Category Archives: Parenting

I do like to be beside the seaside!

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Which beach would you rather be on? Here’s a clue: the rocky one on the left is buffeted by a fierce wind, and strewn with seaweed. The one on the right is lapped by the aquamarine waters of the Gulf, with an ambient temperature at least 20 degrees higher.
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Ask my sand-phobic children which beach they prefer, and they’ll say the one on the left: the Great British Seaside (I know!).

Actually, I’m rather fond of it too (for a day or so each year). There’s something about the bleak weather, the stony terrain, the ice-cream sellers – and the fact you need to wear a jumper, a fleece and the beach rug to keep warm – that’s rather refreshing after the high temperatures of the UAE summer.

Today, everything was just as it should be on the English Riviera: the weather was challenging; the seaweed was stringy and the sea was playful, with crashing rollers and white frothy surf.

We enjoyed 15 minutes of determined sandcastle-building before a fast-moving high tide swallowed up our patch of sand with ravenous greed (the effect of the supermoon, perhaps), and spent a pleasant hour wandering around the seaside mecca that is Littlehampton.

But the thing that sticks in my mind isn’t the windburn, the shingle, my win on the two-penny slot machines, or my boys’ love of rocky, cold beaches over the white sands of Dubai. Nor is it the discovery that crazy snooker is now cooler than crazy golf. Or the reminder that seeing happy, hairy dogs diving headlong into the waves is great fun (public beaches are off limits to dogs in Dubai).

No, the thing I’ll remember is this row of beach huts. Price tag: £12,500 each.

Quite possibly the most expensive garden shed money can buy

Prime real estate: At AED76,650 (or more than $20,000) a hut, these are quite possibly the most expensive garden sheds money can buy

Family vacations: Are you having fun yet?

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Many of us are travelling with a shouty entourage this summer and, if you’re anything like me, you’ll know there’s an initiation parents must go through before you can honestly say family holidays no longer leave you feeling winded.

Here’s my five-step, tongue-in-cheek guide to achieving holiday zen:

Dream on

Dream on

1-2 years [with a health warning]: While friends with older children sip cocktails and watch the sunset, your toddler has more energy than an atomic explosion. He scales the furniture and hurtles round your holiday home like a hurricane (anything breakable, you’ve already moved higher, or hidden – it was either that or develop such a shrill tone through continually shrieking ‘Don’t touch that” that it doesn’t even sound like you). Relaxing is inconceivable so you’re out and about every.single.day, which means, between your (early) morning latte and lights out, you save his life at least five times. Think of holidays with 1-2 year olds as paying to lead your normal life in a less convenient location.

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“Muuuuuum, MUMMY, where are yoooouuuu?”

2-3 years: By now, there’s a sibling on the scene and travelling with two constitutes a whole new level of pain. Expect nightly games of musical beds and heated debates over who slept the less. Do be careful not to let your guard down: your 2-year-old will be irresistibly drawn to dirt, puddles and dog poo, like bees are to honey. (Remember to bring several changes of clothes per day for each family member – expiry through laundry overload isn’t covered by travel insurance.)

3-4 years: Continually ravenous / thirsty / hot / cold / bickering / or in sudden need of the loo, your children are a zillion times more demanding than your most attention-seeking work colleagues, yet on Facebook it’s all smiley faces in front of stunning backdrops. You’ve tried holidaying with friends so the kids can play together while the adults drink wine, but the downside is you can no longer claim their bad behaviour is a temporary blip when it lasts all week long. You’ve also discovered you can take your children to the best zoos and wildlife parks and introduce them to all manner of cute animals, but they’ll never be as happy as when you discover cockroaches in the kitchen.

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The heaven, hell and humour of family holidays is the new normal

4-5 years: By now, you’ve resigned yourself to the fact that holidays aren’t what they used to be, and you’ve learnt how to hit the ground running. On arriving in an unfamiliar environment, you can find the supermarket, buy essentials and whip up a supper for four. Hell, you can even cook fish fingers in an Aga. And with the letting go of any notions of late-nights, lazy days reading and uninterrupted sunbathing (pre-child holiday memories that might as well have taken place in Ancient Rome – because there’s no going back) comes the realisation that family vacations can be fun, especially if there’s a kids’ club.

