Category Archives: Parenting

Back to school: The Dubai drop off

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Mothers across Dubai were either breathing a huge sigh of relief or sobbing into their hankies this morning as they dropped their children at school for the start of the new term.

But rather than simply depositing your offspring into the classroom roughly on time, it seems there are plenty of tactics you can use (some of them underhand) if you want to achieve a flawless drop off. Much is doubtless universal, but there are certainly some skills that are specific to Dubai schools.

Tips and tricks:

● Even if you only drop off one child, make sure you drive your 7-seater SUV right up to the school gates.

● Drive at speed, prepare to race other parents from the red light, bully your way round the roundabouts and take every opportunity to jump the queue.

Creating the illusion of a six-hour workout is a useful skill

● Ignore the car parking attendants and remember to cut up your best friend to get that prime parking spot.

● When alighting from your car, greet your friend with a cheery smile and a wave.

● Pay special attention to your chosen outfit. Currently trending is gym wear, preferably black. Whether or not you actually go straight to the gym from the drop off is entirely irrelevant.

● Make sure you and your children are perfectly laundered. Even the slightest trace of toothpaste, breakfast cereal, chocolate, snot, vom or poo will make itself glaringly apparent at the worst moment.

● Although a huge pair of sunglasses will hide a plethora of cosmetic tardiness, make sure your nails are perfect and you hair is pristine.

● Do not rush or run. Do not push or drag your child. Irrespective of what is actually happening, glide serenely through the school with a relaxed and happy expression.

● Greet each member of staff and wish them good morning. Train your children to do the same.

● When engaging in small talk with other parents keep to the following subjects: how charming the children are, how much the children are growing, how lovely everyone looks, the weather.

● Never admit to another mother any homework not done, lost library books, tantrums endured either at home or in the car, diarrhoea or head lice.

● Of course, all of the above also applies during pick up – although you must ensure that whatever you wear is entirely different from the outfit you were sporting only a few hours earlier.

● The only possible exception to this rule is you may return in the same gym wear, creating the aura of a potential six-hour work out. Sweat patches, however, are not acceptable.

The job I won’t be applying for

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Amid mixed emotions, the school summer holiday is over!

I must admit, when it started, 10 weeks ago, this weekend seemed a distant, almost far-fetched prospect.

Thousands of miles later, we’ve made it through to September, with our sanity intact (laughs skittishly). We’ve been to theme parks, palaces, museums, railways, state parks, lakes, beaches – you name it. All heaving with families in the UK and surprisingly hot and sweaty in the US (who would have guessed there’d be Dubai-like weather in the mid-west of America?)

Me, soon – if I haven’t been completely forgotten, that is

There’s been a great deal of joy. A lot of laughter. Special times with loved ones and friends I don’t see enough of.

The happy stuff precious memories are made of.

But, inevitably, we’re also had our fair share of cranky kids, time-zone changes, food thrown back in our faces, sibling spats and over-tired tantrums [whispers: this mommy might actually go on strike if anyone suggests another ‘fun-filled’ outing to a family attraction].

So, while sad it’s all over, I can’t wait to get back into a routine – which also means putting out feelers to see if anyone who I freelance for actually remembers me after such a long break.

With the thought of an air-conditioned office with minimal noise and everyone’s bums firmly in their seats sounding quite appealing right now, I found myself browsing some media jobs online – and clicked on this ad that set out the following (ideal) requirements for the ‘superstar’ they hoped to employ:

● You write articles that make people laugh hysterically. Even you don’t believe how funny you are.

● People around can’t stop appreciating your creativity, wit, passion, imagination and how wonderfully you articulate your thoughts into words.

● Your pen is your magic wand, and you can take simple ideas or boring dry facts and effortlessly convert them into exciting, engaging and humorous articles with your magic powers.

● Your proactivity makes people around you seem very lazy.

● Your command over spoken and written English would give Shakespeare a complex.

● You know the effort it takes to be part of a winning team and if it wasn’t for this job you would be running for the American presidency.

That’s a tall order, for a superstar with bells on. Suddenly my life of mainly mummydom sounds so much more do-able.

And fun!

Organised Mum’s fait accompli

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My boys are attending different schools this academic year (long story), so this week, whilst prodding them with an iron poker to prevent them napping in the car, I’ve been running from pillar to post, spending a small fortune on two sets of (different) uniforms, shoes, lunch boxes and water cups.

