Category Archives: Parenting

The driver/maid combo

Posted on by
Drivers in Dubai come with all kinds of wheels: And I don't mean regular drivers. I mean the paid kind who ferry kids back and forth. Pic credit: The National

Drivers in Dubai come with all kinds of wheels: And I don’t mean regular drivers. I mean the paid kind who ferry kids back and forth. Pic credit: The National

After much raucous excitement (go-karting, lasertag, pizza and ice cream x 15 kids), I let out a long, slow, deep breath – Son1’s birthday was OVER. Thank God! Everyone had gone home.

At least I thought they had … until DH piped up, “Oh wait, someone’s still here.”

A boy. Let’s call him H. He was inside the building, standing around quietly, waiting for someone to pick him up.

I told DH to head off with our two. H and I stood on the kerb outside, in the dark – the moon was full, the sky full of stars. We chatted – he was a nice kid, grown-up for his age. He was also getting worried about the fact no one had come for him. “I’m sure your mum will be here any minute,” I said kindly, stifling a yawn (end of the work/school week, blimin’ knackered).

“Can I use your phone?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said. “Do you know your mum’s number?”

He nodded, and I handed my mobile over.

A few seconds later, I heard a small voice – much more plaintiff than the polite tone he’d been using to chat with me. “Mummy!” he squeaked. A few more words were exchanged as he scuffed his foot against the pavement. “But there’s no-one here.”

When he got off the phone, I asked (and I’ll admit I was more than a little hopeful myself as I REALLY wanted to go home), “So is she coming?”

H shrugged. “My driver’s coming.”

Now, this in itself isn’t at all surprising in Dubai, but what did surprise me is we sat on the kerb for another 20+ minutes without so much as a message (or apology) from his parents, and when a car eventually screeched to a halt (a driver-maid combo), the darkened windows meant there was no eye contact. I walked round to make sure he was getting in the right vehicle, but they were clearly in a hurry. After a quick “sorreeee” and “goodbye”, the car door slammed and they were off in a puff of smoke.

I listened to the crunching of gravel as they veered across the car park, and thought, “Thank Gawd, now I can go home – half an hour late. Just in time to clear up all the shredded pieces of wrapping paper I’m sure will be strewn all over the floor by now.”

A little odd, I decided. Madam can’t have known her driver was running so late, or she would have texted. Wouldn’t she? Or am I too English and hung up on manners?

Either way, it takes all sorts to make Dubai go round, doesn’t it?

WhatsApp, mum? … The class chat group

Posted on by

Proactive parents will all know about the class mums’ WhatsApp group – the 24/7 group ‘chat’ on the ubiquitous phone messaging system, in which mums discuss anything from homework to lost items and how much to give kids for the bake sale.

I’m all for it (mostly) – it helps me stay on top of things, and any questions you post on the group are usually answered within seconds. I’m now included in four motherhood WhatsApp groups: two school groups and two groups for the baseball teams my sons play on.

"Just a quick reminder that tomorrow is Florence Nightingale Day – don't forget the kids' costumes!"

“Just a quick reminder that tomorrow is Florence Nightingale Day – don’t forget the kids’ costumes!”

The corners of my mouth did twitch upwards, though, when I found myself discussing these memberships with the working mums at my office – because, if I’m perfectly honest, there’s nothing quite like coming out of a meeting to a phone screen full of 26 messages about head lice.

Or getting home, tired, and hearing…

Ding, ding, ding, ding!

… As messages download about all the homework you haven’t had time to do with your children as you’ve been at work.

I’ve also come to the realisation that it’s an incredibly powerful medium. Just as social media has been at the core of some of the world’s biggest protests, WhatsApp brings parents together in a way that can actually overthrow teachers.

I was talking to V, full-time at my office, and the mother of a little girl. She was looking harassed – a slight flush to her cheeks so I asked her what was wrong.

Her eyebrows snapped together. “It’s the mums in H’s class,” she said. “I’ve got all these messages on my phone about the replacement teacher – they want someone other than the person who’s been chosen.”

She gave a half shrug. “I just think the woman should be given a chance.”

See what I mean? The mums in her WhatsApp group were planning a COUP.

Then there was my chat with A, mother of two boys and currently juggling a new job with a mad dash out of the office at midday to do the school run followed by a full afternoon back at her desk.

“There’s this WhatsApp group,” she told me.

