Category Archives: School

School run survival tips

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The daily transfer of your offspring to school is not without its challenges, as every mum knows. Forewarned is forearmed, so if the long summer break has left you feeing a little rusty, here are my back-to-school tips and tricks:

– It might feel like the middle of the night, but get up with plenty of time to spare – this is your chance to get your own back on your sleeping children for all those early starts.

– Shovel on more make-up than you’ve worn all holiday, comb hair and pay special attention to your chosen outfit.

– Ensure school-sized sprogs are fed and have cleaned their teeth, without staining their uniform. Remember, the slightest trace of breakfast cereal or toothpaste will take on a luminous glow at the worst possible moment.

– Channel your inner drill sergeant to get the children out the door.

– Drive your seven-seater to within a hair’s breadth of the school gates, ramming other cars if necessary and double-parking if there’s no room. Just put your hazards on if you’re unsure and look busy, avoiding eye contact at all costs.

– Shepherd the children through the gates – remember, serenely does it. No shouting, or pushing. (You should probably practise gliding the night before.)

cartoon-shopaholic

– Don’t look too happy, or sad. Oversized sunglasses will hide any tears and inky mascara smudges, but a whoop of relief can’t be disguised.

– Have a story ready about the luxury, handmade yurt your family stayed in on holiday. (Yachts are so yesterday.)

– Try not to linger too long– you’re blocking several people in outside the gate, don’t forget, even your best friend.

– Watch the handbags-at-dawn fashionista mums go head-to-head on the school runway and vow to get up even earlier the next morning to wash hair.

– Put them to bed in their school uniforms that night.

Happy school runs everyone!

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.]

Why kids LOVE the lunar calendar

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Despite the fact the two-month summer holiday is hurtling towards us like a steam train, Son 2 is now on half term. With only 15 school days left until the end of term, springing a half-term holiday on us now does seem a little unnecessary. Unless you’re a teacher, I suppose.

I’ve mentioned this before, but expat children have so many days off school. Once you’ve transferred your life savings, taken out a bank loan and sold a kidney to pay the school fees, you can expect your little darlings to be actually taught for a grand total of 179 days a year. Not even half the year!

xxxxxx

C’mon moon: I really need the kids back to school

It’s because children in the UAE enjoy the best of both worlds: Christian and Muslim holidays. Even though they’re not Islamic, my boys get time off for all the major Muslim festivals – the exact dates of which we don’t always know until just before, due to the fact Islamic holiday timings depend on sightings of the moon.

In our household, our calendar is further complicated by the fact our sons, who are in different schools, often have different holidays. It’s no wonder I get it totally wrong sometimes.

This list of holidays that parents in the UAE have to contend with cover with childcare doesn’t include all the extra days off given for teacher training and for unexpected shut-downs, thanks to problems with the water / flooding / earthquakes / chemical fire (yes really, see here) or SARS/MERS-like viruses.

– Winter vacation (18 Dec-6 Jan)

– Prophet Mohammed’s Birthday (24 Jan)

– Half Term (10-11 Feb)

– Easter vacation (24 Mar-7 Apr)

– Lailat al-Miraj (Ascension of the Prophet) and half term (4-6 Jun) circa*

– Summer vacation (27 Jun-2 Spt)

– Ramadan (predicted start 8-10 Jul): A month-long period of fasting for Muslims. If schools are in session during Ramadan (which they’re not this year), the school days are usually shortened by a couple of hours. It’s followed by the Eid al-Fitr holiday

– Arafat (Haj) Day – the second day of the pilgrimage (14 Oct)

– Eid al-Adha (Feast of the Sacrifice) (circa* 15 Oct) – rolled into a five-day half term

– Al-Hijra – Islamic New Year (4 Nov)

– UAE National Day (2-3 Dec)

Circa* = Moon-sighting committee confirms the date nearer the time, so published dates can be off by a couple of days

In my next life, I’m coming back as an expat child.

The working mum’s costume fail

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Tomorrow is book character day at school – the day school is invaded by a mini fictional force made up of Harry Potter, Dr. Seuss, Angelina Ballerina and other favourite storybook characters.

Sigh.

It’s all part of book week, during which we’re invited to send in money so our kids can spend it at a book fair (or attempt to buy crisps instead, as I suspect my son might try), take part in the Gazillion Minutes of Reading @ Home initiative (okay, it’s a million, not gazillion) and come up with a costume for the dress-up day.