I’ve tried really hard to get it right, to make sure each boy is kitted out properly, with well-fitting shorts and shirts, that are labelled, and with hats that I know will get lost (due to the sun, there’s a no-hat/no-play policy).

You think you’ll just get it done on time, then you bump into her: Organised Mum. Yummy mummy-of-three-hen-pecked-children extraordinaire.

Organised Mum browses the uniform store at leisure, while everyone else’s shopping trip screeches to a halt due to the out-of-stock hats

You meet her at the uniform shop – except she’s not there to buy uniforms. She bought those in June, long before the store ran out of book bags and PE shirts. She’s there to buy a new wall planner, because last year’s didn’t have enough space for all their extra curricula activities.

“Are you ready for school?” she trills, with the smug air of someone who could quite easily spend this week by the pool. “Olivia can’t wait for school to start, can you darling?”

You see, Organised Mum has every reason to gloat, because she spent her entire summer planning for this moment. The Organised family went to the Rockies to climb mountains in July, with two weeks in St Tropez on the way back. But she never took her eye off the start of the new term.

Her children were measured and fitted for shoes on a stop-over in London; haircuts were done at Vidal Sassoon in Mayfair; her maid sewed satin labels on while they were away; and she restocked their stationery supplies with some stylish new lines sold exclusively at a French boutique.

Organised Mum has all the time in the world this week, and it’s beyond her that other mothers might still be buying last-minute uniforms. She finds a wall planner she likes and asks at the till if she can pre-order a diary for 2013. As she discusses typefaces, the working mothers in the line behind her, with approximately 10 minutes to get all their back-to-school supplies and get back to their desks, start silently cursing.

She leaves her details and the queue exhales a sigh of relief as she moves aside, but she’s not finished yet. With Mr Organised, a big cheese in oil pipelines, away in Saudi, she fancies a little more adult interaction and asks what activities we’re signing up for this term.

“We’re doing some extra French tuition,” she says. “The girls practised so hard on holiday. Go on, Trixabelle, say something in French. She sounds so clever when she speaks French.

“And we’ll be at the swimming trials, of course. Harry was very inspired by the Olympics … You never know!” she tinkles proudly.

“Maybe see you at the pool later,” she calls, as she breezes out the door into the sunshine.

Maybe not, Organised Mum. Some of us still have shopping to do.

Musical beds, at 3am

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Last night, BB couldn’t sleep, again. And by couldn’t sleep, I mean he was wide awake, like an insomniac who hasn’t slept properly for years, or a coffee addict who’s been injecting caffeine intravenously.

His eyes would flutter shut for half-a-second, then spring open again. Every time I thought he’d drifted off, it was such a feather-light sleep that he’d awaken the moment I moved a finger. Eventually, his eyelids stopped looking heavy and remained wide open, as though propped apart by matchsticks.

I gave up and let him come downstairs. We’re fighting jet lag, after all, and the time shift means we’re trying to get the boys to sleep before their bodies think it’s bedtime (kind of like trying to turn the tide).

This was about 10pm.

“I’ll fall asleep in front of the TV mummy,” he promised, with a smile.

At 2am, we were still downstairs.

I know, I was gullible. I should have known the TV would just be bonus stimulation time for him, but I couldn’t let him start making a racket upstairs as LB and DH were already sleeping.

When you’re blimin’ knackered and the kids won’t sleep, this book cover does spring to mind

DH had gone to bed at about 7.30pm, as from 1.30am he was on stand-by. He doesn’t have to be awake to be on night-time stand-by – it just means he has to be rested enough to be able to fly, if needed – with the phone by the bed obviously.

I must admit, when he cheerily called it a day at 7.30pm, there was a bit of me that thought, “Hmpph, they won’t call him. He’ll get the best night’s sleep, ever.”

But, I was wrong. At 2am, he got sent to China.

As his suitcase clunked down the stairs, I looked at DH with surprise – and he, in return, looked at BB with surprise.

“He can’t sleep,” I sighed, our tired, ashen faces lit up by the glow coming from Disney Junior on the TV.

With three out of four of us up, we saw DH off, then I took BB upstairs and told him he could sleep in the big bed (mistake no. 2).

Five minutes later, there were three in the bed. LB was up too and they were fighting for pole position next to me.

“Go to sleep, both of you,” I growled. “It’s nearly 3. Mummy needs to sleep, now.”

Miraculously, they did fall asleep before too long – and I crept stealthily out of the room and straight into BB’s empty bed.

