Tooth fairy fail

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If you follow this blog, you might know that my older son and his six-year-old Girl Next Door have quite a thing for each other.

They’re in the same class at school, and yesterday, they decided it would be fun to lose milk teeth on the same day.

Son1’s wobbly tooth had been threatening to fall out for about a month, but the sight of red blood petrifies him, so he was ultra careful not to dislodge the tooth, until it finally fell out of its own accord in French class. Girl Next Door is braver: in order to lose her slightly-wobbly pearly white on the same day as her best friend, she worked on it for hours.

Her efforts to forcibly remove her tooth were successful and the pair apparently did a little song and dance in class together, anticipating that the tooth fairy would descend on our street after bedtime.

But the wee pixie must have been having a rough night – might even have been a US government employee and not working – because her visit to our compound didn’t quite go to plan.

By the sixth tooth, the fairy's turned bad

By the sixth tooth, the fairy’s turned bad

8.30pm, Our house
After nearly 14 hours on the go, I’m bribing the boys, knackered-mum-style, to settle down and go to sleep. “Get to bed – if you don’t, the tooth fairy won’t come.” Cue more wailing from my youngest, who always wants me to stay two-going-on-20 more minutes.

They finally go to sleep and I creep back in, money in hand and practically on tippy-toe in my attempt to not make a sound (the finish line – the end-of-the-day sit down – is in sight, hallelujah!).

I shove the crumpled note under Son1’s pillow, and swipe the tissue-wrapped tooth, to store in my silver keepsakes box (like I’m some kind of tribal hunter, collecting trophy teeth for necklaces). But I’m tired, it’s the sixth tooth he’s lost, and I just want to sit down. In my haste, I’ve tucked the note under the corner of the pillow, rather than safely ensconced deeper in.

The next morning, 6.10am
I’m roused from a deep slumber by Son1, who’s standing by the side of the bed looking cross. “Mum, the tooth fairy TOOK my tooth and left NO money!” (Bad-ass fairy). “Oh dear,” I muster, sleepily. “Try the floor, I’m sure it’s there somewhere.”

6.30am, Next door
Girl Next Door comes down the stairs hiding something behind her back and excitedly says: “Mom, guess what the Tooth Fairy brought me?!!”
 It’s then that her mom realises what she’s forgotten to do. Girl Next Door thrusts her arms out from behind her back and, her excitement dissolving into anger, shouts: “NOTHING!!!!! She brought me NOTHING!”

We did eventually find the note in the boys’ bedroom, and I’m quite sure the tardy tooth fairy will fully compensate Girl Next Door tonight, but something tells me our lovebirds won’t be so quick to lose/pull teeth in unison again.

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When the gardeners go berserk

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It’s no secret that in Dubai, most expat households enjoy perks in the form of housemaids and gardeners. It’s something that before you move to the UAE, you think you’d never partake in. Then, after a few months of living in our desert bubble, your long-held notions of self-sufficiency fly out the window.

We’ve had the same gardeners for four years now, which must be the equivalent of about a century in gardening years as most people change landscapers pretty frequently.

I’ve actually grown quite attached to our gardeners. They might have very little English and even less gardening knowledge, but they’re nice to my children, they’ve kept our garden not just alive but manicured in extreme temperatures for four summers, and, let’s not forget, they toil in the heat, with beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads.

They also have very few tools; I’ve watched them planting with their hands, literally scrabbling around in the dirt with their fingers, and have run out to offer them my trowel. When we asked them to prune some tall trees, we discovered their employer doesn’t equip them with a ladder either.

But it never ceases to amaze me what they can achieve with such rudimentary equipment. “We stand on the wall and cut as high as our hands can reach,” the head gardener from Pakistan, who speaks the most English, told me with a grin. And, somehow, this balancing act resulted in our trees being shorn into lollipops.

So, I should have known, when he mentioned to me yesterday that he was going to do some trimming on my favourite tree, that he’d get carried away. I turned my back for five minutes, while getting ready for Son2’s party, and, in that time, he must have grown scissorhands with a high-speed-bordering-on-massacre setting. Scalped is the only word for it.

Oh well, I guess it'll grow back.