I gave her a knowing smile. I could tell by the way her face had contorted that she was getting a little frustrated with the nature of some of the messages (“My son always forgets to bring things home from school!” “Yeah? Mine too!”; “I’m the first one to arrive for parents-teachers day!” *picture of empty school hall* “Reserve a seat for me!”).

“I got home the other night,” my work colleague A told me, “and there were 58 messages from the class mums – trending tennis coaching.”

Facepalm – but then again, as I’ve come to realise, the Mummies’ WhatsApp group is also incredibly useful, and who wants to be the only mum who has to be sent separate text messages from the virtual motherhood circle (that is, if they remember – I mean, do you live under a rock?).

Peer pressure, I’d say, and the fear you’ll get everything wrong are enough to make most of us get with the programme.

Travel post: Doha in a Day

Posted on by

The Qatari capital is a dazzling city in the making

Posing in the bath

Posing in the bathtub

As I looked around at my fellow bloggers turned conference-goers, their beaming smiles made it hard to believe we’d only just met. We were gathered in a regally furnished, luxurious state suite in Doha’s Four Seasons hotel, dressed in personalised, fluffy white dressing gowns – gifted to us by the hotel.

The noise levels rose as photo opportunities were snapped up (two people, it turned out, could pose in the giant bathtub, all shiny marble with gold taps), and it was only a matter of time before everyone jumped on the huge double bed for a group picture.

Props all provided

Props all provided

It wasn’t just any old bed, you see. It was the four-poster that British footballer David Beckham had recently stayed in, when he visited Doha for the tennis. I could have moved into the suite there and then; it was enormous, and the impressive views made it feel like a swanky New York penthouse apartment, complete with a grand piano, butler and walk-in wardrobe.

I’d stayed in many faceless hotels on work trips in my life before kids, but the BloggingME workshop at the Four Seasons in Doha took hospitality to a new league altogether. They’d thought of everything, from the amazing canapés to the sundown reception on the terrace with champagne and chefs at live cooking stations. Doha, I discovered, knows how to conduct business, be it in a local coffeehouse or at a five-star hotel with bells on.

Building boom
There can’t be many places in the world that are changing as radically as Qatar. Doha, which began as a small fishing village, is now the capital of one of the fastest-growing countries on the planet.

Qatar's economy used to be dependent on pearl fishing on the Arabian Gulf until the discovery it was on top of 15% of the world's proven gas reserves. Credit: The Telegraph

Qatar’s economy used to be dependent on pearl fishing on the Arabian Gulf until the discovery it was on top of 15% of the world’s proven gas reserves. Credit: The Telegraph

A massive spending plan is part of the government’s National Vision 2030, which envisages a highly diversified economy with a focus on education and culture. What’s more, as Qatar gears up to host the 2022 Fifa football World Cup, Doha is investing more than $200bn in the development of essential infrastructure such as a metro to transport fans, stadiums to host matches and accommodation.

But while there are cranes and heavy equipment all over the city, visitors will find both history and modernity, often on the same city block, along with a generous smattering of authentic souqs and wide-open green spaces.

xxxxx

History meets modernity

Sparkling skyline
I was struck by the uniqueness of Doha’s buildings, and still have one particular view etched on my mind. While promenading the corniche, you can admire Doha’s sparkling skyline, rising up behind the old wooden dhows bobbing on the cobalt-blue bay. The corniche is without a doubt the highlight of the capital – together with the city’s geometric Museum of Islamic Art, which sits on the water’s edge like a gigantic broken Rubik Cube.

Museum of Islamic Art

Museum of Islamic Art

Inside the free museum, there’s a fine collection of Islamic metalwork, ceramics, jewellery, woodwork, textiles and glass, spanning a period of 1,400 years and mostly from Turkey, Syria, Iran and Iraq. The building, with its symmetry and lineal architecture, is just as impressive, with stunning views over the water and downtown Doha across the bay. A popular photo is taken from the terrace on the left side of the building, where you’ll find water fountains and three arched open windows, which frame the city centre buildings beautifully.

Social heart
It’s then just a short walk to Souq Waqif, the social heart of Doha and a great place to explore, shop, have dinner or people-watch from one of the cafes. Tourists and locals mingle here, and the alleyways and architecture are wonderfully atmospheric. I found myself surrounded by colourful birds and rabbits (in dresses!), then angled myself in a different direction and soaked up the aromas coming from the numerous shops selling spices, perfumes and oud (an exotic incense made from agarwood).

