Category Archives: Parenting

Operation Longvac

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This is a stolen term, from a writer in the Times newspaper, but I’m borrowing it because she was talking about a six-week British school holiday. Anyone reading this in the US or expat-land will be thinking, ‘Six weeks? PAH! That’ll be over in the blink-of-an-eye!’

Try 27 June – 2 September for size, presently yawning in front of us like a gaping hole – a mind-bending vortex that needs to be filled with activities, every.single.day, to prevent my children’s boredom from toppling us.

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

And because Dubai is as hot as Hades at this time of year, many of these activities need to be planned in another country, maybe even two or three different countries, if you’re going to get anywhere near the romantic notion of happy, rosy-cheeked kiddies hanging off the farm gate.

So, right now, we find ourselves in the UK – then tomorrow, we head off again, for our annual trip to the US. This year, to Florida, where we lived as newlyweds.

Something tells me we’re destined to meet Mickey Mouse and his motley crew, and obv. this means peaking far too early in the holiday, because when we return to the UK, and DH disappears off over the horizon to the blue yonder of Dubai, there’s still another six weeks to go. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Grandparents rock!

There’s also the small matter of keeping my newly founded Writing Inc. going – it has to take a back burner, of course, but still demands attention, at times like a hungry child. So, I’ve packed my career in my suitcase and, this week, worked remotely from my parents’ dining room.

With this as the view (mum’s garden, a 20-year project that was a field when we moved here), and sausage rolls in the fridge, it’s been such a lovely change. Best of all, the ankle-biting whippersnappers can be thrown outdoors for lengthy and wholesome, energy-burning games of hide-and-seek.

And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up - so we'll find playmates at last!

Office with a view: And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up – playmates wanted.

On jet-charged children

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I discovered a while ago that the A380 is the best plane to fly on with children, not just because there’s more space to move around, but because there’s even a staircase you could use as a naughty step.

Whenever we fly back to London for our annual leave, I always make sure we’re booked on a superjumbo, and it definitely helps the ole pre-flight nerves to know that the boys and I will be able to have a little wander around after hours of being wedged into our seats.

Of course, as all mums who have to fly solo with their kids know, there are other things that would help too – like a third or even fourth arm to carry all the luggage; the physical stamina of a pack mule; a basic aviation knowledge (so as to answer questions such as How does the wind move?); and double-jointedness to make assisting a child in the bathroom easier.

If only!

If only!

But, the single most important thing, I now realise, that makes a big difference is the passage of time. And by that, I don’t mean the slow, ticking of time that extends every drawn-out minute on the actual flight. I mean your children getting older – and easier to fly with.

While queuing at security, I got chatting to a mum with a seven-month-old baby, and as she struggled with all the baby paraphernalia, juggled her little one, took her belt and shoes off, then, at the other side of the x-ray machine, pulled it all together again like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, I have to admit I felt like punching the air with joy that I’ve left that stage well and truly behind.

This flight, I didn’t even have the usual two-tonne carry-on luggage – my laptop case, filled with my MacBook, an iPad, a DS machine and a Kindle, sufficed. And saw us through the flight. Just.

What I hadn’t bargained on, though, was the overexcited, unsuppressable second wind that my boys would enjoy on their jet-charged arrival. At 10pm (1am Dubai time), and after a 12-hour journey from door-to-door without a wink of sleep, they were almost impossible to get to bed (“But it’s still light outside Mummy!”)

Thank goodness for grandparents, who like highly trained reinforcements, had taken over well before I hit the wall.

Silent Sunday: Glow-in-the-dark golf

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Always on the look out for new indoor things to do in summer, we found ourselves playing crazy golf this weekend at a neon-lit 9-hole fairway. The golf putting course is designed in the style of a deep-sea underwater garden filled with psychedelic florescent colours. Even the golf balls glow in the dark!

Located at the retail level of Jewels Building in Dubai Marina, Play A Round @ Some Place Nice is open from 10am until 8pm. Click here for more information.

Located at the retail level of Jewels Building in Dubai Marina, Play A Round @ Some Place Nice is open from 10am until 8pm. Click here for more information.

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Of course, wearing psychedelic shorts is a must!

On a similar theme, this story made me smile this weekend. Police in London seized a glow-in-the-dark supercar after its wealthy Middle Eastern owner (thought to be a member of Qatar's ruling family) was stopped for not having a licence or the correct insurance.

On a similar theme, this story made me smile this weekend. Police in London seized a glow-in-the-dark supercar after its wealthy Middle Eastern owner (thought to be a member of Qatar’s ruling family) was stopped for not having a licence or the correct insurance.