Don’t get me wrong. I do think all this is great – I absolutely love reading, and trying to impart a love of reading to my sons has been really rewarding, as has watching BB learn to read.

It’s the dress-up part that’s bothering me. Because tomorrow BB will go to school wearing a pair of too-small yellow plastic trousers (part of an old fireman’s outfit), a T-shirt emblazoned with a train and a kids’ pilots hat – the dishevelled assembled sum of which is meant to make him look like a steam train driver from his Flying Scotsman book.

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Not an accurate depiction of the blogger

Even he knows it’s a crumb-y costume. And I know there will be outfits that mums will have spent ages making. Costumes that originated from Pinterest and were then lovingly hand sewn and accessorised.

Still, it’s not that I didn’t try. I’m just having a crazy busy week, with a new freelance job (ironically, for the PR company handling the Sharjah Children’s Reading Festival, which we dragged the boys to this weekend and STILL failed to come home with a suitable book) and I haven’t had a spare minute.

After work today, I sped into our local bookstore, practically setting the paperbacks alight, to try to buy a Fireman Sam book, to go with the old fireman costume I knew was hanging in the cupboard (they not only have to dress up, but also take the book in).

“Do you have Fireman Sam?” I asked the man in the bookshop hopefully.

“No,” he replied after glancing briefly at his computer screen.

“How about any book about firemen, perhaps?” I tried.

“No, nothing,” he said, shaking his head (and I’m sure he laughed, sensing my desperation).

I tried to persuade BB he could wear his Halloween costume instead. “Look, we can use a pen to colour in the skeleton so it looks like a normal pirate’s outfit,” I trilled, as he looked on glumly.

“Or maybe your brother’s spiderman top will fit.”

“That’s a film, mum.”

“I want to go as a dog,” he finally said, getting excited at last. “Floppy the dog from my phonics book. Can you make a dog costume? Please, mummy, please make me a dog suit?”

And mums who work and also leave things like this to the eleventh hour will know exactly what the answer to that request is.

On being let off the school run

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I’d heard a lot about carpooling – an arrangement that lets you off the school-run hook two or three times a week, then bites you in the bum the rest of the time (you know what I mean – dragging multiple children and their bags, lunchboxes, art projects and PE kits to the car, and driving them all home through traffic while keeping up the pretence that you’re a ‘fun mum’).

I was so relieved, to be honest, that there was an excellent school bus service to BB’s school – organised by some like-minded mums in our compound who also didn’t want to spend their days schlepping backwards and forwards. There’s even a bus nanny on board, who three nannies ago, my older son developed a school-boy crush on.

The sensible thing to have done would have been to put my younger son in the same school, and on the same bus when he’s a little bigger. But, this is Dubai, and when is anything as logical as that?

Did I remember everyone?

Did I remember everyone?

Long story, but LB goes to a different, much nearer school, which frowns on buses for young children, has a car park the size of a hankie, and at which traffic congestion and parking are really stressful (it brings out the worst in everyone, and I wasn’t surprised to see police there recently marshalling the mummy-buses).

It’s a real headache – hence the carpool I’ve entered into.

Yesterday, I was upstairs when I heard my French friend’s car pull up with LB inside. She opened the car door, and the wailing wafted upwards like a siren shattering the peace on a quiet street.

A couple of startled birds who’d been pecking away in the climbing plant outside the window took flight.

It wasn’t LB, but her son. And I instantly knew LB was the cause.

I met her outside as she struggled with the bags, the snack box and the tortuous crying.

“What happened?” I asked, really concerned.

“Oo-la-la,” she said, through a forced smile. “He’s just upset because he vants to be a ‘beeg boy.’”

I looked at my normally sweet LB. His defiant eyes met mine. “He’s not a big boy,” he declared. “I’m the BIG boy.”

He measurably grew as he sounded out the words ‘big boy’, then to prove his point pronounced: “He’s only three…”

“And I’m four!”

Yes, LB, but it’s really not a good start to our car pool if you make your co-rider weep, it is?

And, I’ve a horrible feeling [she says, wincing at the lack of etiquette] that he might have called him a ‘baby’ too – the ultimate insult.

It’s my turn this afternoon, and there’ll be withering looks and reprimands if it happens again. I enjoy the days when I’m let off the school-run hook too much to risk this carpool going tits-up.

I thought readers in the colder parts of America might enjoy this photo I saw on Facebook - marvellous!

I thought readers in the colder parts of America might enjoy this photo I saw on Facebook – I’m guessing dreamt up by a mom!

