Category Archives: Family

Wild Wadi at night

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Every now and then, every adult should feel like a big kid. And what better place to do this than at one of Dubai’s famous water parks.

We didn’t mean to go to Wild Wadi yesterday at all. We were simply driving past at about 5pm, on the way to the beach. The children wouldn’t even have noticed, but suddenly my DH came out with:

“We could go to Wild Wadi?”

“Isn’t it a bit late?”

No such luck. It was late-night opening day. A couple of coupons were located in the Entertainer book, and all of a sudden, my plans for a lazy sunset on the beach mutated into a high-energy, wet, extremely splashy and tumultuous time on rides such as the Burj Surj, the Jumeriah Sceirah and Tantrum Alley (named after my overtired children on the way home, I think).

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Brave rider shown not the blogger

Located right next to the Burj Al Arab, the great thing about Wild Wadi is there’s something for everyone: a huge wave pool with lifejackets for little ones; surfing simulators; family rides; downhill free-fall slides; and rides in which you get blasted upwards so you don’t even have to climb the stairs.

Unlike when we visited a few years ago, Son1 was now old enough, tall enough and brave enough to lead DH and I (separately, because one of us always had to stay with Son2) on all sorts of hair-raising, daredevil watery adventures.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I’d ask, hastily trying to take in the stunning view of the white, sail-like Burj set against a pinky-purple sky stretching over the Gulf’s distant horizon. “Yes, c’mon Mum,” he’d reply, with a thrill-seeking glint in his eye.

As a grand finale, we found ourselves on a gravity-defying, aquatic rollercoaster, being rocketed upwards by water jets to a small, ‘we’re not finished with you yet’ holding pool. From here, there were two options: the less-scary way down, and an ominous-looking, churning tunnel of doom.

I started paddling us furiously away from the black hole towards the gentler shoot, when a lifeguard grabbed our double-ringed inflatable. “Sorry,” she grinned, “You can’t go down that in a double.”

“Enjoy!” she called out mercilessly, pushing us into the ‘intense-thrill-factor’ tube and heralding the start of an insane blur of speed, in the pitch back, through watery twists and turns that rearranged my innards on the way down.

Our verdict: an absolute blast. Can’t wait to go again.

Fishy pedicure: I didn’t have time to do this, but there’s also a fish spa, where toothless Garra Ruffa nibblers turn your tootsies into fish food. Said to be slightly ticklish at first, these renowned flesh-eating fish exfoliate your feet by removing the dead skin cells. There’s an extra charge to submerge your lower legs and feet in the tank, but I’ll be giving this micro massage a go next time too!

Fishy pedicure: I didn’t have time to do this, but there’s also a fish spa, where toothless Garra Ruffa nibblers turn your tootsies into fish food. Said to be slightly ticklish at first, these renowned flesh-eating fish exfoliate your feet by removing the dead skin cells. There’s an extra charge to submerge your lower legs and feet in the tank, but I’ll be giving this micro massage a go next time too!

Bouncing back from expat-no-return

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You might remember that a few months ago, I was attending job interviews. I’d reached a point of expat-no-return, in which, to be brutally honest, playdates were beginning to bore me senseless and the freelance work I’d been doing for a couple of years had hit a dry patch.

Is this it, I thought? Have I really sacrificed my former career in glossy magazines to spend my days wiping bums, noses and tears, making boiled eggs with soldiers and listening to my boys talk about their willies non-stop.

In a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side moment, I decided I needed a full-time job. With colleagues, interesting projects and (remember this) a salary. My next lightbulb moment came during one of my interviews, while sitting in what can only be described as the office’s broom cupboard.

“The hours are 9-6, and we work six days a week. Saturday to Thursday,” the Turkish interviewer with a dark floppy fringe told me, looking at me intently as my eyes darted to the floor in search of a trapdoor.

Kids, shhh! (I need earplugs, don't I?)

Kids, shhh! (I need earplugs, don’t I?)

