Category Archives: Family

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!

Penguins in the desert

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Just when you think you’ve seen it all: Sharks at the Dubai Mall. Swarovski crystals on a BMW. The world’s highest restaurant.

Dubai goes and does it again, flying 20 penguins to the UAE ‘business class’ from SeaWorld in San Antonio so desert dwellers can pay 175 dhs (£30) to get up close and personal with the lovable birds in a giant freezer.

The interactive penguin colony has moved to a Dubai shopping mall, taking up residence at a fake Antarctica created inside Ski Dubai. In true UAE style, they’ve got private living quarters, an ice-cold pool and a staff of 13 butlers including a penguin curator who feed them restaurant-quality fish imported from Canada.

Snow penguins on show at Ski Dubai: You ever seen penguins on a mountain before?


In return, the 10 king penguins (the second largest type) and 10 gentoo penguins are expected to ‘offer a unique experience’ to visitors, including a penguin march several times a day from 2pm – which my kids couldn’t wait to see.

Checking over my shoulder that there weren’t any animal rights activists around with ‘Penguins for Profit’ placards, we paid the entrance fee to the snow park, got the kids bundled up and discovered for ourselves whether it was a case of Happy Feet in the desert or marketing gone mad.

Here’s what you need to know:

● Hand-reared from birth, you can’t help but fall in love in love with the penguins when they waddle in, flapping their wings and playing footie with their butlers.

● Newly established pairs are said to be courting already in their Dubai digs, meaning it could only be a matter of time before native-born penguins are hatched at Ski Dubai. We did see evidence of a love match – a bickering pair were having a right old barney.

Bird's eye view from the Costa Coffee above - in the words of Ski Dubai’s operations manager, “We ask the birds what they want to do, we never force them.” (!!!)

● You WILL get cold. You can opt to pay for the snow park and see the penguin march at close-hand, or shell out more for the ‘Peng Friend’ programme, in which visitors over three get the chance to interact with the penguins and view underwater swimming.

Alternatively, you could strike a deal with your DH and get him to take the kids in, while you go upstairs to the Costa Coffee and enjoy a great bird’s eye view for the price of a cup of tea.

● All visits are accompanied at all times so there’s no snow-ball throwing.

● While we didn’t do the face-to-face encounter, I’ve heard the penguins love meeting humans, will sit on visitors’ laps and even hug them.

● I won’t get into the rights and wrongs of this attraction, because it’s causing controversy, but the penguins weren’t captured from the wild and bundled off to the desert. They were born and bred in captivity as part of a breeding programme at SeaWorld.

● Being leered at by thousands of school kids aside, the penguins do seem to be enjoying the lifestyle of respected diplomatic ambassadors. And, another upside, there’s no chance they’ll be turned into lunch.

● One of the most hilarious things is the ‘poop and scoop’ guy who has to follow the penguins around cleaning up puddles of yellow snow.

Worth a visit, definitely, but it did make me wonder what’s next for Dubai: polar bears playing volley ball?

For more information, click here

The to-do list that keeps growing

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Last week was my first whole week at home in a little while, following a stint of work – but, and I’ve always said this, getting back to one’s housewifely/motherly duties is when the hard work really starts.

I had so many plans for the week. BIG plans.

Top of the to-do list was sorting out our clothes – not just mine, which are now so crammed into the wardrobe I can’t even see what’s there, but also the boys’ clothes. Their baby clothes (they’re 3 and 6 now) were to be given away, their shoes tried on and organised and their t-shirts filed in size order.

The guest-room vision: No Disney characters in sight

I was then going to move into our spare room and redecorate so visitors don’t have to sleep with giant Winnie-the-Pooh stickers above their heads, choosing muted, gender-neutral tones picked at leisure while browsing the paint store.

I was going to go jogging every other day, and cook several low-carb, low-fat dishes – stashing extra portions in the freezer. I saw myself making vegetable soup with the radio on in the kitchen and eating it for lunch, with a brown roll, every day. I was sure I’d lose at least 2lb and feel great.

I was going to reply to emails dating back to 2010, get passport photos taken of LB and start writing an article for a friend who’s doing a jolly good job raising awareness of coeliac disease in the UAE.

Oh, the optimism.