The hack-job: Oh well, I guess it’ll grow back in a year or so

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Minecraft: The gaming obsession

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I can’t remember exactly how it started. I think we downloaded the free version as a reward, because some of the children on the school bus were playing it.

Nor can I remember when we upgraded from Minecraft Lite to the full-blown, paid-for game (and lost control). But one thing I am sure of is: my boys are OBSESSED.

Not just in a passing phase sort of way, but in a ‘we could play this 24/7 if you’d ONLY let us’ kind of way.

And, little did I know that the gaming phenomenon would lead to this bizarre conversation with the 5-year-old addict the other day.

“ LB, I’ve ordered the cake for your party on Sunday – it’s a Minecraft cake! Look, I’ll show you,” I said, opening up my computer and clicking on the picture, depicting Minecraft Steve, a creeper, a zombie and some squared-headed animals.

I sat back expectantly, feeling sure I’d trumped last year’s Titanic cake, waiting for the best-cake-ever response from my Minecraft-mad youngest.

“Aw, Mum, I wanted Squid on my cake!” he replied. [Squid, I discovered later, is an eight-tentacled creature, with blueish-teal skin and teeth underneath his pixelated head – who knew!]

“Squid, or IBallisticSquid?” Son1 piped up. … [Eh??????]

And, with that, I realised it was time I found out more about their obsession – because, like a typical Minecraft parent, I’ve been worried recently that it might be rotting their still-developing brains.

The picture on the video game cake - I blame it on LB having an older brother

The picture on the video-game cake – I blame it on LB having an older brother

For those who’ve never come across Minecraft before, it’s relatively simple: the game is set in a virtual world made of cubes of different materials (rock, sand, wood, lava and many more) and the goal is to craft, or build, structures out of these blocks, kind of like digital Lego.

It’s not terribly violent; in ‘survival mode’, you have to catch and slaughter a few animals to get food and the zombies can kill you, but in ‘creative mode’, Minecraft is all about building, exploration, creativity and even working together.

My children are members of a mind-bogglingly large and devoted congregation. The freeform building game has 33 million users, many of whom are youngsters aged between 7 and 15 – mainly boys, who see it as their religion.

I’m assuming my sons are typical here, but if they’re not playing Minecraft, they want to spend an unbelievable amount of time watching YouTube videos of other people playing the game. Minecraft celebrities, such as Stampy Longnose, are well-known in our household, and the boys can link servers to ‘play’ with each other.

Lego-mad from a young age, Son1 was drawn to digital Lego like bees to honey

Lego-mad from a young age, Son1 was drawn to digital Lego like bees to honey

My sons are clearly addicted, however, and forewarned by a friend at work about the lengths these kids will go to (she discovered her teenager was playing for several hours after everyone had gone to bed), we limit the boys’ screen time, much to their chagrin.

You can imagine my dismay, then, when Son1 had to miss swimming at school recently, and told me he’d spent the time playing Minecraft on the computer.

“Really?” I gulped, slightly stunned by this news and annoyed that the school was feeding his habit.

Until I researched it further and found out that the game is actually being used around the world to educate children on everything from science to city planning. It’s been shown to extend kids’ spatial reasoning and constructing skills; and in Sweden, where the game originates from, a school has even made Minecraft compulsory for its 13-year-old students.

So, I’ve decided to fret less over their obsession and take heart in the fact they’re actually collaborating with each other to build these amazingly imaginative worlds and know far more about servers and networks than me. Obviously it’s everything in moderation, but I’m cheered by the news that Minecraft is more than just another video game. I’m also trying to take more of an interest, even in the geeky Minecraft celebrities.

The trouble is, my boys are now attempting to set me a new technical challenge of brain-bending proportions. “Mum, how can we upload videos of us playing Minecraft onto YouTube?”

Stampy Longnose … Squid … you have a lot to answer for.

Questions about heaven

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My 7 year old is beginning to work out that we aren’t immortal and has lots of questions about heaven.

I was walking past the boys’ bedroom tonight, as DH tucked them up, and overheard a rather deep conversation about the after-life, which made me pause and linger outside the door a little longer than I meant to.

“Are you a child or an adult when you go there?” he asked. [Perhaps best not to discuss this at bedtime.]

