Category Archives: Parenting

So why is fasting seen as generous?

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Costa during Ramadan Dubai

What Ramadan looks like at work: Just enter the maze!

The popular greeting RAMADAN KAREEM, meaning Ramadan is generous, is totally lost on Son2. On several occasions, he’s turned all furtive, lowered his voice and whispered to me: “Mummy, I’m so glad we’re Christian.”

He’s learnt enough about Ramadan now to know Muslims observe this time of reflection and prayer by fasting from dawn until sunset – and in his seven-year-old mind, the idea of not being allowed to eat is quite horrifying!

I was actually really looking forward to Ramadan and, now that it’s underway, I can safely say I’m enjoying it so far.

The start was confirmed by the sighting of the moon on 6th June. Once announced, Muslims abstain from drinking, eating, smoking and sex during daylight hours. The word ‘Ramadan’ is derived from the Arabic root word ‘Ramida’ meaning ‘scorched heat’ or ‘parched thirst’. And anyone who fasts in this part of the world will fully understand those terms.

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Community fridges are a big hit with workers
Across the city there are at least 20 ‘Sharing Fridges’, which residents fill with food (juices, laban, water and fresh fruit and vegetables) several times a day. The initiative was started by an Australian mum who wanted to do something to help others. Word spread quickly with more than 5,000 members now registered with the group through Facebook to participate in the campaign. Learn more at facebook.com/groups/uaefridges

For expats, Ramadan is a time to show respect for the sentiments of participating Muslims. While not expected to practise Ramadan themselves, in the UAE it is illegal for adults to eat, drink or smoke in public during daylight hours for the whole month (unless you’re elderly, ill, pregnant, nursing or menstruating, and even then, it’s better to be discreet). This extends to travelling in a car. Even chewing gum could be seen as an offence.

Most cafes and restaurants are closed all day, although some have a closed-off area for serving take-out food to non-fasters*. Supermarkets remain open and hotels cater for tourists, but the city has a different feel about it. No music is allowed, many nightclubs are closed and there are no concerts or festivals. The city comes alive at night, with the malls open late and many people including children staying up all hours socialising.

So, why, you might be wondering, am I enjoying it so much? And how can not having any food during daylight hours be considered generous?

For me, I love the reduced working hours. Companies are obliged to shorten the day, so at my office we finish at 3.30pm (a six-hour day, rather than eight hours). School also starts later, which on the upside means a lie in. The downside is they’re let out earlier, too, at 1.30pm.

With the exception of the roads just before Iftar – when hungry drivers rush to break their fast – good will abounds. Charity tents are erected for those who wish to donate to the needy, and many restaurants serve all-you-can-eat Iftar buffets at generous prices. (It’s common to see famished fasters staring down at their food while waiting for the sunset call to prayer.) Ramadan’s generosity extends to the stores in the mall, with some great sales on at this time of year.

A last note on Ramadan at work: we’re not allowed to eat or drink at our desks, and must instead have snacks, lunch, water and cups of tea in the kitchen (whispers: I’ve never seen so many people eating!). Productivity is certainly taking a hit while sitting in the kitchen chatting, while waiting for hot drinks to cool. But just in case my boss is reading this, there’s a great deal of office bonding going on around the kettle, in the spirit of Ramadan. ☺

RAMADAN KAREEM!

* Little tip-off: Was surprised to find the entire food court at Mall of the Emirates open for business. Just duck behind the hoardings and you can sit to eat.

Sharing Fridge photo credit: The National

On watching our little tadpoles in the school swim gala

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All the parents from Son2’s year were invited yesterday to watch the swim demo.

There are some remarkable swimmers among school children in Dubai – given that they swim so regularly, both at school and for fun, it wouldn’t surprise me if the next Michael Phelps came from the emirate. These seven-year-olds make it look easy, slicing through the water like fish, their arms thrashing away as though controlled by a metronome. The smooth strokes of the kids in swim squad are a pleasure to watch.

But (and this might just be me), after dropping Son2 off, my heart did sink a little at not being able to go straight home and get on with all the things I need to do before the long summer holiday kicks in. (I’ll bet I’m not the only knackered mum who feels like the holiday is hurtling towards us like a freight train.)