“And it’s all office based.” Which surprised me somewhat as to get to the broom cupboard, we’d practically had to climb over at least a dozen workers crammed into a space no bigger than my kitchen.

Armed with the knowledge that publishing sweat shops packed to the rafters and operating on a six-day week do exist, I gave up the job search.

And decided to go it alone with my own little venture (big plug here).

It was fairly quiet to begin with, but then, just like buses, three jobs came along at once. And, all of a sudden, my little dipping-of-the-toe in the shallow end of the mumpreneur pool turned into a thrashing, front-crawl Channel swim, against the tide.

But, complaining I’m not. The mix of office work, work from home and playdates is suiting me nicely, despite being totally run off my feet at the moment.

The only thing is, during my days working at home, I’ve noticed that the boys have moved on from talking about their willies. And have, instead, started photographing their bum cheeks and front bits with my iPad.

Lord, help me.

Silent Sunday: Cool cuts

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I’ve tried all sorts of things to persuade my sons to have a haircut with minimal fuss. There was the trendy toy store in the UK where they cut kids’ hair in front of a fish tank (my boys frightened the fish), and more recently, the pirate-themed salon playing DVDs on a continual loop (you have to pay with a Fun City power card, big faff really). Finally, I’ve found the solution:

Located in Dubai’s Motor City, this salon is totally geared up for car-mad little boys.

Located in Dubai’s Motor City, this salon is totally geared up for car-mad little boys.

Sunscreen: The new rules

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“But I DON’T like it!” [Makes face as though I’m about to smother him with acid.]

It’s what I hear every time I put sunscreen on my boys at the pool or beach. “Well, tough,” I reply, barking marching orders. “Stand here, arms out.”

I’m quite determined, because sunscreen is, of course, as essential as sweat-busting deodorant out here. But even so, I then only have about 15 seconds to do a high-speed all-over application before Son1 jumps into the water and swims away like a fish being chased with a net (and yes, I know, I should really apply it before we even leave the house).

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Why do boys as young as 4 think sunscreen is “just for girls”? Sigh!

My boys have skin with a slight olive hue, thanks to their Lebanese roots, and in five years, we’ve thankfully managed to avoid a bad burn, but for blonde children with a whiter complexion the intense sun in the Middle East is a major concern.

As it also is, on a cosmetic level, for desert-dwelling Mums who don’t want to resemble a leathery handbag by 45. Like many expats whose path to Dubai has included postings in Singapore, Hong Kong and other hot countries, we’ve spent time living in Florida, as well as the sun-drenched UAE, and so I thought I knew all there was to know about sun safety.

Turns out I didn’t: I learnt yesterday that many sunscreens aren’t as good as we think they are.

Rates of melanoma – the deadliest skin cancer – have tripled over the past 35 years, and part of the reason could be the decades of deceptive marketing claims made by sunscreen manufacturers, according to the US’s Washington DC-based Environmental Working Group (EWG).

We all know, by now, the old rules: Look for products with an SPF of 15 to 50, labeled “broad spectrum protection” (meaning they protect against both UVA and UVB rays); reapply every two hours; keep babies younger than 6 months out of the sun; and avoid the really harsh sun between 10am and 2pm.

To these, we’re now being urged to add the following new rules:

Higher SPF values (above 50) are misleading: Go on, admit it – if you see an SPF of 75, isn’t it tempting to think you can enjoy the sun 75 times longer before you burn? Not so. These products encourage us to apply too little sunscreen and stay in the sun too long; in the US, there are even calls to ban the sale of sunscreens with SPF values greater than 50+.

Avoid sprays: With my two boys already thinking suntan lotion is “just for girls”, I was dismayed to read that this easy-application method is frowned upon. The concern is twofold: that not enough sunscreen makes it onto the skin, and that the spray may be inhaled into the lungs.

Remember the days when we attempted deep, dark tans by sun-baking?