Doha selfieGiven a day in Doha, you can also fit in the cultural village of Katara, and by way of contrast, The Pearl, the glamorous address for some 12,000 residents as of January 2015. Once fully completed, The Pearl will create over 32 kilometres of new coastline. Love or hate it, it’s a distinctive sight, and otherwise known as Doha’s ‘Riviera Arabia’.

Of course, you’ll also want to take the obligatory Doha selfie on a mosque visit – my last photo I’ll leave you with, just as a thumbnail!

8 ways to confuse trick-or-treaters

Posted on by

My favourite quotes from Halloweens-past have got to be:

“Could I have money instead?”

And, “I don’t like those sweets. Have you got any other ones?”

[I mean, seriously, do I look like a pick’n’mix store?]

Then this morning, my overexcited youngest son and his best mate sung a little ditty to me:

Trick-or-treat, trick-or-treat
Give me all your yummy sweets! (repeat)

I really hope they’re politer than that when they go knocking on doors tonight, seeking their annual candy windfall.

Screen Shot 2015-10-31 at 15.16.42So, in a tongue-in-cheek spirit, here are 10 ways to turn the tables on the trick-or-treaters:

– Give away something other than candy (bags of sand, empty water bottles, golf balls, packs of oatmeal).

– Get everyone who comes to the door to come in and see if they can figure out what’s wrong with your washing machine. Tell them it makes a strange banging noise and your maid’s away.

– Stick a ‘Beware of the Lion’ sign on your door.

– Install a motion sensor that turns off the porch light every time a festively dressed child approaches.

– Hand out menus to the trick-or-treaters with pencils and let them order their candy by candlelight. Give them a bill at the end. Any complaints – throw your hands in the air, shrug and say, inshallah.

– Answer the door dressed as a dentist and give out toothbrushes. Treat them to a lecture about tooth decay.

– Get about 30 people to wait in your living room. When older kids come trick-or-treating in their normal clothes, say, “Come in.” When they do, have everyone yell, “Surprise!!!” Act like it’s a surprise party.

Happy Halloween everyone!

Halloween for grown-ups

Posted on by

Every year I do a Halloween post. All about how much fun the kids have trick-or-treating in Dubai. Since this weekend has unofficially been dubbed Halloween weekend here, I’m publishing this post early – and, this year, it’s not about all the fun stuff laid on for the children.

It’s about Halloween at work, for fully grown adults.

So, this morning, I walk out the elevator and see bloody handprints on the linoleum. My eyes follow the scarlet trail to the door and, lo and behold, through the glass I see a body, lying inside the entrance foyer – a wild-haired killer clown (who I later find out is one of the editors) sprawled out on the floor. He’s twitching like a beheaded chicken.

xxx

Stony silence: Sales? Subscriptions?

I, myself, am clutching an axe, borrowed from Son2. Shoving my own hair into a ponytail, I don my mask and brandish my axe, the bones of my knuckles showing white.

I hear the sound of a knife-like instrument on glass.

Scrape, scrape.

(A little bit like fingernails on a blackboard).

Then a blood-curdling scream.

The door opens and the full candle-lit Halloween horror scene is revealed, complete with a knife-wielding intergalactic alien, cackling witches and a (rather sexy) pirate.

Another shriek.

Followed by laughter (heh-heh-heh).

This is clearly going to be no ordinary day at work.

In the kitchen, where I always go first to make tea, there’s a severed hand in the fridge – and though I know it’s not real, I push the fridge door shut firmly, smiling to myself that our workplace has become just like The Office TV show with Halloween gags and pranks.

A few minutes later, the procession of zombies and ghouls filtering into work is joined by a slightly tubby gravestone, who saunters around the office for, oooh, at least half an hour. No-one knows who he is (sales, perhaps?). He does a jolly good job sneaking up behind me, his hands enveloping my neck in a chilling grip as I’m caught unawares.

“But who on earth is he?” I say to my friend afterwards. “Is he going to walk round all day, d’you think?”

(After 30 minutes, it’s becoming quite amusing that he’s in no hurry at all to sit down and do any work.)

He comes back round with treats, and I take a shortbread dismembered finger – still none the wiser as to his identity.

The mystery was only solved later in the day, when we found out he’d been hired as entertainment – a tombstone-o-gram!

Who says the annual revelry is all about the kids?

Mwahahaha!

