Category Archives: Family

App-ortunistic Son 2

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I realise that in posting this, it’s going to sound like my children spend their whole time playing on electronic gadgets. I do force them to do other stuff too, like outings, homework and eating.

But, let’s face it, the iPad does have its uses, especially during those times when you need to get things done, like make dinner or drive.

Son 1 even takes his to school now, as part of their bring-your-own-device (BYOD) scheme. “We do research on it, Mum!” he claims. “I only use Safari.”

Just recently, Son 2’s use of the iPad has started causing me some concern, though. He’s begun collecting apps – anything from Lego apps to airplane simulators. He, somehow, knows how to find these apps (he’s only 5!), and can get as far as the password prompt.

He then cajoles me into putting the password in (he’s only allowed the free apps), and Bob’s your uncle, it starts downloading. Except he’s become very app-happy, and can’t stop at just one or two. He’s bugging me continually about new apps, to the point that it’s driving me crazy.

“Let’s go for a bike ride,” I suggest. “Your iPad will run out of memory. It might IMPLODE if you put too many apps on it.”

How the iCloud works beats me

Dodgy photos, apps and games get rained down thousands of miles away by that clever little iCloud (beats me how it works)

Their screen time is limited, but you’d be amazed how many apps he’s got his hands on. My screen-ager intuitively knows that the iPad isn’t a toy; it’s a toy chest of apps and games, and his little fingers literally fly round the screen, leaving smeary fingerprints as they go.

Then came the email from my mum. Son 2 has her old iPad and the password is hers. “Is someone trying to reset the password?” she asked. “It’s just that I keep getting messages saying someone’s attempting to reset it.”

That someone = Son 2.

And that’s not all. It appears the cloud has been busy too.

“And the thing is,” she continued, “overnight, all the apps appear on my iPad too.”

You can imagine how over the moon Son 2 is – that his grandmother in the UK must surely be playing with his Lego Batman app over her cornflakes.

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The ninja lunge (and food allergies)

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Over the school holidays, a great friend and I took a trip to Al Barsha park to exercise the children. It’s a park I’m fond of, with bicycles for hire, a (manmade) lake with a track round it and ample play areas.

It was sunny, warm and, without the routine of the school day to contend with, there was a relaxed atmosphere among the mums, who’d spread blankets on the grass, brought picnics and were exchanging details about their plans for the holiday.

“We’re staying in Dubai, how about you?” “Lapland, just for five days – we’ve booked a glass igloo!” The conversations were peppered with the names of far-flung places, visiting relatives and venues serving turkey.

mom with eyes in back of her headI can’t remember exactly what B and I were talking about as we watched our children play, but, all of a sudden, she leapt up, ninja-style, and ran to her two-year-old son – reaching him just in time, before the snack a nanny had offered him touched his lips.

“I’m sorry,” she said, politely – but urgently – to the lady in question. “He’s got food allergies and can’t eat the things other kids eat.” The moment passed, little K got back to digging in the sand, and the nanny he’d wandered over to turned her attention back to feeding her tribe.

But the episode, which all happened so fast, has stayed with me. Not least because, now that my children are a bit older, I don’t have to watch them quite so closely. I can sit in the park, chat, even read a book (it’s so much better). My friend, on the other hand, needs eyes in the back of her head to keep her severely allergic tot out of harm’s way. That kind of vigilance is a full-time job.

B put a post on Facebook yesterday and I’m sure she won’t mind if I copy it here, as it sums up perfectly some of the frustrations that the growing number of parents of allergic children go through, and how people (including celebrities) can help.

“It really bothers me when a celebrity comments on something important that they know nothing about. For instance, writing about having food allergies and being able to add these foods in and out of their diets.

I understand unless you are affected by food allergies, you may not know the difference between a food intolerance and a food allergy. However, if you are influential, you should learn the difference before you affect the way so many view food allergies and their potential consequences.

My child has severe food allergies. Ingesting a peanut, milk, or eggs could kill him. Not just upset his stomach. KILL HIM. The first time we had to inject him with an Epi-Pen, within minutes of coming in contact with the allergen, he had quarter-sized hives all over his little body, then his voice changed and we knew his throat was closing shut. He hadn’t even turned 2 yet.

It was the scariest experience of my life.