Remember the days when we attempted deep, dark, mahogany tans by sun-baking?

After a swim or sweating, reapply: Under new rules in the US, companies are now prohibited from making misleading advertising claims such as “sunblock”, “waterproof” and “sweat-proof.” Labels must also note a time limit of either 40 or 80 minutes before the sunscreen is ineffective.

Be generous: Aim for a golfball-size dollop, or roughly one teaspoon per limb. Use too little and your SPF 15 won’t work effectively, becoming more like an SPF 4.

Read the ingredients: Avoid products with vitamin A, retinol or its derivatives (such as retinyl palmitate and retinyl acetate). Although the jury’s out, Canadian health authorities are worried that the additives increase sun sensitivity. They’ve even proposed requiring that sunscreens with retinyl palmitate carry a warning saying they can increase the chance of sunburn for up to a week.

Steering clear of products containing oxybenzone, a chemical that may disrupt hormones, is also advised. Opinion is, again, divided (many scientists say the effect is so weak as to be insignificant), but the EWG recommends products that use zinc oxide and titanium dioxide as active ingredients.

Opt for fragrance-free: Scents bring more unnecessary chemicals and potential allergens to the mix.

For a list of the EWG’s best sunscreens (such as Coppertone Kids Pure & Simple Lotion, SPF 50), click here

A list of the best moisturisers with SPF can be found here

Safe tanning fellow sun worshipers. Circles x

The one in which I resign

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My Facebook friends will know that yesterday I threw a bit of a paddy – and resigned from my role as the glue, grocery shopper and crisis manager of little people’s tantrums.

Obviously, I felt pretty silly this morning, as I got the chicken out the freezer to defrost, packed the school bags and did the school run.

But it did seem to resonate with my Facebook pals, who cheered me up immensely with their comments (“I didn’t realise that was even an option,” remarked my Uni friend A. “A whole world of possibilities opens up.”)

It also got me thinking about the multi-faceted role of being a mother. Specifically, how it translates to positions that Mums in Dubai may have held previously, are still working in, or hope to return to one day.

So, just for fun, here it is, the expat mum’s job description:

mom_is_love_mothers_day_appreciation_sticker-p217259561246218932bah05_400*Fun mum needed for lifelong position in growing international company (Trailing Spouse, Inc). Must love sand.*

Roles and skills required

– Domestic engineer (fix broken toys, leaks, the Internet)

– Director of child development (must be available 24/7, and responsive at 3am)

– Senior buyer (why go to one supermarket, when you can go to three to get everything you need?)

– Chef (Tesco’s ready-meals are a looo-ng way away)

– Risk analyst (if another mum picks up your child, will she use a car seat?)

– Fashionista (full make-up, sundress and heels by 7.15am)

– Diplomat/negotiator (small warring countries are a cinch compared to hot, overtired siblings)

– Chauffeur (long-distance/defensive driving experience on supersized highways preferable)

– Creative director (how many days stuck inside in the air-con can you fill creatively?)

Candidates with eight arms will be given automatic interview

Candidates with eight arms will be given automatic interview

– Home studies supervisor (how long till you lose the plot?)

– Translator (French, Arabic, Hindi)

– Event co-ordinator (two children, three parties, one mum)

– Stylist (kids must be well turned-out, shoes clean enough that you can see design/original colours, hair combed)

– Investment manager (prices of bread, fruits and fish fingers need to be monitored to avoid bankruptcy in Spinneys)

– Counsellor (pick up the pieces when grandparents leave and/or school friends move to the US/back home)

Specific duties related to spouse

– Greet within two minutes of arriving home or be accused of mood swings

– Muster energy to spend evening talking coherently

– Look presentable  (clean clothes, make-up reapplied and definitely no elastic)

Salary

Ha ha ha ha ha!!!! (Unless you count the coins that drop out of the dryer after a load of laundry)

Benefits

Happy, healthy children (mostly), raised as global nomads. Bundles of love. Travel perks. SUV with 7 seats. Sunny days. Lots of love (I know, I said it already but it’s worth saying twice)

“God could not be everywhere and therefore He made mothers.” – Jewish proverb

Silent Sunday: Car oven warning

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A serious one today, because there was some really sad news here last week about a three-year-old Yemeni boy, who died in a hot car after his family forgot about him and left him in the vehicle for almost three hours. The tragic incident, which happened outside the child’s house, has sparked a campaign in the UAE to remind people that heat kills when children or pets are left in cars (even at lower temperatures than on this poster.)