Don’t think family holidays will now be a breeze. It’s not that relaxing is bottom of your children’s priority list. It’s not even on it

Don’t think family holidays will now be a breeze. It’s not that relaxing is bottom of your children’s priority list. It’s not even on it

5-6 years: Showing your offspring new things, new places and new horizons is not only rewarding, it’s like putting a down payment on developing citizens of the world. On good days, your rosie-cheeked kiddos slip little hands in yours, and swing happily on the farm gate. On bad days, there’s always electronic stimulation to fall back on. Life-long memories are made, bonds are strengthened. Your children become your ambassadors, opening doors to new experiences and conversations. While they race their new Italian friends around the Campo in Siena, you can actually enjoy your Campari. As the years roll by, you look back at holiday snaps of your babies with rose-tinted specs on, and marvel at those precious, crazy moments captured in time.

Happy holidays everyone!

Cash in the attic

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Each year in England, it always astounds me that my Mum has kept so many of our childhood things – and is now happily selling them on eBay.

Our 100-year-old antique rocking horse has been sold, but to my delight, she still has my china tea set, wooden recorder and dolls’ house with electric lights (used, in more recent times, as parking space for the vintage, lead-paint matchbox cars).

I’ve posted before about rediscovering my collection of scented rubbers. (No sniggering over there in the US! The British word for eraser is rubber). Goodness knows what chemicals they were made with – probably something quite addictive to a 9-year-old girl.

But it was this year that it was really brought home to me just how much time has passed since my brother and I were small – and that the toys we used to play with might actually be worth something.

Here’s what’s on the floor in a spare room upstairs:

For baby-boomers, the name Fisher-Price is synonymous with childhood (remember the airport set? Complete with a turning luggage carousel and suitcases)

For baby-boomers, the name Fisher-Price is synonymous with childhood (remember the airport set? Complete with a turning luggage carousel and suitcases)

And, below, is a photo I took in the US – at a toy museum:

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We have the pull-along dog somewhere, too, in the attic

While it was the children who wanted to visit the toy museum, it was me who found myself lingering in the aisles, loving the trip down vintage toy lane:

1952: Mr Potato Head, the first toy ever advertised on television, was released

1956: Ant Farms were developed

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Over the years, he’s been joined by Mrs Potato Head and supplemented with accessories such as a car and a boat trailer

1957: Frisbees were invented

1958: The Hula Hoop arrived

1959: The first Barbie Dolls were released

1960: Etch-A-Sketch, Chatty Cathy and Fisher-Price’s Rock-a-Stack were popular toys

1962: Fisher-Price’s Chatter Telephone was introduced

1963: The Easy Bake Oven was released, and Matchbox offered toy cars with doors that opened

1964: GI Joe was released during the Cold War

1971: Mastermind, the code-breaking board game with pegs, became the most successful new game of the 1970s

1983: In the run-up to Christmas, parents frantically searched everywhere for the coveted Cabbage Patch Kids dolls

It’s all a far cry from the hi-tech gadgets that will leave even the most savvy parents scratching their head and reaching for the instructions this year – if Hamley’s annual predicted Christmas best sellers list is anything to go by. Among the top 10 toys are:

– A WiFi-connected doll that does homework

– Xeno, an interactive monster with pullout snot, farting capability and 40 different expressions

– Barbie’s Colour Change handbag – hold it against any item of clothing and press a button to match more than 100 different shades

– Kiddizoom Smart Watch – as well as showing the time, it can also take and edit photos, record videos and play three built-in games

– Teksta T-Rex, a robotic dinosaur that walks, moves its head, sniffs and chews on its favourite bone, then spits it out with a giant burp

– Doh Vinci 3D Deluxe Styler

– Ice Skating Anna and Elsa dolls from the Disney movie Frozen

Hope you enjoyed the memories – and the modern-day equivalents! 

Scooting in heels

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Where my parents live is right next to a sizeable park, where there’s a cricket pitch, pathways, flowers, a play area and a duck pond.

It’s lovely – and a reminder that parklife in the UK is dotted with scenes and characters you never see in the UAE. On my visits to the park, I see joggers, dog walkers, gangs of scantily clad teenagers drinking alcopops, frisky lovers mauling each other in full view, and the odd Heineken-drinking, paper-bag-carrying fella – usually the only person who actually talks to me.