I think about his food allergies constantly. And although it’s become second nature to read every label, worry about cross-contamination, and make sure he always has safe food to eat, it still can be a daily struggle.

My child is never more than 5 feet away from an Epi-pen. We are never able to go to a restaurant here and order food off the menu for him. They either don’t have anything safe or they really don’t understand how serious the consequences could be if they made a mistake, or cross-contaminate his food. I don’t want sympathy. My child is just like every other child; he is happy and full of life. His food allergies don’t define who he is. I need everyone to know that a food allergy is not a food intolerance.

Would you know what to do if you stumbled upon a child who was going into anaphylactic shock? I hope that even if you’re annoyed with my long rant, you will take the time to read how to use an Epi-pen because it could save someone’s life.

It could save my child’s life.

So please, Mr. Celebrity, before you go off complaining about how your “food allergies” are upsetting your stomach, please learn what the hell you’re talking about.”

How to use an Epi-pen: Click here

The big chill

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It’s all relative, I know, but it really is quite chilly in the desert right now. And for the few weeks each year that this happens (Winter light, as I call it), it’s as though my children think we’re living in Alaska.

“I’m cold,” is the first whine of the day, followed by a big song and dance over putting their clothes on and exposing their bare skin to the bracing air (15 degrees this morning, and that is, erm, centigrade). “Still cold,” pipes up Son 2 on the school run, despite the heater – or “heat machine” as he calls it –  being turned on in the car.

“You have no idea what cold is,” I try to explain to them (where we lived before, in Minneapolis in the Midwest of America, it’s been -45 with the windchill recently and the schools had to close for a few days).

In anticipation of the dramatic change in weather, Dubai Confidential compiled a survival guide

In anticipation of the dramatic change in weather, Dubai Confidential compiled a survival guide

I’ve tried to tell them that if we still lived there, they wouldn’t be able to leave the house without bundling up in layers of clothing, and donning fur-lined boots and bobble hats. They’d have to pick their way over ice, there would be snow-ploughs clearing the snowdrifts, and frostbite warnings.

“Honestly, it’s not that cold,” I repeat, as we put jumpers on and head out the house, unencumbered by coats and other weighty items (my sweater dating back to about 2006 as, since moving to the UAE, I’ve entered a winter fashion time warp due to only buying summer clothes).

Our Filipino nanny, too, seems to think it’s biting cold and has taken to swaddling herself in a hoody, scarf and socks round the house. I’m thinking I’d better buy her a hot-water bottle quick, or the snuggle blanket with sleeves on sale in New Look.

And spare a thought for the camels in leg warmers (joke).

I do wonder if living in a desert climate for the past five years might have thinned our blood, although to be fair, the fact that our homes have no heating, are draughty and have floors made from marble does mean you feel it when the temperature plunges from the 35 degrees or so that we’re used to.

So, there you have it: a few years of desert living and you’ll find your family becoming quite reptilian, minus the dry, scaly skin. Not only that, but you’ll also take great delight in sipping steaming hot chocolate and wearing tights (even if, by midday, it’s on the warm-side again).

Post-holiday blues

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You’d think a six-day mini-holiday to the UK shouldn’t take six days to recover from, but somehow this whole week has been all about getting back into the swing of things.

The time difference and arriving back in Dubai on the milk flight at 5am meant the boys then slept until past midday, setting me up for a particularly trying problem in small children: INSOMNIA. The Scrooge of Christmas travel.

Because it’s not like you can just tell them to count sheep, is it?

No, no, that would be far too easy. Instead, for several nights, between the hours of 9 pm and 1 am, the boys pummelled me with all kinds of strange symptoms, from “I’m scared, stay Mummy, please!” to “I’m going to vomit!” (Son 1), singing for two hours straight (Son 2), hunger pangs and even sleep walking (Son 1).

Trying to count sheep with Son 2 just turned into bonus stimulation time

Trying to count sheep with Son 2 just turned into bonus stimulation time

Son 1 would have re-set much quicker if it wasn’t for the fact that Son 2 was adamant his insomnia should be shared.

“Are you AWAKE?” he’d bellow at his brother, nearly raising the roof of his bunk-bed (and I couldn’t separate them because they’re really dependent on each other and hate to sleep alone).

“WAKE UP!”

Then Son 2 got his hands on the duck clock in their room and set the alarm off: “QUACK, QUACK, QUACK, QUACK QUACK!”