Is that you, Son2? Hard to tell.

Is that you, Son2? Hard to tell.

The demo started at 8.10am, which meant that between drop off and taking our positions round the edge of the pool, there were a few spare minutes to grab a quick Costa and move the car to a proper parking place. Of course, this all took longer than I’d expected, and so when I got to the sparkling pool, it was standing room only.

The turquoise water was clear, the kids excited. It was hot, but in the shade it was bearable. There were benches set out, and a clever cooling device – a sort-of sprinkler-fan – whipped the air with puffs of cool mist that caught the light from time to time. Birds wheeled and chirped overhead.

I stood next to my friend T, who’d already been for a jog round the school perimeter. “Really?” I exclaimed, still tasting the buttery croissant I’d scoffed at Costa.

Across the water, sixty children sat cross-legged – all wearing blue-and-white swimming uniform and swim caps. And herein lay my problem. It was almost impossible to work out which one was my son. Even when they stood up in small groups, and dived in, the combination of dazzling sunshine and regulation plastic caps made it difficult to distinguish between them. Once in the pool, the churning water, arm thrashing and splashing hardly helped.

My goggles fit perfectly, said no child everAn hour of watching endless races in which my son may or may not have been participating went by. Circles of perspiration had begun to form on the parents’ clothes. I pitied the men in suits. By now, the temperature must have hit the mid-90s.

But kudos to us – the parents’ enthusiasm didn’t wane. There was cheering and noise. The ‘swim mums (and dads)’ were easy to spot. “Go!” “Kick harder!” I wasn’t joking when I said there’s Olympic potential. I’m quite sure some of the mums were multi-tasking – watching their little ’un swim like a silver fish jumping upstream while also keeping one eye on their smartphone seeking out prospective endorsement deals*.

As enjoyable as it was, I was quite relieved to slink off home before we all melted, having escaped the rumoured ‘parents’ race’.

Later, I found myself in trouble, though. “Mum!” cried Son2 at pick-up time. He had his indignant voice on. “You weren’t watching. You didn’t see me win! Mum! WHY WEREN’T YOU WATCHING?”

* As an aside, did you know that Phelps’ 6ft 7in arm span is greater than his height; his lung capacity is double the average man’s; and his size 14 feet are more like flippers?

Reading corner: A book to float your boat

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In a family built on lies, who can you trust?

My dad accompanied me to this year’s Lit Fest, for two reasons. The day before had seen biblical floods in Dubai, and with little drainage in the emirate, I feared the roads would be awash with giant lakes. So Dad was my co-pilot. But he’s also a bookworm, and so I promised him that if he came, I’d buy him a book.

“Have you chosen one?” I asked after coming out of a social media seminar.
Dad smiled and beckoned for me to follow him. I could tell by the twinkle in his eye that something had piqued his interest.

Screen Shot 2016-05-28 at 13.37.35He led me to a book stand on which was displayed the novel I was already excited about buying for myself: Annabel Kantaria’s The Disappearance.

“It’s about a cruise,” he said, rubbing his hands with glee. I should add at this point that my parents are BIG cruisers, hence why the cover and blurb grabbed him.

I’d been wanting to get my hands on this book ever since reading Kantaria’s debut novel, Coming Home, last year. Discovering that my Dad also wanted to read her new release was a lovely surprise (although I always worry about sharing book recommendations with my Dad in case it’s crammed with sex scenes).

Thankfully, The Disappearance is no Fifty Shades of Grey. In keeping with the massively popular dark, ‘domestic noir’ trend, yet bright and uplifting at the same time, it’s a beautifully written story of family secrets and betrayals, set in 1970s India and present-day Cornwall, with a few Greek Islands thrown in to pepper the narrative with colour.

The author conjures up such a wonderful sense of place in describing the characters’ surroundings that you feel like you’re in bustling, sweltering-hot India, too. In the second half of the book, it’s as though you’ve actually boarded a cruise ship and are floating along, stopping at glorious, sun-soaked Mediterranean islands. The descriptions of India and the cruise were my favourite parts of the book.