The homework battle lines

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homework picture

I dread it each weekend, I really do – knowing that my 7-year-old has three sets of homework due the next day and that the only way it’ll get done is by brow-beating him into it, breathing down his neck and practically jumping up and down with excitement when he completes each task.

Quite honestly, extracting his teeth would be easier (and quieter).

Back in the dark ages, when I was 7, I’m sure we didn’t have homework. Maybe there was a library book each week, perhaps a reading book too, but I really think that was about it until secondary school (or did I completely miss something?).

But times have changed, it seems, because children these days, even those who are only knee-high to a grasshopper, have enough homework to sink a mummy ship. I’m not saying this is a bad thing, just that if you have a son who’d rather scoop his eyeballs out than sit down and do homework, it becomes a tedious – indeed painful – chore.

BB is in grade 1. Today, I got emails with his French and Maths homework. There’s English language homework each week, too, and Arabic, which we can’t understand and can only watch in amazement as he forms Arabic letters in front of our eyes. On top of all this, they have spellings every week that they’re tested on in class, and they bring reading books home.

It feels like A LOT – and I’m beginning to realise why I’ve heard mums say full-time work is impossible, because managing this kind of homework load in such small children is a job in itself.

I have to admit that, if BB is cooperating, I rather enjoy the spellings and language homework, and have to practically sit on my hands to stop myself grabbing the pencil and scrawling a sentence myself – but I’m no teacher, and the frustration I feel when BB writes backwards / will only write sentences with the word poo in / or can’t be bothered is off the scale.

Behind every little boy doing homework there's a mummy working three times as hard

Behind every little boy doing homework there’s a mummy working three times as hard

And I also grimace with frustration when the homework requires items that I never seem to have to hand. Glue, highlighter pens, newspapers, dice, flash cards, different coloured biros – my stationery supplies always seem to let me down.

So, imagine my dismay when I opened the homework book last week to discover the treat the teachers had set us:

“Make a tornado”

“Please help your child make a tornado by following the instructions…”

Yes, really.

You will need: a water bottle, clear liquid soap, vinegar, water, glitter and food colouring.

I won’t regurgitate all the instructions, but they involved shaking the bottle to mix up the ingredients, swirling it in a circular motion, and adding the food colouring and glitter.

Is it just me, or does anyone else see the mess potential here? (and wonder if perhaps the teacher was getting her own back?)

Bring on the spellings, I say – I’d rather drill BB in spellings than unleash a tornado at home any day.

Wake up and Shake up!

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I am not a morning person. Never have been; never will be. I’m much better at staying up late than I am at getting up with the lark, and have seriously considered having a teasmade installed by the bed to smooth the opening-of-the-eyes process.

All my life, I’ve somehow managed to avoid really early starts. I worked in media (9.30am start in London); freelanced for many years; and studied history at university (earliest lecture 11am, and believe me, even that felt early). I like my sleep, need my sleep and don’t function very well without it.

Cue: children.

I’ve pretty much blanked out the early, mind-bending horrors of baby-induced sleep deprivation, and to be fair to BB and LB, they stay in their beds most nights these days, but my problem is this: schools in Dubai start rudely early.

BB leaves on a school bus at 7.15am, and the doors slide shut on LB’s classroom at 7.50am. Seriously, just typing these times makes me yawn, and if I’m driving on to work, I get there half-an-hour before nearly everyone else.

The moves

The moves

This morning – still feeling like we were getting up for a red-eye flight despite it being the second week of term – it was the usual palava hustling LB out of the house. He climbs into the car like he’s got all. the. time. in the world and climbs out like he’s dismounting a horse.

Being Dubai (where useful things like school car parks aren’t always given due consideration), I have to drag him a fair distance, past the onion-shaped dome of a mosque, over a football pitch, up some stairs, and across the ‘big kid’ part of the school. That gives him opportunities aplenty to attempt to climb walls, meander, stop and smell the flowers, or sit down.

Herding kittens would be easier.

We made it, and I was just about to slope off to get a shot of caffeine when I realised: the parents were congregating on the tennis courts for ‘Wake up and Shake up’ – organised fitness to music at 8 in the morning, with the children. (Think: mums jumping around in Lycra and a generous smattering of dads standing rooted to the spot with their arms firmly crossed and both eyes on the smoking hot PE teacher.)

If I wasn’t fully awake before, I was after throwing a few shapes to Gangnam Style on a surprisingly Arctic-like* Dubai morning.