What a three-day weekend means to a pilot’s wife

Posted on by

“Mummy, what time is D coming for his sleepover?” Son2 prized my eyes open. It wasn’t even 7am. Ugh! Jumping on top of me, he pulled the duvet off and checked to make sure he’d fully woken me up. “I’m so excited!”

“Yay, no school!” said Raptor when I got downstairs. He was lying on the sofa, smiling with glee. He only had three days at school this week, as they also had a day off for teaching planning. Today it’s the Islamic New Year, the start of a long, three-day weekend.

Three cheers for all you exhausted mums who love children that generally don’t give a second thought to the mental or physical shape we’re in! (That’s okay. They’ll have kids someday.)

Three cheers for all you exhausted mums who love children that generally don’t give a second thought to the mental or physical shape we’re in! (That’s okay. They’ll have kids someday.)

A couple of hours later, I heard DH’s key in the door. His suitcase trundled in and I noticed he looked pale, his face drawn. Little wonder as he’d flown all night. He remarked on the Halloween decorations we’d put up, then went to bed. He leaves again on Saturday.

“So mummy, what can I do?” asked Raptor. “I’m sooo bored.”

“Me too,” chorused Son2. I checked my watch: not even 9am. What activity could I conjure up for them? Swimming, the cinema, a play date? The sleepover wasn’t for another 12 hours. I’ll admit I was yawning as my children’s demands for breakfast, entertainment, a dog, my itunes password ricocheted around my tired brain.

And that’s when the small, unentitled voice started Greek chorusing in my ear. “What about me?” If there’s something the UAE is good at, it’s throwing in these long weekends. I’ve posted about them before. And I’m sure there are many who love the chance for more family time.

But the thing is: for pilot families it doesn’t work out like they’re supposed to. It’s rare for dad to not be flying on weekends like these, which means mum is left grappling with bored children who inevitably start fighting – and that’s on top of doing everything else. The hot and sweaty school runs in 80 per cent humidity; making sure they eat, do their homework, go to bed, and dealing with all the extra admin living in the UAE seems to require. Oh, and the paid job, which actually keeps me ticking over.

Of course, the voice was quickly hushed – Son2 threw a tantrum when his sleepover got postponed, and Raptor needed me to find something for him. If I could take them to see family this weekend, I would, but it’s not really an option when you’re thousands of miles away. Nor is taking them on a mini-break by myself particularly appealing.

So, really, for a pilot’s wife, a three-day weekend is just an extra day when they should be at school and instead I find myself bloomin’ knackered while trying to be ‘fun’.

On bribing your children

Posted on by

We all do this – don’t we? “If you eat your greens, you can have a cookie.” “If you do your homework without whining, you can have your iPad back.”

But what about cash bribes?

As a non-parent, it never crossed my mind that a mum might resort to offering an AED 10  kickback for, say, reading a whole chapter of a book. I think I just ignorantly assumed primary school children were motivated by an innate drive to achieve (yes really, bahaha) and a thirst for knowledge. Obviously, I hadn’t thought this through. And have had my eyes opened to the litany of dubious promises that really motivate a child.

Early yesterday morning, I was attempting to drill Son2 on his spelling words. He shook his head, shrugged and rolled his eyes simultaneously.

xxxxxx

Our community centre: Stuffed to the rafters with Halloween decorations

“C’mon – you need to do better than one out of seven – which is what you got last week, AND the week before,” I said, growing irritated.

He glowered at me. I turned to DH for help, and before we knew it, we’d outlined a sliding scale of enticements.

Son2 is nuts about Halloween. His excitement starts right after his birthday on October 2nd, and he then spends all month talking about Halloween, trying on his costume, and asking us, every morning in the car, “How many more days until Halloween Day?” So the incentive was money for Halloween decorations: AED 100 for ten out of ten spelling words; AED 50 for nine out of 10; and AED 20 for eight out of ten.

I blame the enormous display of spooky merchandise that’s appeared in our community centre – outside the shop as there’s not enough room inside Choitrams itself.

All of a sudden, Son2 was interested. He sat up straighter, practised his words, and I swear I could see AED stretched across the spherical surface of his eyes. (We were very confident we wouldn’t end up shelling out the big bucks.)

On the way home, I asked how he did. He started bouncing in his seat, puffed out his chest a little. He didn’t know his score, but appeared to be mentally spending the money.