The spectacular settings aside, the story is threaded with an undercurrent of danger to come. Right at the beginning, we find out that the main character, Audrey – who invited her adult twins Lexi and John to join her on the cruise – has gone missing at sea, on the eve of her 70th birthday. In flashbacks, we learn that she married a dangerous but enigmatic man; her son shares similar, sinister characteristics. John’s motives are tantalisingly ambiguous, especially after it’s revealed Audrey went missing within hours of breaking the news the twins would inherit a fortune after her death.

I don’t want to give the ending away, so I’ll say no more on this cracking, fast-paced story, but if you need another reason to read this book, it’s that, having read psychology to degree-level, the author conjures up vivid, complex and often chilling characters, whose dysfunctional interactions will not only keep you turning the pages, but will also keep you guessing until the epilogue. I’d hazard a guess that she’s been on a cruise, too!

Buy the book here.

Who left the oven on?

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Screen Shot 2016-05-18 at 22.27.53At school drop-off this morning, the usual line-up of big cars jostled for position up and down the length of the road. This nearly always involves double-parking then running into school at lightning speed to deposit Son2, before hot-footing it back to move my vehicle.

I’m Speedy Gonzales. The last thing you want at that ungodly-hour of the morning is to get back to your car and find you’ve blocked someone in who has a dental (or hair) appointment to get to. I’ve messed up before – a mum was waiting for me, her penciled-on eyebrows hovering somewhere near her hairline. We had ‘words’. Never again.

This morning, I glanced at the woman parked in front of me as she grappled with a shiny, metallic-silver sunshade. She attached it to her car’s windshield as though she was blindfolding the window. It’s common practice here if you’re leaving your car outdoors all day. Apparently the deflective heat shield stops the dashboard losing its colour in the UV light. Whether it also means you can hold the steering wheel without being burnt when you return to your car, I’m not sure.

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Breathing through hot, sticky treacle takes a little know-how 

We’ve reached that time of year, you see. When you step out of your car into the heat of the morning and it’s only 7.45am. You lock the doors with a click and breathe in air that’s already heavy – thick with a cloying sultriness that turns your car into an oven while stationary.

 

At work, I’ve noticed the journalists don’t particularly want to go out to meetings anymore. I don’t have too far to walk from the car to my office building, but by the time I enter the wide, glass doors, there are already beads of perspiration forming in the fine lines on my forehead and between my shoulder blades. The office, in contrast, is blissfully cool and I take a moment to enjoy the feel of the air-conditioning hitting my skin.

I feel very lucky, actually, to be in work when the temperature rises. As well as AC, there’s a circular Dyson fan mounted on a pedestal, which somehow cleverly wafts a breeze over without any moving blades. You can even put your head in it. In fact, I hear more complaints at work about being cold. When my friend texted today to say she was ‘dying sweating by the swimming pool while her boys had their swim lessons’, I thanked my lucky stars.

But still – we had a good, long stretch of perfect, cooler weather (5 months), and all the cloud seeding the UAE has being doing to make it rain has been much appreciated.

Dubai summer – I’m ready for you. Until I’m back on afternoon school-run duties during the hottest, sweatiest part of the day.

How to cause a big scene in Bahrain

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Manama skyline

Bahrain, which means ‘two seas’ in Arabic, comprises an archipelago of 33 islands lying between the east coast of Saudi Arabia and the Qatari peninsula

“Where’s Matty gone?”

I turned around at the sound of Son1’s voice, a notch smaller than usual, and sure enough his brother was gone.

It all happened in an instant. We’d spent a magnificent day exploring Manama – a cosmopolitan capital city with a liberal lifestyle, where old and new is succinctly blended; where glass and steel spires decorate the city’s skyline, and the narrow streets at the Manama souq are filled with stalls selling perfumes, spices, nuts, shisha bottles and gold.

Manana souk

The rabbit warren of streets at Manama souk is a sight not to be missed

We’d worn the children out, with sights including the new Bahrain Financial Harbour, rising like Neptune from reclaimed land, and the twin towers of the Bahrain World Trade Centre – linked by skybridges sporting wind turbines. The kids had swum, jet-skied on the sparkling bay (the small island nation is characterised by the aquamarine water that laps its shores). They’d enjoyed a Dairy Queen dinner beside a beautiful mosque with two towering minarets lit up like candles. Then they’d both fallen asleep in the car on the way back to the hotel.