What I’d forgotten was that DH was home for 4 days last week, the school day is over in a blink and the kids are always so ecstatic I’m not working, they won’t let me out of their sight. Needless to say, our clothes are still clogging up the wardrobes, the article didn’t get written, I’m still a hopeless pen-pal and I didn’t even buy the paint.

So what did I achieve?

● I hung out with the boys and marvelled as BB miraculously started to read [proud moment – he can be challenging]

● Ate chips and a giant pastry-rich vol au vent at the Belgium Beer Cafe on a date night with DH

● Drank tea with friends in Costa Coffee and Starbucks

● Went down the road to Silicon Oasis to catch up with friends I haven’t seen for a year

● Enjoyed seeing my in-laws who surprised us with a visit from Beirut, where heavy rain had stalled work on the house they’re building

● Had my hair chemically straightened

● Power-walked round the block, once

Wonderfully sociable, even if nothing got ticked off the list.

There’s always this week, though DH has just got back, it’s LB’s half-term and, snow-permitting, we’ve got more visitors arriving on Tuesday for a week-long sleepover with Winnie the Pooh.

INSPIRATION: Dubai’s Desperate Housewife; PHOTO CREDIT: New Bedroom Designs

Ships passing in the night

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Sometimes, when you’re juggling two kids, half-a-job and one DH – who keeps odd hours (often going to work in the middle of the night) – getting the whole family on the same time zone can be quite a challenge.

Yesterday morning, DH actually left at a normal time, but as he’s gone all weekend (sigh) and I’ve been busy with work all week, I got that ‘ships-passing-in-the-night’ feeling again:

6.50am (alarm goes off): Carry 50 pounds of boy, too sleepy to walk himself, down the cold, marble staircase. Pad… pad… pad. Shiver

7am: Persuade boy to get dressed, amid complaints about the bitter cold (13°C!)

7.05am: DH comes down the stairs, in his uniform, his suitcase trailing behind him. Clop… clop… clop. Thud… Thud. Klunk

7.10am: The Little Boy appears half-way down the stairs, rubbing his eyes and whimpering. “Mummee, carry meee … Itsch cold!”

7.10-7.15am: Interact briefly with DH, while he pulls up the flight plan on the iPad and figures out how to save it

7.15am: Our nanny appears and deposits Boo-boo the bear on the sofa. Fortunately she remembers there’s a teddy bear’s picnic at nursery (thank God for the wife!)

7.20am: School bus pulls up outside and BB darts out the door in a flash. Beep-beep-beep. Ker-thunk, as the doors clap shut

7.20-7.30am: More snatched conversation with DH as he raids our ‘bus bank’, where we keep all our foreign notes

DH's pocket money: He's got most currencies covered! (pretty, don't you think? The red Australian note bang in the middle is my favourite)


7.35am: DH’s ‘work car’ arrives, the engine humming outside – yes, he’s picked up and chauffeured to the airport – jammy, no?

7.45am: LB is peeled off me and handed over to our nanny amid protests (“Mummee, Nooooooo! No go!” so I can get ready

8.30am: I dash out the door into the car (no driver for me) and realise I’ve forgotten my jewellery AND lipstick (Thursday, the last day of the week, always throws me as it’s mufti day and finding something trendy takes at least 20 minutes)

8.32am: Feel naked, not trendy, but too late to fix this so I reverse out the garage and set off on the rat-race to Media City

And so, that was it, we all went our separate ways – to nursery, school, work and Hong Kong. [Confesses:] In fact, that was a lengthy conversation compared to when DH leaves at 2 in the morning and all I can muster is a half-formed, muffled good-bye from under the duvet.

Home for a refill and a blast of winter

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I love London, and each time I visit I’m reminded how much I enjoy being holed up in a cosy pub, drinking wine with my oldest friends – laughing till our sides ache, reminiscing, and marvelling at how much time has passed since we were at Uni together.

Nearly two decades have flashed by! How did that happen?

Our graduation ceremonies feel so recent, mine etched on my mind forever because I spied a fellow student’s grannie stuffing silverware into her handbag when she thought no one was looking.

The UK is actually having a mild winter this year, but it still feels cold when you only have summer clothes

These past few days, I’ve also enjoyed every minute of catching up with my family – loved ones I don’t see enough of due to living in the Middle East.