Extravagant teachers’ gifts

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A couple of interesting debates have come up this week – the first on whether the 10-week-long school holiday should be at a time of year when you can actually go outside in Dubai, rather than during the furnace-like summer when every cell in your body screams for water if you venture outdoors.

But the debate that piqued my interest was the issue of teachers’ presents. This is the week when teachers in the UAE are being gifted with all sorts of things, from expensive spa vouchers to Swarovski jewellery.

They deserve it. Of course they do. But there’s a growing body of opinion that this is all going a bit over the top in Dubai.

mmon700l.jpgIt used to be that children would buy a little something, perhaps pick flowers on the way to school, or even better, make something for the teacher along with a card and that was that. Of course, very few children walk to school in Dubai, and they tend to come from families in which Dad is something big in oil or banking. (I’m generalising, not everyone is rich in Dubai, but it’s true our children are transported to school. There’s far too much traffic, so we drive – ruling out hand-picked flowers.)

It was suggested in the media this week that what might be happening (and I’m just saying) is that parents are trying to outdo each other. Otherwise, how would you explain why teachers have been asked to pick out furniture? And why collections are running to as much as 2,500 dhs (£450) per gift – with a whip-round for the person who collects the money too.

One commenter, a teacher herself, pointed out that they do far more than teach these days (good point). Admin work, after-school activities and weekend workshops are all expected. “I think teachers are under appreciated by parents so any gift I can get from them is worth it!” she wrote. “I spend more time with and thinking about their children than they do.”

Ouch!

“Why is it OK for a business man to gift potential clients or customers with fancy dinners and presents, but not OK for parents to give gifts to the teachers,” she wrote, stirring the debate. “Let me know what a business client thinks of a hand-made card!”

No comment. But I’m guessing that, working in Dubai, she won’t be disappointed.

Personally, I’m so thankful to my boys’ amazing and altruistic teachers for everything they’ve done for my children over the past 10 months that I’m very happy to fork out for something thoughtful. Ask me again a week into the epic holiday, and I’ll probably be sending flowers and chocolates too.

[Dabs eyes with a tissue – is the school year really all over? Sobs.]

The sauna relay (mums win gold)

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It’s the last week of term here, and despite searing heat and 85 per cent humidity, desert mummies are flinging themselves around attending end-of-term concerts, classroom parties and parent meetings.

To get an idea of what this is like, imagine what a giant sauna might feel like, and picture yourself jumping in and out of it fully clothed. Imagine the backs of your knees sweating and your hair plastered to your head. Then, add some extra diary dates to an already-jam-packed schedule, a couple of hot, quarrelling children and a car that burns you every time you climb back in it.

dubai-meme-03-hot-tap-waterAs you pick your way over a sandy car park, while mopping your brow and wiping your shades (they steam up the moment you step into the outside air, so heavy today it was almost too thick to breathe), you think to yourself, “My.God.it’s.hot.”

Although why it surprises us each year, I’m really not sure, because it’s no hotter than it usually is in late June. I think we just tend to forget over the 6-8 months of glorious weather.

We’ve reversed our taps – in summer, you can turn your water heaters off and get all the warm water you need from the cold tap (due to cold-water storage tanks getting microwaved by the sun).

And if one of the children opens a window in the car, I’ve noticed I’ll snap it shut immediately, even if it means little fingers get severed, so the AC air doesn’t escape.

It definitely gets to the stage here where everyone is ready for their summer leave, the boys included.

Son1 was looking at something on the iPad the other day and remarked: “Will we see these in England?” We glanced at the screen to see what he was talking about, and saw white, fluffy clouds. A rarity in the dusty, desert summer skies.

Not long now, kids!

on the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday. Photo via The National

On the upside, the lack of cloud cover made for a fabulous super-moon yesterday.                              Photo via The National

Wild Wadi at night

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

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

“We could go to Wild Wadi?”

“Isn’t it a bit late?”

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

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Brave rider shown not the blogger

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bouncing back from expat-no-return

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lord, help me.

Silent Sunday: Cool cuts

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

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

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

Sunscreen: The new rules

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Safe tanning fellow sun worshipers. Circles x

The one in which I resign

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roles and skills required

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Candidates with eight arms will be given automatic interview

Candidates with eight arms will be given automatic interview

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

– Translator (French, Arabic, Hindi)

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

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

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

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

Specific duties related to spouse

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

– Muster energy to spend evening talking coherently

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

Salary

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

Benefits

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

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