Because babies and young children are not able to regulate their body temperatures well, they warm three to five times faster than an adult, especially in a car, where the windows create a greenhouse effect. Backseat tragedies don’t just happen in the Middle East, either: about 450 children have died this way in the US since 1998.

Because babies and young children are not able to regulate their body temperatures well, they warm three to five times faster than an adult, especially in a car, where the windows create a greenhouse effect. Backseat tragedies don’t just happen in the Middle East, either: very sadly about 450 children have died this way in the US since 1998.

Silent Sunday: Dive-in movie

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Move over multiplexes – nothing, not even lazy-boy chairs with all the frills of 3D, can be more chilled than pulling up your lilo and watching a movie from a cool pool. The climate in the Gulf is perfect for Cine-Splash, which takes place on Thursday and Friday nights during the hot months at our local pool. There’s even popcorn, hotdogs and cocktails. Win, win, WIN!

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Finally, my children are old enough to make this a really enjoyable experience!

The things children do for a sugar rush

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The front door burst open and the sound of school shoes pounding on our marble staircase got louder.

“MUU-MMM! WHERE ARE YOU?”

I was upstairs, trying desperately to finish some work in the relatively quiet couple of hours between one school pick-up and the arrival of the school bus.

“Mum, I have to tell you something!”

“What is it BB? What is it?”

Who says only dogs eat homework?

Who says only dogs eat homework?

As I’ve mentioned before, he tells me very little about school, and I usually have to ask leading questions like: “What was the best thing that happened today?”, “Can you act out what you did at break time?” and “Who were the naughty children?”

So I was all ears. The slung-aside school bag, upturned lunchbox and my unfinished column could wait.

“I brought my igloo project home Mum,” [the marshmallow one I posted about last week, after learning that another mum used diamonds]

“Where is it?” I asked, suspiciously.

“Um, something happened.”

“On the bus,” he continued, a guilty look replacing his initial pained expression.

“Did you leave it on the bus? I’m sure the bus nanny will find it.’

“No, it’s not lost Mum…it’s gone…. it got eaten. By the children, on the way home.”

There’s nothing quite like finding out that your son let all his friends devour marshmallows that we’d rolled in glue (while avoiding munching on any himself) to make you rush over to the glue pot to make sure it was non-toxic. Which it was – thank goodness!

Still, I can’t help wondering if there might be a few empty seats on the bus tomorrow.

Travel widow: The five-day trip

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Guess who?

Guess who?

I’m often asked: “Is your husband away a lot?” The truth is, he’s home a lot more than most husbands who work 9-6 plus over-time and weekends. But, of course, the nature of his job means that every time he does leave, it’s for an overseas trip of varying lengths.

His favourite jollies jaunts are to Europe – about seven hours there and back, two days away in total and a European city, such as Munich or Paris, at his disposal (what’s not to like?). I think he rather enjoys Bangkok too (not too much I hope) and, naturally, he loves returning to his home country, the States.

This week, he’s on a five-day trip to Australia and New Zealand. I’ve been with him on this one, and so I know the 14-hour journey to Sydney, the onward flight to Auckland and the jet lag are tough. But, the hardest thing, in my opinion, is the distance: it honestly feels like he’s dropped off the end of the world.

Before he left, he said to me: “Y’know, when I’m away, especially when I’m gone so far, the children just get better and better in my mind.”

