Silent Sunday: Eid

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Tower with a twist

It’s the Eid holiday here in Dubai. The weather is finally perfect (87° and sunny), the children are off school, and by a stroke of luck my DH’s trip to London got cancelled.

Thank you, crew scheduling! (and thank you, DH, for not disappearing off to Tokyo instead.)

We’re just coming to the end of four days of family time, and thanks to the mercury dropping, we’ve been outside nearly the whole time – honestly, we tough it out through the long hot, sticky summers for glorious days like these.

Since water-based activities are still the order of the day, we kick-started Eid with a dhow cruise around Dubai Marina – and I just loved the twisted tower, pictured left, that we sailed past.

But the thing that made me laugh was that while we were on Captain Jack’s family wooden boat – sitting comfortably on enormous bean bags atop the deck of the beautifully varnished vessel – several super yachts sped by, one with a pair of bikini-clad blondes at the helm who turned the heads of the dads on our boat.

How children change everything, I smiled to myself!

The view from Captain Jack’s boat

The pleasure boat I bet half the dads wished they were on!

Why I should NOT be running the 5K

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A month ago, I signed up for a local 5K race. It sounded quite fun – a friend is doing it, you run along Dubai’s Palm with the sea on one side, and I imagined that with all the training I’d do beforehand, it surely couldn’t be that hard?

I mean, it’s not exactly a marathon, is it? And it’s at 7am in the morning so not too hot. There’d be a nice sea breeze, perhaps some seagulls circling and I’d get carried along by the atmosphere, I thought to myself.

I told all my friends, I tweeted about it, and left myself with little choice but to register.

“You’ll be fine! You could even wear your bikini and go for a dip in the sea afterwards,” someone VERY kindly tweeted back. “It’ll all be over in half an hour,” she added, optimistically.

5 kilometres by the sea at 7am – I won’t be wishing I was still in bed, noooo

With a goal to aim towards, I’d even be motivated to spend hours pounding away on the treadmill and, on the day, I’d be home in time for a slap-up breakfast, I decided!

The race is on the 9th November – or in other words, in two weeks’ time, and, I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that, despite the purchase of some brightly coloured Reebok gym wear, the training schedule I’d imagined hasn’t exactly worked out.

I’ve never done anything like this before (read: I am not a runner. It would take my legs suddenly sprouting another six inches and my shins becoming a little less knock-kneed to turn me into one). I’ve been going to the gym (three times a week), but not exactly putting in the required intensity – then, last week, I didn’t go at all due to work.

Also worrying me is the fact my mother-in-law is coming along – not to watch, but to take part. A fit, petite and very slim lady, she may well be faster than me. And look less like she’s been on the receiving end of the Heimlich manoeuvre.

But, perhaps my biggest concern is something a good friend, who’s been pootling off on 35K bike rides recently, pointed out: the fact that running outdoors is quite different from jogging on the treadmill in a climate-controlled gym.

So this week, I’ve been trying to imagine my legs slamming into concrete instead of the soft, conveyor belt. I’ve thought about the jarring effect reverberating through my body, the sun on my back, and wondered if my knees know what they’re in for.

I’m determined to give it a go, though, and now it’s so much cooler in the evenings, I’m planning on doing a few outside jogs before the big day.

Even if I walk some of it, it really doesn’t matter. I’ll get there in the end. Just not in my bikini.

‘WHY?’ and other annoying phrases

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There was a little piece on the radio in Dubai last week about the top 10 most annoying sounds (you’ll see where I’m going with this in a minute).

I was pretty sure that nails on a chalkboard would top the list, but there are – according to the neuroscientists who researched this – two other even more unpleasant sounds.

A crying baby doesn’t irritate me at all. I’m just thankful it’s not mine and my children are older!

A knife on a bottle, followed by a fork on a glass are the noises our brains find most intolerable, apparently. Other sounds on the list are more guessable, like an electric drill and a crying baby. Then there were one or two I’m not sure I’ve ever heard, like a disc grinder and a ruler on a bottle.

Long before the presenters reached ‘crying baby’, it occurred to me that mums of small children could put together their own list of annoying sounds, based on the things we hear all.the.time.

You know what I mean – we love our children so much it hurts, but sometimes the words our infuriating, ravenous little darlings utter over.and.over.again can make you want to pierce your eardrum with a screwdriver be a little irritating.

Here’s my top 10:

“Mummeeeee, I’m BORED.” Followed two minutes later by, “Mummy, I SAID, I’m bored.”

“He started it!” [feigns innocence]

“YOU do it”

“I want a NEW mummy”

“I don’t like it” [throws food you’ve shopped for and spent ages preparing back at you]

“Mummy, [insert sibling’s name] hit me!” [don’t get me started about the goading]

“I’ve got nothing to DO” [sighs with weariness despite 10 million toys upstairs]

“It’s morning time!” At 5.45am.

