown eyes scanning my face and his little mouth breaking out into a grin the moment I return the sentiment.

His older brother, not to be outdone, notices every time my hair looks different or I’m wearing something new and always says something nice. They might be wrestling on the floor two minutes later or getting into some kind of mischief, but their loving ways bowl me over.

I know one day they’ll have wives who are the centre of their world (and you might remember that I already share BB’s affections with Girl Next Door), but for now I’m basking in their attention.

“I love you to the moon and back, round the sun a thousand times and all the way round the universe,” BB told me the other day.

“And all the way to Girl Next Door’s house and back,” he finished.

The student-led conference

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Back in my day, parent-teacher conferences involved mums and dads trooping into the classroom at allotted times to talk to the teacher, with the student otherwise occupied elsewhere.

Knowing full well you were being discussed, you had little choice but to wait nervously – your ears ablaze – until your parents returned and you could gauge the expression on their faces as they walked through the door.

How times change.

Today we went to my six-year-old’s school for his student-led conference – which I presume are becoming popular the world over.

The information reminded forgetful parents to express pride in their children's progress and provided sample questions!

We’d been prepped by the school beforehand with a letter telling us what to do. It would be a ‘non-teaching day’ (which, and I did have to think about this, was a fancy way of saying ‘a day off for the kids’) with 30-minute slots for each child/parent combo.

The idea was for your child to take you through his or her work in the classroom. In case this whole concept was beyond us, we were advised to be supportive, be positive, be curious and to listen to our children.

A slight, okay glaring, error on my part meant our son was the only child not in school uniform when we rolled up for our turn (DH and I both looked at each other as if to say, “do you not read the emails?”), but I think I made up for it by asking BB lots of questions. Whilst lavishing praise, my journalism training meant I practically quizzed him and what I’d heard about these conferences was right: the kids jump at the chance to show off their work.

One of the books was a diary and, on further inspection, I realised his teacher must know everything about what we do as a family. Our trip to an airport museum in Sharjah, outings on the monorail, parties and visitors – it was all there, coloured in and with scrawly handwriting in places. Thank goodness there weren’t any pictures of mummy sitting on the sofa, glued to the iPad (phew).

As we went through his ‘portfolio’, the teacher was obviously listening from behind her desk, but wasn’t participating – BB did most of the talking and thoroughly enjoyed it.

At the end, as we were leaving, I nudged DH to remind him he’d wanted to ask the teacher about something on BB’s report card. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ll wait till next time.”

Kids – when it comes to student-led conferences, you’re onto a winner!

On yelling at your kids

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I know you’re probably getting bored of this theme, but just bear with me.

A friend of mine, also a pilot’s wife – whose DH is regularly away for much longer than mine – mentioned this week that she had, yet again, come to the conclusion that 5-7 days with just her and their young boys was her limit.

“I’m at the end of day 5 today and I’m suddenly the ‘yelling mom’,” she said. “It came out of nowhere and I’m just spent!”

Can't think why I was drawn to this scene, can you?

The conversation, taking place across the globe on Facebook, was joined by several mums, who all said the same thing, along the lines of, “Good grief, love…that’s longer than I can do.”

I honestly think my friend’s a trouper. Don’t you? To save the yelling until day 5 deserves a round of applause and a row of G&Ts, I reckon. I’d buckle far sooner – as I [confession] proved yet again this weekend.

The rising temperature here in Dubai might have had something to do with it (you forget that running around with kids in the heat leaves your nerves not just frayed, but shredded as everyone gets hot and bothered). Plus the fact it was another unstructured weekend alone. Or I might just be low on patience and energy and making excuses.

But, whatever the reason, as the weekend draws to a close in the UAE, I can still hear myself firing off, ‘NOOO!’ ‘STOP!’, ‘W.A.T.C.H. T.H.E. R.O.A.D.’, ‘WAIT’, ‘JUST LISTEN’, ‘I said NO’, ‘GET OUT OF THE DRIVER’s SEAT’. I could go on (and will for the purpose of this blog post).

Love my children so much it hurts, but when DH is away, they love to test their boundaries. I’m hoping mums of small children reading this will identify with the following exchanges – not all yelled, but certainly not whispered – and I won’t get bombarded with comments recommending I attend Effective Parenting classes (or counselling!):

“It’s 6 am in the morning! GO BACK TO BED!” Delivered sternly, not long after the birds started squawking the dawn chorus.