“YOU WHAT?” I retorted, not sure if I’d heard him properly. I looked at him quizzically, through disbelieving eyes – but he meant it. He misses them so much that, to him, they become little angels, and not the whirling dervishes that seem to visit every time he’s gone.

So, I can’t resist, this is a day-by-day summary of not just our children’s angelic ways, but the household frustrations that he’s missing this week.

Day 1:
All is calm. This isn’t so bad, I think. The boys and I really bond when DH is away and we eat boiled eggs for dinner.

Day 2:
BB develops an ear infection, complicated by whining and exacerbated ten-fold by his noisy brother, who starts shouting erratically as though he’s got Tourette’s. We see the doctor and start antibiotics.

Day 3:
BB’s well enough for school and is all ready at 7.15am, but the bus doesn’t turn up. I phone the mum in charge and find out there’s no school. Teacher training. Sigh. (I swear, they have so many days off here that mums might as well tell themselves there’s no school, and then be pleasantly surprised when there is.)

Day 4:
The gas runs out in the middle of cooking dinner – time to call a gas delivery company (such as ‘Al Boom’ – yes, that’s its name, really!). TV stops working.

Day 5:
The boys are fighting like gerbils. They’re desperately trying to get their hands on our electronic devices. I eventually hide the iPad, and they go for my iPhone, and when I take that away too, LB grabs my Kindle like an addict and starts tapping it furiously in the hope it might have Minecraft on it (this can only end in tears). At bedtime, he tells me petulantly, “I’m not closing my eyes, I’m NOT!”

Happy days! Hurry home DH (and by way of a full disclosure, I actually wouldn’t swap roles in a million years.)

PS: If your husband is on the road a lot, do check out this article, in which Gulf ‘Travel Widows’ (including me!) reveal how they cope with the lifestyle.

The blinged-out art box

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I’ve started to wonder what other mothers keep in their art boxes (I’m also wondering what else finds its way into party bags, after hearing about a mum who gave each child a live goldfish as a party favour – but that’s a whole new blog post).

I know there are crafty and not-so-crafty mothers, and I like to think I fall somewhere in between, but, somehow, my craft box always seems to be lacking something.

I bring tonnes of used paper home from work, which would otherwise go into the shredder, and I buy felt pens, pencils, glitter, etc, when I remember, but lately I’ve started wondering if I should be thinking outside the crayon and marker aisle.

Precious stones glitter on fingers and on art projects

Precious stones glitter on fingers and on art projects

This was brought home to me at approximately 5.15pm this evening – that joyous, twilighty zone when you’re busy with dinner, crabby kids and homework, and your offspring are hell-bent on pushing your buttons.

Nearly there, I’m thinking to myself, imagining that first sip of soothing sauvignon blanc sending post-bedtime relief coursing through my veins.

When…

“Mum!” my oldest bellows. “I forgot to tell you. I’ve got a project to do. I have to make an igloo, out of marshmallows.”

Hmm, timely, I think – given that it’ll soon be hotter than Hades in the UAE, and it’s nearly dinnertime.

“I have to take it in tomorrow. The teacher says so. Everyone else has done theirs’.”….. “I kept forgetting to tell you,” he says, in a quieter voice at least.

So, attempting to fake enthusiasm, I hurriedly spread newspaper over the dining table, find some cardboard, and try to creatively suggest how we can fashion an igloo out of marshmallows, glue and sellotape. (Could be worse, I decide; we could be making the Burj Khalifa out of yogurt pots).

It’s beginning to take shape; I thank my lucky stars that I actually have marshmallows in the house and skirt round the request for cotton wool snow by producing some toilet tissue (voila!). Then BB tells me about Xavier’s igloo.

“His is the best,” he says, clearly impressed. “Xavier used an upside-down china bowl for the igloo, and there’s a blue river running round it – made out of diamonds.”

Diamonds? Seriously? Could you get any flashier? Oh how very Dubai.