I’d woken Son2 up with difficulty, and he was walking right behind me as we made our way in the dark to the wide doors at the entrance. I’d seen him a second before, his head bowed, shoulders hunched with tiredness. And then, like a car crash, it happened.

Except, of course, you don’t immediately think you’ve actually lost your son, do you? You assume he’s just trailed too far behind and you casually start calling his name across the dimly lit car park.

Manama Dairy Queen

Dairy Queen in Manama

Fast-forward 10 minutes, and I was beginning to panic. Where on earth had he gone? We’d checked all the obvious places, the room, the car park, the hotel lobby, a second entrance where workers were dismantling tables and chairs from a wedding at the hotel. Noticing that something was amiss, they joined our search. What was he wearing? they asked, and I could barely remember.

“Come,” said one of the men, and feeling like my legs were on backwards, I followed him over to the security guard at the gate. I’d noticed him earlier: dark hair stuck to his glistening forehead as he checked the trunks and underbellies of all the cars entering the hotel grounds. Checking for what? I’d wondered. Bombs?

He shook his head. “Maybe the swimming pool?” he said, looking askance. I wasn’t too worried about the pool, as Son2 swims well; by now, I’d started imagining he was in someone’s car, half-way over the King Fahd Causeway to neighbouring Saudi Arabia.

DH, Son1 and I lapsed into a dreadful silence as everyone continued to search, the sound of loud music from the wedding party reception at the edge of my hearing. How could he have vanished in the blink of an eye? I’d only taken my eyes off him for a second. My heart was thumping, my mouth as dry as the desert all around.

Then out of the darkness came the silhouette of a man. A security guard was walking towards us, all smiles, eyes twinkling with warmth. He was carrying our sleeping son – Son2 had wandered off, laid down on a grassy verge, and fallen fast asleep. Totally oblivious to the commotion going on around him …

Just when I thought holidays with kids were getting easier!

Tree of Life Bahrain

The Tree of Life: This amazing, 400-year-old tree stands alone in the Bahraini desert, surviving on water gleaned from particles of sand and the air’s humidity

Dubai set to go Orlando-tastic!

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IMG Worlds Of Adventure MARVEL Zone ZB resized

It’s hoped the park will help Dubai achieve its aim of rivalling Orlando, Florida

For a while now, I’ve been aware of some goings-on down the road: the construction of a massive building with mosaic walls; an escaped dinosaur on the loose; signs that the race to open a whole raft of theme parks in the emirate is about to be won.

And we all know Dubai doesn’t do things by half.

This August will see the opening of Dubai’s $1bn IMG Worlds of Adventure, followed by – two months later – an even bigger offering in the form of three linked theme parks (the Hollywood-inspired theme park Motiongate, Dubai Bollywood Parks and Legoland).

Move over Ferrari World (and Global Village!).

It’s all part of the Dubai government’s aim to increase tourist numbers to 20 million visitors a year by the end of the decade, up from 13.2 million in 2015. At a press conference today, featuring life-size comic characters, IMG said it expected to attract 4.5 million people in the first year of opening alone.

So what can we expect? Here’s a sneak peak at just a few of the attractions at IMG, which, when it opens on 15 August, will be the largest indoor theme park in the world – roughly the size of 28 football fields.

MARVEL ZONE

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Marvel and Cartoon Network-themed rides are the main pull

• Avengers Battle of Ultron: Join Iron Man, Thor, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Captain America and the Hulk as they take to the skies in the Quinjet to battle the evil villain Ultron.

• Hulk Epsilon Base 3D: Hold the motion sickness. Enjoy being virtually propelled through a battle scene in which Hulk takes on his deadliest foe, The Leader.

• Spider-Man Doc Ock’s Revenge: Save New York from the sinister Doctor Octopus on this 400-metre spinning coaster.

• Thor Thunder Spin: Free skin-firming on this one. You’ll be pinned to your seat on this dizzying top-spin experience as Thor attempts to rescue adventurous riders from the clutches of Loki, God of Mischief.