Oh the joys of musical beds at 3am! It’ll be melatonin jet-lag tablets all round tonight.

Jet lag: The scourge of summer travel

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I’ve never been one for keeping a really strict routine. When the children were babies, the Gina Ford-esque Open the curtains at 6.24am regime didn’t suit me. But, like all mums, I’m well aware that if certain things happen at the same time each day, then life is a lot more enjoyable.

Bedtime is a case in point.

At no time is a routine more appealing than when it’s all going pear-shaped: I’m talking about jet lag here – that dreaded circadian rhythm sleep disorder that can hold you in its steely, fatigue-inducing grip for days, especially after an eastbound flight.

With her jet-lagged children up for hours in the night, Mom felt like she’d been run over by the airport bus

It’s a disorientating condition that people in our community know well, especially the Americans and Canadians who travel half way round the world to get back, with small children, who then spend the next two weeks mixing up night and day.

We only had a three-hour time jump between London and Dubai, but to be honest, even this is enough to play havoc with your family’s sleep.

Making it worse this year was the fact that BB and LB hadn’t really adjusted to British time anyway. After returning from America, and with no school to get up for, they stayed on a mid-Atlantic time zone, treating us to 11pm bedtimes in England.

No surprises, then, that our first full night back in Dubai went like this:

11.30pm: BB and LB finally succumb to sleep

2.20am: I nod off at last

2.30am: Pitter, patter … BB comes running in. “Mum, I can’t sleep!”

5.30am: BB, who I [foolishly] allowed to climb into our bed, falls back to sleep after three hours of fidgeting

6.15am: LB wakes up – for the day

Tonight (yawn), my overtired boys were also resisting bedtime, in a can’t sleep/won’t sleep fashion.

“I’m NOT tired!”

Then, just before nine, BB lost it, despite being allowed to watch some extra telly. “I want Nanny,” he wailed, in between distraught, heart-breaking sobs.

“But you’ve got me,” I soothed, feeling a bit like the booby prize.

I took him and his brother upstairs and tried reading a book, but it didn’t really distract my by-now-exhausted BB.

More raspy, uneven sobs.

So, I pulled out all the stops: I started singing.

“Show me the way to go home. I’m tired and I want to go to bed,” I crooned, trying to replicate a song my mum used to sing to me while drying my tears years ago.

BB went quiet, finally, and his breathing slowed as the song worked its magic. But then LB, who until now had been quite placid, started crying.

“Mum, don’t sing,” he spluttered, visibly shaken. “I really don’t like your singing. “It’s bad singing,” he snivelled, and sat up in bed, wide awake again.

There really is no pleasing everyone, is there?

Return of the Mac

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I flew back to Dubai with the boys on Thursday, on what we call ‘Daddy’s airplane’. Except DH wasn’t flying it, and nor was he on it.

BB and LB are good at air travel really, and I guess for a 3 and 6 year old, they could be classed as frequent travellers, but there are certain inevitabilities about flying with small children.

They needed the toilet just as the food arrived, and also the moment the seatbelt sign came on; they couldn’t get comfortable despite being pint-sized; they weren’t hungry when given their meals then clamoured for food later on when there was none. They wriggled, fidgeted, got bored and LB kept bumping the seat in front.

Brilliant, brilliant idea

As we boarded the full A380 at Heathrow, LB asked a flight attendant if we were going to space. “Too many people today,” he told her, as though he commuted the route daily. But not funnily for me, he didn’t sleep a wink, preferring to give me the Spanish Inquisition over whether there were owls chasing us (it was mostly dark) and would they get chopped up in the engine?

For my part, I ruefully turned down an upgrade (it was only for me, not the kids!), I entertained two energetic boys for seven long hours, rummaged around for missing items, let the 3yo sit on my lap for as long as was tolerable and made multiple trips to the loo.

But, you know what, it is getting easier. Each year is a little better than the last, and when I think back to last year’s long flight with a tantruming two-year-old, playing tray up/tray down, light on/light off and ding the flight attendant, I realise we’ve come a long way, even if it’s still really tiring.

Thanks to an iPad loaded with games, there were even some moments of quiet reflection, when I looked out the window at the ink black sky and the airplane’s shadowy wing. I found myself thinking about the gleaming metallic finish, the gentle, sloping contours, the speed it was capable of, and its ability to transport me from the sights and sounds of Seoul to the sunsets of Long Island.

So, was I appreciating DH’s airplane in all its gigantic glory?