* That may be an exaggeration. But it honestly was one of the crispest mornings I’ve known in the UAE

Where have all the dinner ladies gone?

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I’m yet to meet a mum who enjoys packing her children’s lunchboxes. Whether you tackle this task at night, or first thing in the morning, it always feels like a chore, doesn’t it?

I can’t put my finger on exactly why I dislike this aspect of child-rearing, but I think it’s got something to do with all the rules: no nuts, no crisps, no chocolate, cakes or sweets and, because the UAE is a Muslim country, no pork products such as ham or sausage rolls.

So, five days a week, mums are expected to put together a shoebox of food which is not forbidden, is healthy yet enticing to a fussy, small child, and varies from day to day.

I’m all for eating well, but this is actually quite a tall-order, no? When I got told off by the school censors for sending in Hula Hoops, it dawned on me that I’d have to get a lot more creative in my food choices (five Hula Hoops in a Tupperware pot is okay, apparently, but not the whole packet – silly me).

Remember the semolina-ladling dinner ladies of days gone by? Several at my school enforced the clean-plate policy so strictly we used to hide the vegetables in our pockets

The news that BB’s school had started providing some hot meals was, needless to say, music to my ears and led to this conversation yesterday:

In the morning:

Me: “BB, how about I give you some money for a hot dinner today?”

BB: “Yay!” nodding his head a little too eagerly.

Me: “Can you remember how much it is? 12 dirhams?”

BB: “How about you give me 100 and that should cover it?”

Me: “Erm, no. I’ll give you 12.” [cheeky!]

Then after school:

Me: “So, what did you have for dinner?” hoping to be regaled with tales of platefuls of pasta, chicken curry and fresh-cut tropical fruit.

BB, grinning: “I had crisps! Red crisps. Healthy ones. They cost 5 dirhams so I got some money back for tomorrow,” the delight etched on his face.

Me [dismayed a teacher hadn’t intervened]: “For dinner? That’s all?”

BB nods.

It was back to packing a gourmet lunch box this morning. Sigh!

What did you do at school today?

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My children hear me say this every day after school. I must ask at least four or five times, phrased in slightly different ways in an attempt to get an answer.

“Who did you see at school today?” “What did you learn?” “Did you have French…or Arabic today?” “Maybe PE?” I probe.

But quite honestly, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.

“We watched TV, Mum!” (I’ve learnt he means they used the smart board)

It must be because I have boys, but they tell me very little about what actually goes on during their school day. Sometimes BB will tell me there was a ‘bad boy’ who got put in time-out (never him, funnily), or that they watched something on the smart board.

But most of the time, he replies, “We did nuff-ing.” Or, when pressed, gives me an exasperated eye-roll and sighs, “I can’t remember.”

Often, I try again later on, hopeful that one last open-ended question might work, but by this time he’s usually head down over my iPad, downloading the video clips he likes watching using our sometimes-fast new internet connection.

Interestingly, though, the thing he has mentioned is the fact his teacher is pregnant. She must only have about four weeks to go and has told the class she’s having a boy.

“There’s a baby inside Ms. C’s tummy,” he told me yesterday, quite proud of the fact he was privvy to this news.

“That’s right,” I said. “And do you know when she’s having her baby?”

“Dunno,” he replied. “The baby’s still loading in her tummy.”

My five minutes of fame!

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This morning, on the way to school, I had the most wonderful surprise. I was just dodging a large water truck, while listening to LB chattering in the back, when I suddenly realised my blog was being read out on the radio!

“LB, be quiet – please!” I shushed. “Listen!” [not that he knows what my blog is, or was about to start listening].

“Mum! You didn’t want to actually SIT on the sofa, did you?”

But he did stay quiet long enough for me to hear my favourite Dubai 92 DJ, CatBoy, read out nearly an entire post – the one on (underhand) school run tips and tricks.

I practically danced LB into his classroom and let the double-parking nonsense that’s going on outside the gates roll off my shoulders. Heavens, I was even wearing the black gym wear that’s currently trending on the school run. Drop-off doesn’t get any better!

The tsunami of extra visits my blog received today may all be one-hit wonders, but it was really fun to witness the power of social media (the radio station re-tweeted the post on Twitter and it made it onto their Facebook page too).

Of course, now I have stage fright – and can’t think of anything to write about. So suffice to say, in a week where DH has been on the other side of the world the whole time – and the children decided it would be fun to rearrange the living room furniture – my five minutes of fame really put a smile on my face. 🙂