“I’m NOT going to bed!” Every.single.night.

“Why?” repeat ad nauseam

I’m sure there’s more (‘he’s not sharing’, ‘after this programme’, ‘you’re not my friend’).

But I know – the day will come when they won’t want to talk to me at all, and I’ll resort to stalking them on Facebook – then, I’ll miss these gems! (Or not?)

Silent Sunday: Gym rules part 2

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I posted about the rules in our compound gym before. Today, I noticed there was another board of more-detailed corkers regulations on another wall. I’ve circled two of my favourites below:

But what about the grunters, I found myself thinking?

My prize, though, for the funniest gym rule (‘Please wipe sweat on the machines. Thank you’) still goes to Asia Vu, a wonderful blog about expat life in South Korea.

Life’s a beach (if you’re new!)

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The other day at work, there was a new lad sitting next to me. He was there the day before too, but because we were so busy getting four publications to press, we hadn’t had a chance to talk.

We’d said hello over the filing trays and wished each other a nice evening, but that was it.

So the next day, when I noticed he was still there, I greeted him with a good morning (with the hot-desking that goes on, I half expected him to have vanished).

He smiled back, then asked:

“Do you live in Dubai?”

I was a little surprised. I’d just assumed he lived in Dubai too.

“Do you know where the Burj Khalifa is?” he enquired next.

“Yes, I do,” I replied – still confused, because you really can’t miss it.

I took him over to the window to show him and realised the tall, pointy tower was completely hidden in the haze.

“Well, that’s where it normally is,” I explained, peering through the dusty sky.

We went back to our desks and talked a little more. I found out he lives in Abu Dhabi and is commuting to Dubai, does something in marketing and had only arrived in the UAE on Sunday.

A few more weeks, and his desk will look more like this, unfortunately

Straight off the plane, literally.

I felt guilty I hadn’t welcomed my desk buddy earlier (although, honestly, it was like drinking from a firehose at work this week).

Plus he was cute in a boyish, amiable way!

He had an air of excitement about him. If it’s possible to be star-struck by a city, then that’s how I’d describe it. As he told me how he’d been swimming four times that week after work, and had discovered the aquamarine-sea-lapped beach, his face lit up with wonder – which does tend to happen when you’re newly arrived from a country heading into a cold, dark winter.

“Don’t you feel like you’re on holiday the whole time?” he laughed.

“No,” I smiled, thinking about the school runs; the homework. Driving to the office, on congested roads. The 14-hour days I’ve been putting in this week dropping LB at school, working and then rushing home to get the children to bed.

Because contrary to what the Daily Mail would have the rest of the world believe, living in Dubai isn’t all about champagne-swilling, wave-frolicking, sand-between-your-thighs abandon. There are tens of thousands of housewives going about the minutiae of daily life.

But, it’s ALWAYS good to be reminded, to have your memory jogged that Dubai IS a really fun, glitzy, sun-soaked place, and that, for eight months of the year at least, it’s a fantastic city to live in.

Something that stayed with me as the silver silhouette of the Burj Khalifa started to take shape as the haze cleared a little later.

Now, if someone could just pass me a cocktail please…

7 things I’ve smiled about this week

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🙂 The fact that today (Tuesday) is ‘hump day’ in this part of the world – actually nothing to do with camels, but the middle of the week, after which it’s a downhill slide all the way to the weekend.

🙂 The cooler temps when I leave work at 5.30pm. I looked lovingly at my boots in the cupboard this morning (soon!) and grabbed a jacket to wear at the office (air-conditioning set in the Arctic zone).

🙂 The nod my website received in The National newspaper today! The ol’ blog was mentioned in an article on social media – as was my 6YO’s choice of future ‘wife’ (so glad it was anonymous, he’ll kill me when he’s 18 and realises I divulged that in the national press). Click here to read the article, on whether parents are guilty of oversharing their children’s lives.

🙂 The gift DH brought me from London. Nothing fancy, nothing sparkly, just something I really felt like: a Pret a Manger sandwich. Sometimes it’s the small things that you just can’t get here.

🙂 A search I noticed in my blog stats. Somebody had misguidedly, and very funnily in my opinion, googled: ‘How many wives can an expat have in Dubai?’

🙂 The words that tumbled out of my 4YO’s mouth this evening: “Mummy, I’ve eaten too many carb-o-hi-dwates today…”

🙂 The origami my oldest son did at bedtime tonight. He asked me to make a boat, which I managed to do after several attempts. Then he elaborated, with some sellotape, a few folds and a scrunch. And, wouldn’t you know, it suddenly had four funnels and was heading straight for an iceberg.