We take the boys to the park after dinner, to burn off energy under the ever-changing, summer evening sky. They go on their scooters, and I go on mine – with me trailing far behind my charges, but getting faster. (It’s amazing what an uncoordinated 42-year-old can master without breaking a hip!)

When my BF visited today, I told her: “I’ve discovered this great new way to exercise – a cardio workout you don’t even realise you’re doing until it’s DONE!

“You should try it!”

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Not just for kids: BF gets a kick out of our grown-up sized  scooter

BF, wearing a skirt and heels, rests one foot on the kick scooter, and gingerly pushes off. She wobbles a little, smiles (it’s impossible not to while attempting to balance, flail a leg and not fall over), then glides round in a semi-circle in the drive.

“But doesn’t it just exercise one leg?” she asks, getting the hang of it, even in nice shoes.

“You’ll see!” I respond. “Let’s go!”

With the boys blazing a trail, BF keeps up admirably while I bring up the rear on foot. There’s no stopping them – BF is hooked. They come to a skidding halt only after reaching the bandstand, where a brass band is playing, bringing some unexpected pomp and circumstance to the park.

“That was GREAT!” a breathless BF gasps afterwards, wiping beads of sweat from her brow. “And you’re right, the weight-bearing leg on the scooter works just as hard.” (Kids make balancing look easy – don’t be fooled.)

But it’s really fun to zoom along, not to mention join in with the children (and we all know how much they love that). If you’ve been wondering how to keep fit on a long vacation, remember, you heard it here first: kick-scooting in heels.

11 things no child says on holiday, EVER

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“These swimming goggles are a perfect fit.”

“I’ll just stand still while you apply the sun cream.”

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“Five minutes until dinner, kids, and you can use my coffee cup to shovel sand”

“Let’s not bother Mum right now, she’s reading.”

“Just one ice-cream a day is fine, thank you!”

“Can’t we just squeeze in one more medieval church?”

“You’re right Mum, I am tired. I’ll think I’ll go to bed even though it’s still light outside.”

“What a lovely view! Shall we walk a bit further?”

“You go and lie down over there, Mum, and play Candy Crush for an hour.”

“I don’t really feel like the gift shop today – let’s just go home.”

“Mum, I’m still sleepy. Let’s sleep in.”

“I started it!”

 

Five weeks down … five to go!

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“So it’s the lipstick and handbag museum today then?” I said to the boys, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

It’s a running joke: keeping them entertained during the long, long holiday involves so many boy-related activities that I do like to rebel every now and then, and threaten them with an art museum, or (to their wide-eyed horror) a spot of shopping.

Plans needed for 10 weeks, in 3 different countries. Gulp

Plans needed for 10 weeks, in 3 different countries. Gulp

They looked at me aghast, as though I’d suggested slow torture. “Lipstick and handbags? NO WAY!” they chorused, in unison.

DH, who’s just spent 36 hours with us in the UK, might have smiled too, in silent agreement – and I might have inwardly sighed at the thought of another aviation museum (on top of the castle with murder holes yesterday; two air and space museums in DC; a train museum in Baltimore; numerous train rides and a submarine tour).

But off we went …

Each year, on our summer sojourn, I’m reminded how much longer my boys’ school holiday is than the six weeks or so enjoyed by British children. This is truly astonishing considering how much my sons don’t know yet and, therefore, how much schooling they need. I’m also reminded exactly why the words, “MUM-EEEE, I’m bored,” grate on your ears far more than the most irritating ringtone.

I digress. Where was I? The birthplace of British motorsport and aviation.

Actually, Brooklands Museum near Weybridge in Surrey is a great place to visit. The boys clamboured onto old airplanes; there’s a Wellington Bomber, a Hurricane and a genuine ‘bouncing bomb’, all carefully explained by friendly volunteers; and a bus museum, too. You could probably even have a sarnie under Concorde’s wing, if you wanted to.

Submarines, vintage racing cars, trains, rockets … who knew?

Submarines, vintage racing cars, trains, rockets … who knew?

But the highlight was the vintage car ride – a thrilling dash up Test Hill, along the Banking and down the Finishing Straight of the world’s first purpose-built motor racing circuit.

“Awesome,” screamed the boys in delight, as we flew up the hill and our world turned sideways while careering round the steep bank.

Displaying high-spirited glee, they started singing, “Everything is AWESOME!!!” And with the wind whistling through our hair, it really did feel like we were reliving the halcyon days of racing.