“And what do you do in heaven?” he continued, resting his chin on the bunk-bed rail. “Are there lots of fun things up there?”

I couldn’t really hear DH’s answers, but Son1 carried on in earnest, his interest clearly piqued.

“How does everyone fit on the cloud?” [I craned my neck at this point to try to hear how DH would explain the metaphysical cloud.]

“Can I take the iPad Daddy?”

 

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8 people you meet on Dubai roads

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As well as the school-run, my experience of driving in Dubai also involves going backwards and forward to work. For the most part, I don’t mind this commute, as I at least get to sit down and listen to my favourite radio station rather than the sound of Boomerang or Disney Junior blaring like a car alarm from the TV.

It’s really more of a bumper-to-bumper crawl than a drive, as the roads in Dubai have become so much busier with the swelling population. Dubai is back, and so are the traffic jams, parking problems and construction road closures (and that’s just the school-run).

It’s during my time on the roads of Dubai that I’ve noticed certain character traits among my fellow commuters, and I feel these should be documented, as there are so many different levels of stupidity behind the steering wheels of fast, powerful cars in the UAE.

Here goes:

The queue jumper: You’ve paid attention to the construction signs and got in the correct lane. Mr Important has ignored them for miles, and now wants to be let in. (Not going to happen).

Driving in Dubai

A fine example of parking in Dubai

The flasher: He appears out of nowhere behind you, intent on making sure there’s no daylight between your back bumper and him. If you don’t get out of his way immediately, he starts flashing his lights, and might even try to sneak round on the hard shoulder. It’s a lane, after all, in his mind.

The stuntman: This one is the wannabe stuntman in a 4×4 driving on two wheels down the emirate’s busiest road, while his pal in a pick-up truck performs handbrake turns. (I’m not making this up, it happened on SZ Road.)

White van man: He’s even more terrifying than the Mr White Van Man you know from home. He last drove a rickshaw and now finds himself licensed and working in Dubai, with Schumacher pretensions. Except his vehicle is not exactly top notch. Packed full of workers, his van has strips of yellow and black caution tape on the back and his own mobile number on the ‘Am I driving safely?’ sticker – and he’s weaving in and out like it’s a slalom race.

Mr No-Rules: Oblivious to everyone around him, he believes indicators are only for Diwali, and thinks nothing of reversing up an exit if he’s missed his turn. He can often be spotted holding his mobile to his left ear with his right hand, texting, eating or clearing out the glove compartment while at the wheel. Rummaging round the back is not beyond him.

The slow poke: For a reason I’ll never fathom, he thinks tootling along in a fast lane at 60km/h is safe driving (or is he actually enjoying staring into his mirror and seeing the traffic behind him peel off in all directions to get round him?).

The road hog: On driving up a one-way street by mistake, it wouldn’t even cross the road hog’s mind to reverse and turn around. Hell, no. The correct course of action in Dubai for those who don’t want to be inconvenienced is to insist the cars driving in the right direction squeeze past you.

The mum-truck: I have to slip her in because we all know who she is. She sits high and proud at the wheel of a 7-seater that’s far too big for her, and can’t park to save her life. She bullies her way around roundabouts, waves people away like she’s on the Yellow Brick Road, and insists on driving 6,270 pounds of metal right up to the school gates, wielding cupcakes.

Travel post: The Big Mango

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I was quiet last week because the stars aligned and I had the opportunity to go to work with DH, to Bangkok. We were last there 23 years ago, as teenage sweethearts, so I jumped at the chance to take a trip down memory lane. This post is the next in my series of travel columns, published in a local magazine, and adapted for the blog.

photo-190

Teeming with golden temples, palaces and colourful markets, Bangkok treats visitors to a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and smiles. Set to become the world’s most visited city this year, beating London, Paris, Singapore and New York, the Thai capital is a huge, cosmopolitan hub, brimming with energy and a sense of fun that’s earned it the moniker Asia’s friendliest city.