LOST VALLEY – DINOSAUR ADVENTURE ZONE

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Hand-carved dinosaurs: Take a spin with the friendlier inhabitants of the Lost Valley

• The Velociraptor: Hit 100 kilometres an hour in 2.5 seconds on this thrilling 1.1 km rollercoaster, taking riders from the deep dark prehistoric jungles of the Lost Valley out into the Dubai desert and back.

• Forbidden Territory: Go on safari and spot 70 prehistoric, life-sized animatronic dinosaurs.

• Predator: Calling all adrenaline junkies. The sharpest drop track in the region, with a heart-stopping ‘beyond-vertical’ plummet to Earth.

• Dino Carousel: The first dinosaur-themed carousel in the world.

CARTOON NETWORK ZONE

• The Powerpuff Girls – Mojo Jojo’s Robot Rampage: Save the world before bedtime.

• Adventure Time – The Ride of OOO with Finn & Jake: Soar across the sky with Finn and Jake through retail and themed F&B outlets in the magical land of Ooo.

• The Amazing Ride of Gumball: Visit the town of Elmore where Gumball and Darwin’s school science project has gone out of control.

There’s loads more – an adventure fortress, LazyTown Playground and live stage show, street entertainers – too many things to list here. Tickets go on sale online tomorrow at www.IMGworlds.com, costing AED 300 for adults and AED 250 for children.

IMG Worlds Of Adventure Exterior Full park image

Open all year: The park is set inside a temperature-controlled environment

House-hunting in Dubai (not for the faint hearted)

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So, we’re trekking round Dubai looking at homes – not because we want to (see previous post), but because we’re being evicted and thought we’d better check out all the options. Secretly, I absolutely love noseying around other people’s villas and I’m not averse to a bit of property porn – so off we go. Google Maps at the ready.

Town Square

Town Square on Al Qudra – some imagination required for this one

First stop – Al Furjan. I’ve heard good things, and Son1’s school isn’t too far away. We pass lines of giant electricity pylons whose wires stretch for as far as the eye can see in each direction, and I spot the enormous, curvaceous satellite dish that must surely pick up some interesting TV shows (always reminds me of the James Bond movie, Golden Eye). We’re close – but that doesn’t mean anything in Dubai. After several attempts, we find the entrance.

My husband winds down the car window and politely asks if we can see the show villa.

The security guard shakes his head. “No,” he says, deadpan.

“We’re Emirates,” we say, trying again. You think they’d make this easy, right?

Sunlight streams through the window and I squint at the guard through narrowed eyes. He smiles back. A smile that comes out like a newborn foal – its legs buckle straight away. “You need to contact the company to get key,” he says, and no matter how much we argue our case (“the company sent us here”), he won’t relent. He lets us in, however, to drive around.

I like what I see and spot a man I decide to ask a question of. Unfortunately he’s up a ladder. He’s standing on the uppermost rung doing something to the carport roof, and all I can see are the bottoms of his legs above white trainers. I wait. Once he’s safely down, I ask one or two questions, which he helpfully answers and then we’re on our way.

To Jumeriah. By now, we’re getting hungry and the car’s running low on gas. Just a quick stop, says my husband – it’s such a fabulous location close to the beach, and it’s a jewel of day, as bright and shiny as a new-minted dirham. I’d love to live this close to the sea, I think. But the reality is our schools are nowhere near, and we find ourselves lost and struggling with the dual numbering system on the villas.

Jumeriah numbers

Hmmm … helpful. We’re lost

My husband isn’t one to give up easily, and so we do see one villa – which we disagree on due to me not wanting to spend all day on the school run.

Onwards we go, and to cut a long story short, I’ll fast forward straight to our viewing at Mudon, where – if we won the lottery – we could possibly buy a villa or townhome. We’re immediately seduced by a sign to the 5-bed showhome. “Let’s just look,” I say, hopefully, and we drive deeper into Mudon, following more signs laid out like breadcrumbs. Arriving, I climb out the car, and stare at my dream home. I walk round with my eyes on stalks. It’s incredible, exhilarating. I’m almost breathless with excitement. It’s property porn. And it’s totally beyond our reach.

Sigh.

“Well, let’s look at the smaller ones,” I suggest.

We walk into an office and a woman greets us.