I’m surprised you didn’t hear the racket going on in their bedroom.

DH was safely ensconsed on the other side of the world (in Australia and New Zealand) for the first two days of their nocturnal shenanigans. Happily, he returned on the third day, only to fall fast asleep at 8.30 pm with jet lag of the polar-opposite kind.

Oh the glamour of our jet-setting ways!

The holidays by numbers

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I was one lucky expat this holiday and got to go home for a whirlwind trip – six days (three of them travelling) overflowing with family, food and surprises. I could wax lyrical about that home-for-the-holidays feeling, the novelty of winter and the precious time spent with loved ones, but I don’t quite know where to start. So, instead, here’s my numerical recap (SUBTITLED: Travel with kids never did run smooth) …

Distance travelled: 8,650 miles (in 2 planes, 2 trains, 1 tube train, 2 cars and 2 taxis)

Family members visited: 24, including DH’s 95-year-old Grannie

Visas forgotten (due to being in old passport): 1, causing immigration officials to shake their heads and tell us we couldn’t travel (in the end, they took pity on me)

Visas reunited with: 1, thanks to two special people: C who searched our house to find it; and DH who discovered that overnight FedEx delivery doesn’t apply when there’s bad weather in the UK

Skipped heartbeats: 3, when the concierge at the hotel the visa had been delivered to by a fellow pilot mistakenly presented me with a box of jewellery instead of an envelope

Waterlogged UK, but wonderful nevertheless

Waterlogged UK, but wonderful nevertheless

Passports lost: 4 (Yes, seriously. I think I was cursed)

Passports found after 45-min panic: 4. They’d dropped into a black hole in my suitcase

Children lost: 1, before the pantomime at Birmingham’s Hippodrome, triggering a full-scale search for Son 2 via walkie-talkies. (I know, I know, we’d only been out of Dubai for five minutes)

Children found: 1, in a deserted area of the theatre, clutching the booster seat they give kids like it was a life raft

Christmas dinners eaten: 3

Floods (or water ponds as they’re called in Dubai): Too many to count

Fish rescued: 2, found in a puddle, as floodwater receded from my parents’ garden; they were returned to the fishpond they’d escaped from

Minutes stayed up past midnight on NYE: 7

Speed of gusting wind as plane sat motionless on taxiway: 40mph

Memories made: Priceless

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (and thank you for reading Circles in the Sand in 2013) x

A technically challenged Christmas

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Twas Christmas morning, when all though the house, there was the most almighty din.

As the morning mayhem ensued, I braced myself for what I knew was coming next: “Dad, can we set up the Xbox? Now, now, NOW – pleeeeeeease!”

Expecting Son 1 to just look at the box was a far-fetched notion, so we started in earnest. I mean, how hard could it be? Surely easier than flat-packed Ikea furniture. Once the Xbox was done, we could move on to setting up the wii, then head out to eat and relax later while the children played each other (Santa had wisely brought two Xbox consoles to avert WW3).

DH plugs it in, disappearing in a puff of dust as he moves things around behind the TV. The Xbox springs to life, and immediately tells us:

Updates required.

What? It’s brand new. How can it possibly be out of date already? (damn you, Microsoft) So, we wait patiently, watching the bar nudge its way across the screen as the first lot of updates are installed. And then the second lot.

seasonal-celebrations-xbox-christmas-yuletide-father_christmas-grotto-ksmn1526l.jpgLongest wait ever for two small children on Christmas morning.

The machine seems happy now it’s been fed with the latest software, but I suspect couldn’t care less about us getting Christmas dinner. It starts calibrating.

Then it needs to run some tests. On the background noise in our house. Now, remember, we have two boys – both of whom are loud at the best of times, let alone after a visit from Santa.

It soon becomes apparent that we’ve failed the test. “Your house is too noisy,” it states, or words to that effect. And I could hardly argue otherwise.

We’re given a second chance (it’s Christmas, after all). “Shhhh,” I tell the overexcited boys. “Don’t make a sound.” And, miraculously, you could have heard a pin drop in our house.

Finally, it looks like we’re getting somewhere – escape out of the house, to a Christmas brunch, is shining like a light at the end of the tunnel. We shove a disc in and hope for the best.