Well, if I’m honest, I was thinking about my new beautiful, super-speedy MacBook Pro laptop, which I bought in England to bring back to Dubai. Love it!

Where I went Wednesday

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Having realised that the long summer school holiday won’t go on forever (after all), I decided it was time to take the children up to London, and give our hosts, their grandparents, a well-deserved day off.

An added incentive was that my BF agreed to come with us to Covent Garden’s London Transport Museum – and there was also the inkling that we might be able to sneak lunch in at my favourite sandwich shop, Pret a Manger.

But apart from that, it was all for the good of the kids – honest.

The funny thing about taking BB and LB on day trips is that, for them, it’s the journey that’s the exciting bit. Not the destination, and certainly not lunch. It’s all about the getting there – on South West Trains, and the Northern Line.

They didn’t mind one bit that the train to Waterloo was really crowded and so we had to stand right by the toilet – they got to watch people going in and out the loo and could even time them.

How to make a train-mad 6YO boy’s day: Operate a tube train

Given that in the UAE, apart from the new, driverless metro, there are no railways – and BB is obsessed with trains – it makes sense that the Woking-Waterloo service is a thing of amazement for him. On passing through Clapham Junction, his eyes nearly popped out his head and as we went down the escalator to the underground, I promised him we’d travel on the deepest line.

Not such a thrilling ride if it’s your daily commute, but we got some smiles five minutes later, with both kids pressing their noses against the window, peering out at the tunnel, absolutely loving trundling through the darkness.

The trouble with their enjoyment of train journeys is that when we reach our destination, they usually just want to turn around and go home again. But, today, I’d thought of that: The Transport Museum – ta-daaa! They could even drive a tube train! A brilliant, foolproof plan, surely.

And it was a success, until it came time for lunch, and we made them walk to Leicester Square (all of five minutes), triggering a tirade from my hungry oldest son. “But I can’t walk, my legs have died. This is my baddest day ever.”

Kids, eh – I could have sworn that a few minutes earlier he was energetically running around and playing inside a bus exhibit as happy as larry.

London bus drivers seem to be getting younger…

And the magicians are getting cleverer – took us ages to figure this out!

The Expat Summer Olympics

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If you think about it, it’s a funny ole thing that expats spend such a big chunk of the year away from their adopted home, living out of a suitcase. While most people take 2-week holidays, for expats 6-8 weeks is often necessary in order to see all your family and friends who you don’t see the rest of the year.

And, for expat families in the Middle East, an extended vacation over the long summer school holiday also provides a solution to the how-to-entertain-the-kids-when-it’s-46˚C problem.

This is what the summer heat in Dubai feels like!

But being gone for such a long time isn’t all plain sailing, by any means. Inspired by Mrs Dubai’s brilliant Mummy Olympics post, I’ve been thinking about some Olympic events that expats the world over would be in great shape for this summer:

Speed

Catch every flight, with time to spare

Pole-position passport-queuing

The find-your-holiday-home-before-dark Road Race

The 32-hour-day Time Trial

Sprint to the toilets before the inevitable

Endurance

The up-before-dawn jet-lagged 6YO (how long til you lose it?)

The bath-book-bed triathlon in new surroundings

The time zone jump (how many days to adjust? Bonus points for family members under 10)

The Eventing marathon (plan and execute 4-6 weeks of events and get-togethers without leaving anyone out)

The 1,500km cross-country steeplechase (how many relatives can you visit?)

Sofa surfing (who needs a good night’s sleep anyway?)

Circles staggers over the final hurdle to win gold in the 3-in-a-bed at 3am relay!

Gymnastics

Stay vertical at the Bar during reunions with friends

The Parallel park on tiny roads

The Roll-your-clothes test (does this mean you can fit more in your suitcase?)

Pommelling-it-shut after repacking

The Beam-me-up-Scotty moment (when it all gets too much)

The Dismount (when DH extricates himself from the travelling circus and goes back to work – no blubbing)

Skills

The daily Dress-Arghh competition (find something uncreased to wear in your capsule wardrobe)

Ride public transport in rush hour with children and suitcases

The don’t-stick-your-oar-in family regatta (aka, don’t rock the boat if it’s best left unsaid)

The triple shift childcare derby (one mum, two whining kids, DH gone)

Synchronised schedules (find a good moment to Skype your absent DH)

The overtired tantrum throw (how many until you have one yourself?)

Peace, serenity – the kids, who are STILL on American time, go quiet after 11pm here!