In the cool air-conditioning of our house, he ripped open his bag, pulled the spelling book out, and …

Seven out of ten.

Oh the disappointment! To say he broke down is an understatement. He threw himself onto the floor in a heap, and when the sobs came – huge hiccupping sobs with fat tears – he also gulped for air.

I was still standing over a quivering Son2 a few minutes later when DH walked in, adjudicated the situation, and came to the joint decision that there was a small plastic prize for seven out of ten.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” DH said to me later. “It’s a life lesson – you fail at something and learn from it.”

“I know, I know,” I said, thinking, today at the tender age of just turned seven he wants dirhams for decorations, but he could grow to want a Lexus. I sighed. “At least he tried – even if it was for all the wrong reasons, and he did do so much better than the last few weeks.”

Parenting, eh – who knew raising kids was so hard on your wallet and your heart.

Now how much did I owe Raptor for reading?

Magazines: Do you still read them?

Posted on by

There must have been about 40 people huddled around the glow of the video conference screen – I was head-down at my desk, a little buried with a busy workload due to two magazines going to press. But I got caught up in the razzmatazz from London about our company’s restructuring. The words on everyone’s lips, Have we been sold?

No, we hadn’t. Far from it, things were going to be digital-tastic. The digital future was bright – so bright, they played the video presentation again, in case we’d missed anything the first time about our journey to Planet Digital.

For anyone still not sure, there was also an article on the Guardian website, in which the chief exec spelt out that, over the next 12 to 18 months, all of our titles would become digital only.

I looked down at the proofs on my desk with an unblinking gaze. A pile of magazine supplements stared back at me from my in-tray. I swallowed hard. I’m adaptable, I told myself. I already do some work on the company’s digital side. I run a blog, I thought! A Circles in the Sand Facebook page. I even occasionally Tweet. I can do digital (right?)

Except I kind of like our print editions.

Without giving away the name of the company I work for, it’s been going for a long time. In fact, it wouldn’t be over-egging it to say it’s been a publishing institution for more than 70 years.

xxxxxx

Surely print can’t be dead until you can safely take hundreds of pounds of electronics into the bath?

I took my first job with them 20 years ago, worked on and off for various titles for years, then, by chance, got hired by the Dubai office here. For a girl who loves magazines so much, I even took a post-grad diploma in them, it’s been the only thing I’ve ever really wanted to do – other than write books, but that’s a whole new kettle of fish.

I sort-of knew this was coming. Across the company’s portfolio, 67 per cent of revenues are from digital and events. Digital subscriptions are apparently the format customers want to engage with. Newsweek went ‘digital only’ after 79 years in print in early 2013, and commentators say almost all magazines will eventually go purely electronic. The message for publishing is clear – paper products have had their day.

Or have they? Aren’t there still people out there who’d prefer to read printed words rather than look at a screen? Aren’t there tonnes of avid readers, like me, who love magazines and book stores? Buying a magazine with a beautiful cover feels like treating myself to a present, every time – is that really so old fashioned?

I decided to ask around at work. Holding my pile of proofs, I rubbed the tips of my fingers against the edge of the pages, and asked one of the young, whippersnapper journalists: “But what about reading magazines on the loo?”

He looked at me, bemused, as though seeing me for the first time. “You can read your iPad on the loo, you know.”

“The bath, then?” I ventured. I hate taking my iPad into the bath as it really doesn’t enjoy getting wet.

“And how about the psychological satisfaction of not only starting to read a magazine, but finishing it? Of putting it down knowing you’ve got through it, without hundreds of seductive hyperlinks that take you down the internet garden path.”

Of course, when I got home and asked my children which format they preferred, the answer was a no-brainer for them. “The iPad,” chorused my screenagers. Their eyes went round and they crinkled their noses at my suggestion they could read more books.

So how about you? How do you read magazines? Are they still relevant in an age of free online content, social media and 24/7 news – or has print been trumped?

Postscript: So a little later, I find myself troubleshooting the boys’ X-box – a chore that always makes me feel like someone’s jumping on my chest. Once fixed, Raptor asks me to turn the volume up. “It’s the button on the side, Mummy!” He waggles his eyebrows. His confidence in my digital future is etched all over his face. “… It says V on it.” Oh the faith…!

Blond(ish) mum and son seek new friends

Posted on by

“I’ve got some great news Mum!”

“What’s that?” I asked, raising my eyebrows a fraction.