While plenty of the visitors deplaning in Bangkok will be headed to Thailand’s beautiful beaches, those arriving for a Far Eastern city break won’t leave disappointed. The sprawling metropolis  might overwhelm at first, with its frenetic pace, scores of high-rises, pollution-choked air and grid-locked traffic. But look beyond the billboard-clad skyscrapers, traffic jams and neon, and you’ll find quiet, tucked-away shrines, Saffron-robed monks, authentic canals, and people so sweet natured it’s almost love at first sight.

photo-191

photo-196Bangkok is located just under 14 degrees north of the Equator and enjoys a tropical climate that favours the growth of jungly plants, orchids and delicious fruits. Bougainvillea and frangipani bloom in abundance. Thai cuisine is justifiably world-renowned (and affordable), and a distinct fragrance – a taster of the culinary treats to come – pervades the air.

The sweet smell is noticeable the moment you step out of the airport and is just the first magnificent assault on your senses, all sure to leave you with unforgettable memories of this quintessentially Asian capital. If it does all get too much, you can always retreat to the city’s climate-controlled malls – don’t we all love a megamall with air-con, after all?

photo-192

Plan a trip

WHEN: The best time to visit is during the cool season, from November to February. Temperatures soar during March, April, May and June, though by mid-June, the rains usually arrive bringing much needed relief. The rainy season sees fewer tourists, lower temperatures and the occasional flood, and can also be a good time to visit.

photo-194HOW: Much of Bangkok is easily navigable, thanks to the underground system and squeaky-clean sky train, built in an attempt to reduce the number of cars on the city’s snarled-up streets.

While the public transport system is fairly efficient, there are gaps and the city is kept moving by ingenious local solutions, such as the Khlong Saen Saeb canal boats. Taxis are among the cheapest in the world. They’re best avoided during rush hour, though, and make sure the meter is on.

SEE: Two hundred years ago, Bangkok was a small trading centre and port community on the west bank of the Chao Phraya River, and the glory of its past is evident in the city’s spectacular sights.

photo-195The impressive silhouette of the 19th-century Temple of Dawn (Wat Arun, pictured right) is one of the most recognised in Southeast Asia, and is especially stunning when lit up at night. Its towering spires rise on the western bank of the Chao Praya, but don’t miss seeing the temple close-up. The main tower is beautifully decorated with tiny pieces of coloured glass and shards of Chinese porcelain.

Thailand’s most sacred site, the dazzling Grand Palace, is vast, so expect to spend at least a full morning or afternoon admiring the curious blend of Italian Renaissance and Thai architecture. Within the palace complex are several impressive buildings including Wat Phra Kaew, containing the small and greatly revered 14th-century Emerald Buddha.

Nearby is Wat Pho, home to the world’s largest reclining Buddha image and a massage school offering highly recommended traditional massages.

SHOP: Founded in 1782, Bangkok’s colourful and chaotic Chinatown is a warren of narrow alleys and congested roads, offering myriad market stalls, gold shops and vibrant street-side cuisine. Hordes of shoppers descend on this one-kilometre strip and adjacent Charoenkrung Road. If you happen to be in Bangkok during a major festival, such as Chinese New Year, you’ll see Chinatown at its best.

Bargain hunters will also enjoy the stalls on Khao San Road (particularly good for discounted clothing and accessories), and if you’re in Bangkok over a weekend, head to the Chatuchak Weekend Market, the largest market in Southeast Asia with 8,000 stalls.

photo-198
DO: A visit to a floating market has long been a highlight on tourist itineraries, and Taling Chan, about nine miles north-west of Bangkok, is one of the most accessible. The canal banks are lined with restaurants and shops, and plied by small sampans (narrow rowing boats) piled high with tropical fruit and vegetables, fresh coconut juice and local food cooked on the floating ‘stalls’.
photo-197

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Silent Sunday: How 7y/o boys think

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Driving along the other day, we find ourselves behind this van. Son1, suddenly displaying great interest in the traffic, pipes up from the back: “Look!” And then without missing a beat, excitedly asks: “D’you think that van explodes a lot?”

Sorry Son1, just a boring old delivery service!

Sorry Son1, no dynamite. Just a boring old delivery service!

Hats off to DH

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A question I get asked a lot is: “So, does your husband always fly the same route?” I guess I can understand why people might think this – bus drivers, ferry operators, London underground drivers, long-distance truck drivers, mums on the school run, we all do the same route. So why not an airline pilot?