“Could we have some information please?” I ask.

“What sort of information?” she says. A puzzled look flickers across her face. Then she looks blank.

District 11

Meydan South: Where we’ll likely end up, even if the well-known book series/movie reference is a little disconcerting! (“District 11: A large district in the south… The punishment system is much harsher in this district” – The Hunger Games)

“Erm, about your villas?”

She’s still looking confused.

“What you have available, prices,” I suggest, trying to help her out. I begin to wonder if they are actually trying to sell villas here. Maybe it’s all a big ruse for displaced expats.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. She points to a number. “You need to call.”

“Could you tell us about the facilities?” asks DH after we’ve looked round the townhome she said we could see.

The quizzical look returns. She doesn’t have a clue, and we leave wondering what on earth her actual job was. Dubai can be a funny old place, you know.

secret of change

The eviction email

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After months of rumours that wouldn’t go away, my husband’s company hit several hundred staff members with an eviction notice on Thursday. It’s always a Thursday, the last day of the week here. And it’s always a shock when it comes.

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Clouds: I’ll miss this room!

I cried! Yes, hands up, I’m happy to admit it – I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Angry tears streamed down my face. I love our house. Over the past seven years, the frustrated interior designer in me has painted each room in a rainbow of bright colours. The family room ceiling is a skyscape, with white fluffy clouds and airplanes, and on the garden wall I painted a fairytale castle. It amused the kids for all of five minutes, but I think we’ve all blossomed from the love that’s been put into this house and garden.

I knew where we were headed (for those in the know, Meydan South, and for readers wondering, a massive, identikit housing development in the desert, where the company wants to accommodate all crew). I closed my eyes for a moment and saw several images: the huge highways I’d have to drive on, for miles each day, to get my kids to their respective, now further-away schools. Twelve tarmacked lanes of traffic and stress, with idiot drivers who care not a bit about a mum on a school run with small children dragged out of bed far too early, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel and teeth clenched.

I also imagined endless construction, the hammering of machines and the high-pitched whine of drills as the developers work on road access to the community and build the compound’s facilities (community centre, shop, pool, etc). Amenities like these won’t be ready until this time 2017. Yes, they open these places in Dubai before these things are built. I thought about all this, and held my head in my hands. How could they do this to us?

Coronation Street

Three days on from the eviction email and I’m in a much more positive frame of mind. It’s a free house, with bills paid, and inside it’s lovely. While a sandpit now, residents will, in time, get a small garden growing which will green up (heartbreaking, though, that our current spacious gardens will be ripped up).

No-one is being forced – families can take the money and find their own accommodation if they wish, either to buy or rent. Meydan South will eventually have great facilities, and as for the driving, well there’s the option to change schools. There are safe pathways for the kids to explore, on foot or bike; there will literally be hundreds of children living in the community, who can all call on each other and go off to play, like in 1950s England. Or, dare I say it, Butlins holiday camp.

See you at Meydan South!

Postscript: Perhaps the best news for Mums is that a friend has found a great pub/watering hole just ten minutes away, with good food and prices (Qube Bar at Meydan – which might just make the move totally worthwhile!)

Internet Scam Warning: Son2’s £280 iTunes bill

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Parents Beware: My app-ortunistic son managed to innocently purchase adds-on to his FREE game without a password – arrrrghhh!

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Hungry Shark Evolution: There was no indication in the game that he was being charged for any of the clicks

It’s a Dubai problem, I know, but due to our compound pool springing a leak (think: standing in the middle literally paddling) the facility closed just after the Easter school holiday started, and is due to reopen the day after the kids go back.

Timing, eh!

To be honest, my boys weren’t too concerned: they just got busy doing the thing they do best – leaving their smeary fingerprints all over their iPads. Which was all very well until I got an email from my mum saying she’d been contacted by Barclaycard Fraud Squad.

I should explain: my boys and my mother share an iTunes account; it’s her credit card that gets billed. I’m the gatekeeper and my mum is in the lucky position of receiving, overnight, any apps we download. Son2 is convinced that his grandmother must LOVE playing with his Lego Batman app over her cornflakes.