“The system does not support PAL50,” it flashes back at us. “Go to settings… [And, while you’re at it, forget about getting dressed up – why not go in your PJs, no make-up, messy hair.]”

“OK, OK,” we muster, scrolling through various menus, somehow pressing the right combination of buttons and unleashing a game, which (small mercy) the boys already knew how to play.

A few minutes later, DH and I are lying on the bed upstairs, snatching a few minutes of respite – as the unassembled wii machine winks at us from the corner (Round two, ding ding).

“It was much easier in 1996,” says DH. “When all you had to do was put a cartridge in.”

“I know,” I nod, wearily. “It’s all so kids can have uncommunicative playtime with gamers all round the world, hiding behind avatars. Maybe they can hook up with their cousins,” I add brightly. And then we head out, taking my new Sat Nav with us and plugging it into the car.

It defaults to Arabic – and can we change it? No, of course not. Fifteen minutes of fiddling with it proves fruitless. “You know what DH,” I sigh. “I think we might have to read the instructions.”

Happy days!

The Santa special

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With Christmas Day brunches in the UAE costing as much as 610AED (£100) an adult – and the top-end ones including acrobats and petting zoos on top of a visit from Santa – I’m always on the look out for some down-to-earth (read: cheap) entertainment for my children over the holidays.

After all, there’s only so many ‘How many days/hours/minutes till Santa comes?’ that a mum can take.

This year, I do believe I found the best bargain in the UAE: Santa at Dubai’s Oasis Centre.

He’s a nocturnal chap – when darkness falls, he plods over to the 10-metre-high, snow-covered Santa Castle in the middle of the mall to do meet-and-greets, until as late as 11.30pm on weekends and 10pm on weekdays. (Children from some cultures are often kept up late here – not mine, I’d add, I reach my limit at 8pm.)

For 35AED (£5.80), we enjoyed a visit with Santa (a lot of ho-ho-ing) and received a present, a photo, a free kids’ meal at Max Burger, cotton candy, a free ride in the play area and even an adult’s gift (a USB or headsets). Best 35AEd I’ve spent this Christmas.

There was no holding Son2 back – he leapt straight onto Santa’s lap, peered at his spectacles closely, decided he was legitimate and had a little chat about what he’d like Santa to bring (a red bike with a speedometre on it). Then, in a fit of generosity, Son2 announced he’d be flexible: “But if you can’t make it in red, any colour will do.”

Son1 is already somewhat suspicious of Santa and hung back – finally going forward to request an Xbox. I suspect that next year, the man in red will be well and truly rumbled.

So here’s to enjoying the magic while it lasts.

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WISHING EVERYONE A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS! Love, the Circles family x

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You might also like: Work-to-rule Santa; The real Santa; Last-minute shopping (with kids); Kids, meet Baby Jesus

Christmascard2013

Sandy the Scorpion

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After the debacle with the pet hamster, I vowed we wouldn’t have any more pets for quite some time (other than our long-time-resident cat, Chandelle, named by my DH after an aircraft manoeuvre).

I’ve stuck to this vow for a good eight months now – right up until yesterday, when the boys came home from the desert with a scorpion.

The first I heard of their new pet, Sandy, was on my way back from doing the Santa shopping at the Dubai Mall. DH’s phone rings and it’s his brother. “By the way, there’s a dish on the table with some sand in it – don’t throw it away. The boys found a scorpion in the desert.”

After lugging Santa’s loot into the house and hiding it, I go over to the table to take a look.

“Oh good Lord, shouldn’t this have A LID ON IT?” I practically shriek, peering at the little creature scuttling around the dish. Ok, so he was only tiny, but it was unmistakeably a scorpion – with two pincer-like front claws and a curved tail.

From under a rock to our dining room table

From under a rock to our dining room table

“No, he’s fine,” says DH. “Look, he can’t get out.” And, it was true, every time Sandy the Scorpion tried to run up the sloped side of the dish, he’d slither back down – his little legs unable to propel him to the rim.

“Mum, don’t get rid of him, pleeeeease,” begged the boys when they got back from dinner with my in-laws. “He can’t get out! He’s our new pet.”

That night, I pushed the dish into the centre of the table and took one last look at the segmented tail – curled defiantly upwards at the end.

Forward-wind to this morning, and we’re dragged from a blissful state of slumber – as all parents expect to be when it’s school holidays and there’s no reason for children to be up so early.