Our silver-haired driver chuckled, then remarked: “I’ve learnt a whole new language since starting this job.”

He turned round to face the boys after the car came to a juddering stop: “Wicked, eh?” he deadpanned, with a wink.

Yes, it was – and so much better than hearing, “Mummy, I SAID, I’m bored.” On repeat.

Flying with kids: The bad and the worse

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Like many expat mums the world over, I’m currently on our annual pilgrimage to the motherland, to reintroduce our children to their grandparents, grassy fields and Wellington boots.

Most expat kids are frequent flyers, but I think it’s the hollow-eyed, jet-lagged mums – many of whom have to travel long distances with their overactive offspring solo – who deserve recognition for ensuring that everyone arrives intact.

“Please…help….me….”

“Please…help….me….”

Now that my two are older, flying with them is so much easier, but I haven’t forgotten what trial by two-year-old is like at 37,000 feet. During the 22 hours of flight time we’ve clocked up over the past two weeks, I turned my thoughts to the various stages mums go through when taking their little ones back and forth to see family. Without much further ado, here’s my tongue-in-cheek take on the eight steps mothers desperately seeking serenity on board must navigate:

Sky cot: Hands-free flying

Sky cot: Hands-free flying

0-8 months:
Provided your baby doesn’t cry like a banshee due to earache or colic, you’re relieved to discover that small infants are essentially hand luggage, and can be stored in a wall-mounted bassinet – meaning, in between feeds, you’re left with plenty of hands-free time for other, adult-related pursuits. Enjoy it. Indulge in a glass or two (while you can). This phase is over quicker than you can say pass the earplugs.

9 months – 2 years:
Now mobile, your infant is classed as a lap child, a burdensome phase that sees the two of you co-joined like Siamese twins and squashed into one seat. Once sleep finally arrives (for your 30lb lead-weight bundle of joy, at least), you find yourself sitting statue-esqe – and needing the loo – as you attempt to inhale a meal and not flinch an inch in case the slightest movement rouses your child.

2-2½ years:
Your toddler has progressed to a seat, but the games, toys and books you’ve spent days collecting are dispensed with in minutes. Fun is sought in mischievous ways: Meal tray up/tray down. Light on/light off. Window shutter open/shutter closed. Call the flight attendant. Call the flight attendant again. When all the un-dinging you have to do gets too much, you traipse up and down the aisle – jolting several unsuspecting passengers awake as you go – or visit the bathroom together, where double-jointedness is always a plus when assisting your offspring.
flying-with-kids-vs-without-kids-article
2½-3 years:
You’ve reached that murky zone where diversionary tactics are all that stand between you and a mile-high meltdown. Tantrums occur due to the most innocuous of reasons: not being allowed to bring the stroller up the aisle; the seat belt sign coming on. No other passenger makes eye contact – not even the smug mother of two crayon-loving girls opposite.

3-3½ years:
By now, you’re travelling with two small children – a whole new world of in-flight angst – which means that if you’re on your own, losing your oldest at the airport or on board must be avoided (if you have more than two, good luck with that). After collecting all the luggage at the other end, you feel like hugging the kind lady who, on seeing that you don’t have a seventh arm to push the stroller, offers to help.

3½-4 years:
Someone’s told you stickers are great for keeping children entertained on board, so you’re armed with sticker books. But while in the toilet, your kids stick them all over the TV. Bad idea: the heat from the screen can turn the adhesive into superglue. Imagining the entire aircraft being decommissioned while engineers scrape Lightening McQueen and his friends off 35F’s TV, you start peeling and don’t stop until there isn’t a single trace of sticker left. A happy coincidence is it uses up a good 20 minutes of flight time.

Happy travel days await (honestly)

Happy travel days await (honestly)

4-5 years
An iPad loaded with games is your saviour and, whilst still arriving disheveled and decorated with orange juice stains, you realise you had more time to relax on board, and even watched half a movie. A basic aviation knowledge – so as to answer questions like How does the wind move? – is extremely useful during this stage.

5 years+
You’ve made it. Long flights with small children no longer fill you with terror. While queuing at security, you see a mum with a seven-month-old infant struggling with all her baby paraphernalia, juggling her little one, taking her belt and shoes off, then, at the other side of the x-ray machine, pulling it all together again like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, and you feel like punching the air with joy that you’ve left the aforementioned stages well and truly behind. Well done, you’ve arrived!