I smile and answer politely, “No, he flies to different places all the time.” He could be in New York one week, then Seoul the next, followed by London or Munich the week after. There’s a bidding system, which is too complicated to explain here, but that’s how it works. And it varies from month-to-month, too, with training, ground schools and six-monthly medicals as well.

Often, his trips take him to more than one country, so they’ll go to Sydney, then on to Auckland, or they’ll fly to Bangkok and from there onto Hong Kong. A bit like picking the children up from school, then continuing on to an after-school activity, I suppose. Or not.

Anyway, last week he was at Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi airport, preparing to fly on to Hong Kong. Picture the scene, if you will: a busy Thai airport, with nearly 16 million arrivals a year, serving a huge, cosmopolitan capital brimming with gold-spired temples, colourful markets and sà·nùk (fun).

xxxxxxx

The crowd pleaser

The flight crew is sitting in a corner before boarding, when a Chinese lady sits herself down right next to DH and asks if it would be okay for her friend to take a photo of them. Sure, says DH, and makes her day by letting her wear his hat for the picture.

The area they’re sitting in isn’t particularly busy, so you can imagine my DH’s surprise when he looks up and sees what’s happened.

Did you guess? Yes, out of nowhere, a line has formed. A 15-deep queue of excited passengers, many of whom are probably travelling on the A380 for the first time, all wanting a photo – with THE HAT.

My DH, who’s very good-natured, obliged. Bless him! And I did have to laugh because it’s not the first time he’s caused a line: a long time ago, when we were 16, he was waiting for me at a train station, in school uniform. I arrived to find DH standing by the exit, collecting tickets. The reason? A passenger had thought he was the inspector and handed her ticket over, causing everyone getting off the train to follow suit.

Proud of you DH, for fulfilling your flying dreams – and for the fact people will actually queue for you!

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The UAE’s first online hypermarket

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I know there are people who love the tiresome chore that is grocery shopping, but to be honest, I’ve never really understood why.

When I was single, grocery shopping was more interesting, especially when it involved the hallowed M&S food hall, but now that I have a whole family to feed, I find myself running round the supermarket with gritted teeth every other day, retracing my steps each time and lugging the same old dullsville groceries from shelf to check-out to car to kitchen. Occasionally I go off-liste and find some new or different things, but usually I get home and realise there’s still nothing for dinner.

As a working mum, you can imagine my joy when I heard that the UAE’s first online hypermarket had launched – and it actually delivered to our area. I decided not to get too excited, as this is Dubai, after all, and it was bound to mess up, but I secretly thanked the supermarket Gods for finally smiling on me.

And why do whole families go grocery shopping together for fun, just as I've got approximately 22 minutes to do the 'big shop'?

And why do whole families go grocery shopping together for fun, just as I’ve got approximately 22 minutes to do the ‘big shop’?

As I read the website this weekend, I realised the supermarket Gods weren’t just smiling, they were rolling around the aisles with side-splitting laughter, eating popcorn and Häagen-Dazs.

In the Getting Started section, you’re welcomed to this new experience in retail convenience and told: ‘Your lifestyle reflects your life story. It is told through the everyday objects you surround yourself with, through the food and drink you consume.”

It gets better: “These items are major characters in your story; they are your friends.

“They bring you joy and comfort, and welcome you home at the end of the day. Each morning you farewell them, perhaps with a touch of sadness.”

Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up.

Géant Online, it promises, will provide all the fun, excitement and joy of ‘physical’ shopping (I’d just settle for the groceries) and, with that, I found myself registering.

The first order does take some time as you have to find the virtual version of everything you need (while there are plenty of goods available, it’s not the whole range, by any means), but next time it should be a piece of cake as the system remembers your list.

I proceeded to the queue-less checkout, picked a delivery time for the same day, paid and kept my fingers crossed. My phone rang almost immediately confirming the order, and I sat back, still feeling a little twitchy about the whole thing.

So did my groceries arrive? They did, later than they were meant to. All the frozen items were missing and I’d accidentally ordered 30 cucumbers. But, to my surprise, the customer service line was actually really helpful, and as I left the house the next day (“Bye, bye beans! Farewell my fruity friends!”), a lady rang to say they’d bring the missing items that afternoon.

Happy dance!