In her email, my mum asked: “Have the boys sussed the password?” The fraud squad were querying two items from iTunes: one to Hungry Shark (Son2’s favourite game this week) for £79.99 and another for £39.99.

A cacophony of alarm bells clashed horribly in my head.

I questioned Son2 immediately. What’s the password, I asked? A tiny, thin line appeared between his eyebrows.

“Is it L – A …” His voice trailed off, and I could tell that was all he knew.

“We know your phone password, Mum,” interrupted Son1, “because you say it when you type it in.”

“OK, something’s not right here,” I said, blowing the air from my cheeks and making a mental note to myself: Change phone password and don’t absentmindedly tell them this time.

Within minutes, the extent of the strange Hungry Shark charges had got worse: there were TWO payments of £79.99 that day, and one of £39.99, plus another £79.99 on 29 March, and I was still questioning Son2 as to how the hell this had happened.

I watched as his face quickly ran through a gamut of emotions, the initial denial giving way first to guilt – Am I in deep trouble? – and then to indignance. His eyes darted round the room as Son1 helpfully mentioned that his brother had indeed acquired every single shark in the sea: magalodon; hammerhead; mako.

“But how?” I asked.

Son2 shrugged. “I clicked on 20 gems, and it gave me 2,000,” he said quietly, and then burst into loud, upset tears.

And, you know what, as I hadn’t put the password in for him, and I’d confirmed he didn’t know it, the damn game must have racked up that bill all by itself, whether due to a scam or a bug. £279.96! Wtf?

The good news is iTunes refunded the lot (three cheers to Apple!) and Son2 is now the envy of all his wide-eyed friends for having got to the highest level of the game, with the highest number of sharks.

But you can imagine my horror, when the next morning Son1, ever the tittle-tattle, told me: “Guess what Mum!” He grinned widely. “… All his sharks have had babies!”

TIP: Go to Settings, iTunes & App Store, Password Settings and Always Require should be ticked. (Do it now! Son2’s iPad was already set up like this, so we’ve still no idea what happened…sigh!)

Yin and Yang: Expat paperwork and the Italian Alps

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Renewing your driver’s licence. How hard can it be? Well, when you live overseas and your US licence needs to be processed over the other side of the world, things can get complicated, as any expat will know.

My DH was adamant he wasn’t going to let his US licence expire. “It’s a right pain if it runs out,” he told me. With some vacation coming up, he started making travel plans and my mind began to boggle at the distances involved. As I write this, he’s lying on the sofa, head tilted back, eyes shut, mouth slightly parted, recovering from his ‘holiday’.

In numbers:

Nautical miles flown: 14,400
Airplanes flown in: 5
Hotels stayed in: 3
Rentacars hired: 2
Time taken to renew licence: 3 minutes

In days:

Day 1: Fly to New York from Dubai, 14 hours. Attempt to catch connecting flight to Minneapolis. Miss first flight due to plane being full. Wait another two hours at JFK. Catch next flight, 2hrs 45 mins to Minneapolis. Rent car, find hotel.

Day 2: Wake up. Go to Department of Motor Vehicles. Renew driver’s licence in, did I mention? Under three minutes.

Day 3: Get connecting flight back to JFK, while navigating heavy security checks due to the tragic Brussels bombing. Arrive in New York and spend 12 hours wasting time before nine-hour flight to Milan.

Definition of a family ski holidayDay 4: See family, and take them on promised ski trip. Rent a Skoda. Drive family to small Alpine Italian town we’ve only seen online. Supervise two days of skiing, including following crazy Evil Kneivel son down black slopes. Fall down in a flurry of powdery snow and scything skis, thankfully not breaking anything (just!)

Day 7: Last five-hour flight from Milan to Dubai. At immigration, visit small, windowless room, with a high desk and a faint smell of body odour crushed into the plastic chairs and lino, due to a problem with son’s US passport. Agree to the cancellation of his resident’s visa – sending the paperwork merry-go-round spiraling into further ever-decreasing circles as our attention switches from driver’s licences to visas and passports (could expat paperwork be any more infuriating?)

Am glad to report that DH can now spend the rest of his vacation relaxing, and it was all SO worth it, just to see spectacular views like this:

Skiing in the Italian Alps

Skiing in the Italian Alps2