Everyone has said the same thing, though: “What are you doing here? Has something happened?”

They’re asking this because, since moving to Dubai four years ago, I’ve timed all my visits to the Northern hemisphere to coincide with warmer temperatures and long days.

This time, it’s winter – there’s a cold, howling wind that whips right through you, the tree branches are bare and the pale winter sun gives way to an eerie twilight at about 3.50pm.

I know my friends and family are struggling with blustery days, during which they go to work and return home in the dark like badgers, but, for me, the blast of winter is a wonderful novelty – a chance to drink warming hot chocolate by the radiator, to snuggle under the duvet with the iPad – and wear the Uggs.

I’m no stranger to winter. When we lived in the States – in Minneapolis, a city I adored in spring, summer and fall, the temperature could plummet to minus 25, so cold it hurt. During these sub-zero spells, if you threw a cup of boiling water into the air, it would freeze by the time it hit the ground.

Minneapolis in North America: Moving to Dubai was like jumping out of the freezer into the frying pan

Yet, at the same time, it was like living in a magical, winter wonderland. Fresh, fluffy snow would burst through the clouds, the flakes lightly touching your face, attaching to your lashes and tickling your nose. The sky, I remember, was nearly always blue, and the frozen lakes dotted with ice fishing huts and the odd car.


A British winter is, of course, far more dreary and overcast, but when you’ve escaped it for eight years running, it doesn’t seem gloomy. On the contrary, I’ve been revelling in the cosiness and loving the winter fashions being paraded everywhere I go. The scarves, hats, boots and coats – floor-length maxi-coats, double-breasted wool coats and fur-lined jackets in trendy winter colours like mustard and aubergine.

I’ve practically had to stop myself coo-ing at coats out loud or, worse, running up to people in the street to snatch the coat off their back.

Believe me, winter can be utterly fabulous, especially when you’ve just arrived from the desert and it’s only four days long.

Oh the coats - I love the coats. You would too if you never had to wear one

Boys will be boys

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What is it about motherhood that makes a congenital worry-wart grow 10 times bigger?

Since having kids, it seems I spend half my life talking the boys down from high walls, breaking up fights at home and stepping in when their antics get a bit too dare devilish.

Yet there are times when all I can do is stand by and watch their risk-taking ways – with my heart in my mouth.

As it’s a little chilly for swimming right now (if you live here, that is, tourists are not deterred), we’re making the most of Dubai’s park life. The city has wonderful parks – green, landscaped, clean and strewn with flowers and things to do, from train rides to trampolines.

One of my favourites is a smaller park near BB’s school that looks like this:

From lush golf courses to grassy parks, Dubai is surprisingly green

The landscaping, fountains and bridges are lovely and it’s set in the middle of a gated community of luxurious million-dirham villas, in which many of BB’s school friends actually live.

The only drawback – as is the case with most of Dubai’s parks and play areas – is it’s mainly nannies who watch the kids, so the chances of striking up a conversation with a like-minded mum are reduced. But that didn’t bother me today, as I imagined myself sitting on the grass with a book.

On arriving, however, we found a towering plastic inflatable slide, with various other 15dhs (£3)-a-pop rides, and I immediately knew my plans for an afternoon of wholesome, inexpensive fun were thwarted.

As BB clambered up the giant slide, I tried to close my ears to the deafening din of Bollywood music competing with ‘Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush’ coming from the helicopter ride opposite.

A couple of kids, supervised by a nanny with no teeth (I don’t mean that literally, I mean a timid, overworked nanny with little control over her charges), were climbing the wall of the slide and, thankful that BB wasn’t doing the same, I relaxed a little – until I saw what he was doing.

He was bouncing at the top of the slide to gain momentum, then took a flying jump, which I can only describe as a backward flip with a twist – landing half-way down the slide on his head with an audible jolt.

“BB NO,” I roared, far too late. I was honestly scared he could have broken his neck. Didn’t bother him, of course. He simply sprung up at the bottom with a massive grin on his face and an expression that said, “Mummy, look at me!”

Boys – they’re not for the fainted hearted – and I know I just have to get used to it, because the day will come when they’ll want flying lessons.

PICTURE CREDIT: CollectAir