I hear the pitter-patter of feet getting louder as Son 1 crosses the landing, then within seconds he’s standing by our bed, and, in a raised voice, he says:

“WHERE’S THE SCORPION? He’s GONE!”

“Gone!” I yelp, my brain beginning to muster and imagining that, over night, Sandy had achieved the herculean task of scaling the side of the dish and had scampered off to the sofa – or my shoes.

Turns out, Sandy hadn’t made a break for freedom. Catherine the Great, our helper, had found the dish, and cleared it away – not knowing what lay within the sand.

But it got me sitting bolt-upright in bed faster than you can say ‘sting in his tail’.

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You might also like: On finding out your kids know nothing about pet care; RIP Hanny-Wanny

That competition called ‘Parenting’

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I long ago gave up comparing myself to other parents. There was just no point.

When the boys came along, I quickly had to develop the attitude: So what if Felicity’s mum is thin, has perfect hair, perfect arms, kicks ass in the PTA and can control her children in public? I learnt to thank my lucky stars that I’d had time to brush my teeth that morning.

Day 10: Spa day for elf

Day 10: Spa day for elf. What next?!

Experts say it’s human nature to compare ourselves – to size ourselves up against other mums who are prettier, fitter and better at juggling it all. Comparing can be a learned behaviour or a result of unrealistic expectations we see in the media – either way, it’s definitely not good for us.

As long as the kids are healthy, happy, safe and taken care of, you’re doing a great job as a parent and, anyway, who knows what Felicity’s mum’s life is really like.

My children, however, are unbelievably quick to go down the comparison rabbit hole. It’s something you’re never told about being a mum, that – day in, day out – you’ll get to hear why you’re such a mean mummy and what ‘everyone else’ is up to. Some examples from the past few days:

“But all the children on the bus have iPads!”

“Everyone else put their Christmas tree up weeks ago.”

“Drummond has Goldfish in his lunchbox.”

“Fritz is getting an Xbox for Christmas!”

“Will you come on the school trip? You’ve never been on a school trip Mum. Horace’s mum’s coming.”

“I want to wear a red shirt with a Christmas tree on for the sing-a-long. Everyone else has a tree on their top.”

Referring to a school project we did together, “Our volcano was boring Mum! All the other volcanoes actually exploded.” (Lord knows how)

And now it’s December, you can bet you’ll get to see exactly where everyone’s Elf on the Shelf is for the next couple of weeks – the mischievous little tinker!

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You might also like: ‘WHY?’ and other annoying phrases

A Christmas Parody – Spoilt (Brilliant remake! Follow link, and press ‘Click to play’ at the top if it doesn’t start automatically)

The stuff of dreams

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I was attempting to park the car today on the side road at school, which involves mounting a small slope, backwards, and manoeuvring into a slither of a space between shiny BMWs, when my five-year-old told me he’d had a funny dream last night.

“Mmm, really,” I said, not really paying much attention as I inched the car gingerly into the slot. (I swear my husband has an easier time parking the A380 at Dubai International airport than most mums in Dubai have when negotiating the drop off).

As I unloaded Son2 with his various bags and his lunch box, I remembered what he’d just said and asked him to tell me more.

I’m fascinated by what kids dream about. Apparently, they even dream in the womb, and anyone who’s watched a small baby’s expression as he sleeps will know that tiny infants have vivid, simplistic dreams too.

Sweet dreams Son 2, sweet electronic dreams

Sweet dreams Son2, sweet electronic dreams

Dreams can be like children’s drawings, telling us a lot about their emotions. They’re the adventures our kids live in their sleep – and, here in Dubai, where so many of the little ones are bi- or even tri-lingual, it fascinates me what language they dream in.

“What was your dream about?” I prompted, hoping for a window into what’s on his mind.

“I dreamt about Minecraft,” Son2 replied.

“Oh.” [Not quite the insight I was hoping for.]

“Was it a bad dream?” I asked, wondering if the zombies were the modern-day equivalent of the wolves, witches and ogres of more traditional childhood dreams.

“No, I was in Minecraft,” he said proudly. “I was walking round the server, all night!” he told me, with a grin that suggested it was his best dream ever.

Hardly Hansel and Gretel, but at least he was all smiles after an entertaining sleep.