Sponsored by: My own personal experiences. Every.single.example.

An 8-year-old’s embryonic blog

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Thank goodness that, for Son1, at least, the days of bringing back half a rainforest of artwork are over. This week, he’s mostly brought home exercise books, rather than the artistic creations exploding with glitter and glue that used to get piled up to the rafters during his kindergarten years.

The English, Maths, French, Arabic and Music books were certainly interesting to look at, but the workbook I enjoyed the most was the diary documenting his weekends. It was almost like an embryonic blog, with squiggly pictures and illuminating insights into his mind:

On the role DH and I play:
“Families are important because they take us places … They pay for cheeseburgers and crisps. They go to work to get money to buy toys.”

Before we busted him for getting up at 5.30am to play computer games:
“Happily, on Friday morning I played Xbox for 4 hours, then my mum came downstairs.”

Such a hard life:
“If I could make something disappear, it would be homework … and school.”
[“Tell me more,” wrote the teacher!]

In my next life, I’m coming back as an expat kid:
“On the weekend, I flew to Oman and stayed in a fancy hotel.”

On being small:
“I think it is great being a child because we don’t have to pay the bills. We can also fit through small holes, and adults can’t.”

Not Son1's, but this made me laugh. It was turned in by a first grader in the US, and marked by the teacher. The next day, the mom wrote a note: "Dear Ms. Davis, I want to be perfectly clear on my child's homework illustration. It is NOT me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint surrounded by male customers with money. I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm. This drawing is of me selling a snow shovel.

Not Son1’s, but this made me laugh. It was turned in by a first grader in the US, and marked by the teacher. The next day, the mom wrote a note: “Dear Ms. Davis, I want to be perfectly clear on my child’s homework illustration. It is NOT me on a dance pole on a stage in a strip joint surrounded by male customers with money.
I work at Home Depot and had commented to my daughter how much money we made in the recent snowstorm.
This drawing is of me selling a snow shovel.”

Let’s go to Iftar

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Yesterday was the first day of Ramadan in the UAE, and I realised that because we’ve missed it for the past few years, the children don’t actually know much about this holy month of reflection and prayer.

This was brought home to me at our local shopping centre, as Son2 begged me to let him eat a doughnut. I’d slipped into a curtained-off coffee shop to buy him a treat as an end-of-term reward, and warned him he’d have to wait until we got home to eat it, but kids have a short memory, don’t they? Especially when it comes to sticky chocolate doughnuts.

We told Son1 that some of his friends from school were probably fasting, and that a polite way to greet a Muslim who is abstaining from food and drink during daylight hours is to say ‘Ramadan Kareem’, which means ‘Have a Generous Ramadan’.

“But how is not eating generous?” asked Son1. (Good question, I thought.)

Closed off for take-away only: "You can't eat in public when the sun's up," I told Son2. "But there's no sun in here!"

Closed off for take-away only: “You can’t eat in public when the sun’s up,” I told Son2. “But there’s no sun in here!”

“Well, people give to the poor,” I explained. “You’ll see charity tents and there’s lots of good will. There’s also some great sales on at the mall.”

As sunset approached, we decided we’d introduce the children to iftar (the meal eaten to break the fast, of which there are many laid on across Dubai). Apart from the odd speeding car driven by hungry fasters anxious to get home, the roads were eerily quiet (due to working hours being reduced), and, en route, we watched the huge orange sun sink below the horizon.

My DH, who’s spent a lot more time in Dubai during Ramadan than me, mentioned that we’d know exactly when the sun had set, because smokers who’ve been without nicotine all day collectively roll their car windows down to enjoy their first cigarette.

At iftar, we sampled the dates – traditionally eaten to break the fast – and enjoyed a fantastic hotel buffet meal while also attempting to feed the boys a few more facts about Ramadan (ie, music is banned; night becomes day; and it’ll go on all month, until the moon-sighting committee spots the new moon).

I really thought we’d made some progress.

“So you know what iftar is now?” I asked.

Blank looks. “Is it the name of the restaurant, Mummy?”

Well, I suppose, when we talked about ‘going to iftar’, it could be construed as that – especially if you’ve got a short attention span.

Ramadan Kareem to all who celebrate!