“I SAID open the door carefully!” After squeezing the SUV into a space not much wider, between a new-looking convertible BMW and a Ford Mustang, at the jam-packed supermarket car park.

“But two minutes ago, you DIDN’T WANT a sandwich.” In response to BB’s sudden un-ignorable hunger pangs, developed shortly after leaving Subway, where he’d flatly refused to eat.

Sometimes it feels like they just don't hear me

“Just let mummy talk for two minutes – perleeeez!” On meeting a friend at the JESS school Spring Fair and wanting to chat rather than be dragged off to the bouncy castle (my friend and I had imagined ourselves sitting in the Tea Garden, then browsing the craft stalls together – Ha! What were we thinking?)

“GO AND PLAY – I just paid 100 dirhams to get you in!” Directed at both boys who were still hanging off my t-shirt at the indoor play area I’d brought them to for a break (okay, the break was more for me than them).

“If you didn’t want the yogurt, WHY DID YOU OPEN IT!” After LB helped himself and smeared half of it over the table – squelching dollops onto the floor too.

“DON’T KILL EACH OTHER! JUST DON’T!” On trying to break up a fight, in which LB bit his brother in frustration (and I started tearing my hair out).

“WHAT HAPPENED??” After asking the boys to sit and wait quietly outside while I nipped into a store, then came out to find LB horizontal, red faced and screaming his head off (he’d fallen off the chair).

“NO you can’t have that *insert* doughnut / KitKat / over-priced toy / flashing gadget.” Repeat 20 times.

“Turn the volume DOWN!” After the noise coming from Tom and Jerry on the TV threatened to reach the level at which ear drums implode.

“RIGHT, bed…NOW!” At the end of a long day, after cajoling and jostling them through the bath/book/bed routine. Then quietly, “Oh no, really? You feel sick?”

Is it any wonder I’ve finished the weekend with all this echoing round my head?

Feel free to add your own.

When the cat’s away…

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It’s another dusty, windy Saturday afternoon and I’m drinking tea at a formica table while the boys burn off energy at an indoor play area.

There’s noise, bad music, lurid plastic, flashing lights, crying children and constant interruptions, but this is my downtime – two hours of respite from being the sole parent in charge today.

I’m sure all mums will know what I mean when I say single-handed parenting can sometimes be like doing a marathon in Manolo Blahniks, backwards and with no-one to tag.

OK, so on DH's list I left off the work bit, the jet lag and travel fatigue, but you get the picture. Jealous? NOoo

From the early morning wake-up calls to tantrums at bedtime, from oldest son’s non-stop, brain-bending questions to youngest son’s refusal to eat anything but chocolate, it always feels like a HUGE responsibility being the only adult on duty at the weekend.

[Said in a hushed voice]: They don’t leave me alone, not even to go to the toilet! And don’t get me started about the fighting.

So when I waved DH off this morning, to the bierhauses and beautiful architecture of Munich, it was with a hint of jealousy on my part, even though I’d actually hate to have to leave home the whole time (and, if the truth be told, I wouldn’t swap roles with him in a million years – nor did I actually see him off as he left even earlier than the kids got up).

But I missed his help when, in the car today while trying to concentrate on traffic, BB started shouting, “MUM, L.O.O.K!! LB’s got his willy out!” – upstaged only by an incident at the supermarket 10 minutes later which saw the Little Boy FLASHING shoppers while my back was turned getting cash from the ATM.

“Enjoy every moment,” well-meaning, nostalgic parents always advise. “It goes by so fast.” And I do try to savour it – just not *this* moment. Or the moment last Saturday when I discovered they’d etched a 1.5 metre-long scratch on the TV cabinet and filled the CD player up with soil.

Angels in standard-issue devil's horns: Nice try BB, but I don't think this will stop your brother from bugging you!

I’ve actually got off pretty lightly today – on previous occasions when DH has been gone, far worse has happened. I came home from work a few weeks ago to be told, by our nanny, that she’d lost BB that afternoon and found him up on the roof, hollering to our neighbours.

We do have lots of fun, too, when it’s just the kids and me, but it does seem that while the cat’s away, the mice will play up, especially on weekends.

When DH gets back from trips, he scoops up the boys, his eyes shining with joy. “They’re such angels,” he’ll say, turning to me.

I’ve learnt to smile sweetly and respond – in a measured way – “Yes dear. Little angels.”

“Both of them.” Before retreating for what I consider to be a well-earned break.

This has been doing the rounds on Facebook recently - love it!