“Zaid and Ryan say they’re going to stay at school until Year 12.” Raptor smiled.

xxxxx

Friends come and go like buses

“That’s good,” I said, and thought, “we’ll see about that.” Not because I’m expecting Zaid and Ryan to flunk out before Year 12, but because there’s a high chance their fathers will get posted to Singapore or some other far-flung corner of the world well before then. Either that, or the family will decide to repatriate – or switch to a new school offering an astronaut cadet programme.

It’s a big problem in expat schools – your kids make friends, and then their friends pack up and leave. Sometimes overnight. “Noel never even told anyone he was leaving,” Raptor said to me. “He went back to Finland … And then there was Horace. He went to Germany forever. And Hanna went to … erm,” His eyebrows snapped together. “I can’t remember.”

“Hungary,” I prompted.

“D’you remember Corner?” he asked. “Who always used to sit in the corner?”

I nodded.

“Well he left.”

Then his face softened. “And Morgan went to a different school.” His girl crush, now in a nearer, American school. And Eva and Omar – the list went on.

We haven’t got to the point yet where a school friend is off sick with a cough and all their classmates assume they’ve left, but it is something that, as a parent, you think about: Will they assume all relationships are transient? How much are they really affected by these lost friendships? Or, worse, perhaps they’re so used to it they barely notice?

Screen Shot 2015-09-30 at 21.55.25Adults, of course, are equally as likely to lose friends in expat societies. I sat on a small, hard chair recently at Raptor’s back-to-school night, and realised I didn’t know anyone. At a school we’ve attended for five years. (Each year, they mix up the classes and so Raptor started the term in a class filled with different and new faces.)

A group of ladies were listening to a mum whose eyes looked a little too wide awake. She ran her hand through her hair, bracelets jangling, holding court. A new girl feeling swept over me like a cloak, transporting me back to the awkward, pimply, teenaged me on my first day of big school.

The start of the meeting was delayed as the head finished his speech downstairs, and after 10 minutes of shifting in my seat, someone I knew finally walked in. An Italian mum who’s been at the school almost as long as us.

She strode over and gathered me into a hug. She smelt like a posh department store, her earring pressed hard into my cheek. “How was your summer?” she trilled. We swapped very brief highlights. Me: Isle of Wight. Her: Los Angeles.

And, by the way we greeted each other like long-lost friends, I wondered if she had that fish-out-of-water feeling too.

WANTED: 12 metres long, yellow eyes

Posted on by

I can safely say we’re in the middle of a dinosaur phase in our household. It started with the movie Jurassic World, which the boys saw three times at the cinema; we now have plastic dinosaurs all over the house; and there’s really no knowing when it will all end now that Son1 goes by the name of Raptor.

For little boys, it all makes perfect sense – dinosaurs are huge and powerful; they’re monsters, but dead monsters, so not scary; and when my boys get into character they can growl and fight and chase each other.

The fact that dinosaurs are MILLIONS of years old (yes, older than mummy and daddy) fascinates my kids. And, really, what’s not to dig? It’s an entire alien world that actually existed, with endless weird information that they can rattle off and long complicated words grownups can’t pronounce.

Of course, every time we go through these phases, it influences how we spend our time as a family – which would explain why a trip to the UK’s Isle of Wight this summer turned into DH and I spinning a yarn about visiting Dinosaur Isle (actually not far from the truth – they’ve found tonnes of fossils there). While on the island, we braved rain and fog (in July!) to attend a dinosaur night at a theme park. When T-rex glances down from a height of 20 feet in swirling mist and flicks his tail it’s surprisingly effective.

But all this was trumped last weekend in our very own neighbourhood when the dinosaurs were delivered to a 1.5 million square ft indoor theme park being built not far from us. Traffic was brought to a halt as a convoy of ferocious dinosaurs made their way to their new home in IMG Worlds of Adventure (opening early 2016). “They were moving around in their cages and roaring at passing cars … well it was either that or our Xanax,” my friend, who saw them coming down the 311, told me.

Roaring through the roads: Thankfully avoiding causing a tyrannosaurus wreck

Roaring through the roads: Thankfully avoiding causing a tyrannosaurus wreck

And then, despite being escorted by police, one went missing, and a hunt to capture the fugitive dinosaur exploded on social media using the hashtag #SpotTheDino. Those clever marketing people … kudos!

Screen Shot 2015-09-21 at 23.15.09