Olympics camp [Mummy’s little warning]

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There’s been some excited Olympics watching at the Circles’ holiday home over the past week – especially on Super Saturday when Team GB appeared to be on a magical gold rush that culminated in an electrifying three golds in 47 astonishing minutes of track and field euphoria.

I think we all know we only get nights like this once in a lifetime, and we were jolly well going to make it our night to shine. The feelgood factor had been mounting all day following gold medals in rowing and cycling – then Jessica Ennis sprouted wings. It honestly wouldn’t surprise me if there was a baby boom in nine months’ time, such was the jubilation felt by Britain on Saturday night, and then again on Sunday when Andy Murray won the tennis (which we missed, gutted!).

If you haven’t already seen the clip showing the British commentators’ reaction to long-distance runner Mo Farah’s win, it’s really worth watching – and is indicative of what went on in British households that night.

Olympics camp – well, you have to start somewhere! [whispers quietly, and when they’re being naughty, it’s a great threat]

LB isn’t too fussed, being too young to really understand what’s going on, but BB has been getting into the spirit of it, learning about the different flags and cheering for ‘England’ with genuine enthusiasm. He’s pleased to have two other teams to support as well (Team USA and the UAE) and it’s definitely helped that he attends an international school as I can explain other participating nations by referencing his class mates. “France?” he’ll enquire. “Is that Valentine’s country?” “Sweden…ah, Ludvig!”

Our minds have also turned to how you become an Olympian, and while I know that’s a path my kids are unlikely to go down (BB is tall, but being left-handed, he’s very confused about which hand to throw with), we’ve had fun learning about all the athletes – and it does seem that many of them are built for Olympic success.

Take America’s swimming legend Michael Phelps. His 6ft 7in arm span is greater than his height (6ft 4in); his lung capacity is said to be 12 litres (double the average man’s) and his size 14 feet are more like flippers. I’m sure I read somewhere that his ankles are also double-jointed, enabling him to paddle his feet with extra thrust.

“Wow,” said BB, as we discussed this after Phelps’ 100m butterfly race win on Friday. BB, who does a lot of swimming in Dubai and really loves it, then glanced down at his feet to see if they might ever grow to this size, stretched his arms out, and, wide-eyed with curiosity, asked, “Does he have gills too?”

An amphibious Olympian – in the eyes of an awe-struck six-year-old who’s just learnt to fish, why not?

Olympic Fever: Top 10 tweets & quotes

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I’m feeling rather patriotic this weekend. I know every other nation was probably completely baffled by the Olympic opening ceremony, but I absolutely loved it – and am also quite relieved that as an expat, I still ‘got it’. Surreal, madcap, moving and full of humour, it was truly a rock-and-roll ceremony and that now-legendary royal opening, “Good evening, Mr Bond,” – with the Queen’s corgis in attendance – was simply genius.

I hope you enjoy these photos and reactions from around the world as much as I did… (I must admit, I did laugh that in China, the state TV narrators did a commendable job of galloping through potted histories of everything from the industrial revolution to Mary Poppins, but were apparently stunned into near-silence by the parachuting Monarch!)

Piers Morgan
“This is truly, madly, deeply British” #London2012

Michael Moran
“There are some sheep on the pitch….they think it’s all clover. It is now!” #olympics

An estimated global television audience of one billion tuned in to watch

Rachel Wilkinson
“I think they could have got some Tellytubbies on those yonder hills”

Queen_UK
“Are those things actually there or has one had a gin too many?” #olympicceremony

Sense of humour – still one of our greatest assets

Tylerbaldwin
“Mr Bean = the strangest and yet best thing I have ever seen during an opening ceremony for the Olympics”

duguzzle
“In true British style, the queue of athletes is ridiculous” #olympicceremony

Gary Lineker
“Are we really only on M? Can they start jogging? They’re athletes after all…”

Spectacular, thoughtful and touching – the ceremony competed with Beijing on a different level

Pam Mcllroy
“I want Danny Boyle to light the Olympic Flame. He’s done more for the morale of GB in a couple of hours than anyone has in years…”

Sir Redgrave? The Queen? Pippa Middleton? Speculation was rife as to who would light the cauldron

Piers Morgan
“You watching, Mitt?”

Who says Britain can’t put on a show?

“If the opening ceremonies of the London Games sometimes seemed like the world’s biggest inside joke, the message from Britain resonated loud and clear: We may not always be your cup of tea, but you know – and so often love – our culture nonetheless”
Anthony Faiola, The Washington Post