The obsession continues…

Silent Sunday: Pumpkin price shocker

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At £21/$34 for a medium-sized pumpkin, I think we’ll borrow my friend B’s brilliant idea of carving watermelons instead – much more fun, anyway, thanks to their red glow!

Possibly the most expensive vegetable ever, this is on sale at our local supermarket. If you carved it, you’d have to make pie too. The good news for those of us in Dubai is I hear pumpkins are much cheaper at Park ‘n’ Shop, Union Co-op and, of course, the fruit & veg market

The Gruffalo: He’s behind you!

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I’m always looking for something a little different to do on a Friday – a day that, I’ll admit, is my least favourite of the week.

Today, I had tickets for the children and myself to see The Gruffalo at the Madinat Theatre. I’d booked the show weeks ago, and just as well – it was a complete sell-out and crammed to the rafters with children under 8 wanting to catch a glimpse of a man-in-a-feathery-padded-suit with purple prickles on his back and a wart on his face.

A friendly beast, if ever there was one

Despite their protestations that they’d happily eat popcorn for lunch, we fed the boys at the nearby Noodle House first, where I’ve quite honestly never seen so many little uns, some dressed really nicely, dining on roasted duck with hoisin sauce and wok-fried noodles before going to the theatre.

“Kids in Dubai – they don’t know they’re born,” I chuckled to myself, and quite possibly murmured to DH under my breath.

After taking our seats, the excitement mounted as the lights dimmed and the story of the quick-witted mouse who encounters a string of predators began.

“Where’s the Gruffalo?” LB immediately asked.

“He’ll come on last,” I explained, multiple times – exhaling with relief when he did finally appear half an hour in (which, let’s face it, feels like a year to a four-year-old).

There were belly laughs and roars, the actors leapt all over the stage and the Gruffalo – to everyone’s delight – romped around the audience. Parents chortled, too, no doubt grateful they were being given the chance to sit down on a Friday.

Playing skillfully on children’s fears (without, thank goodness, giving them nightmares about upturned toes for weeks), it was really very funny – but, six-year-old kids, they’re not easily fooled.

“What did you think of the hungry fox?” I asked the boys afterwards.

“Oh, him,” replied BB, casually. “He was just a man with an orange T-shirt and a fake tail attached to his belt.

“Why, didn’t you know?”

Fog season in Dubai

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When we woke up this morning, Dubai was draped in a silky mist – which might sound romantic, but in fact makes for a craaaazy, almost heart-stopping start to the day.

Eerie: Dubai shrouded in early-morning mist. Thanks to @Linda_FB’s hubby for this great photo, taken this morning

If you could stay in bed and just look at all the photos going round Twitter it might actually feel cozy, but for most of us, the early-morning fog that blankets the emirate at this time of year is greeted with an inward groan.

I peered out the window and could just see the main road, but knew immediately what the fog meant: numpties forgetting to put their headlights on, despite two-metre visibility; drivers going too fast; and turning their hazards on (creating more confusion).

The school bus got lost in our compound, flights were diverted to Saudi and mums were tweeting to say they’d got to school, but couldn’t see it. The fog was so dense just outside our compound, it was like driving in a blizzard, in the desert (weird!).

Since it was patchy, there were long clear stretches on the way to school, but then I’d hit another wall of fog and feel my grip on the steering wheel tighten. As it lifted and the sky came into view, I felt like I was in a blue movie with the sunshine filtering through the wispy mist.

On the upside, fog like this signals a change in season – that cooler weather is on the way, for which we’ll all be grateful. Early yesterday morning, I found myself taking a second glance at the temperature reading on the car: 24 degrees, it beamed. Well below 30. Hurray!

The pre-party panic

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On Saturday morning, my four-year-old dragged me from a blissful state of slumber even earlier than normal.

I heard the pitter-patter of his feet getting louder as he crossed the landing, then within seconds he was standing by my side of the bed, squealing:

“Mummee, is it my birthday today?”

“No, it isn’t,” I mumbled, half-asleep. “That was last week.”

Then, as my brain began to muster, “Oh yes! Oh God. It’s your party!”

Everything came flooding back as I woke more fully. The venue, the cake, the number of guests expected (23, plus parents), the food. Everything had been outsourced, but I hadn’t heard from the organiser in several days, despite my attempts to wrestle the answers to a couple of questions from her.

Here are some snippets of conversation from the next few anxiety-filled hours:

They’re smiling NOW, but my face wasn’t a happy one three hours before!

LB: “Is it my party now?”

Me: “No darling, it’s after lunch.”

“She still hasn’t replied to my email.”

LB: “Is it lunchtime now?”

Me: “Six hours to go [counting the hours out on my fingers]. First breakfast, then lunch, then it’s time for your party.”

“She’s not answering her phone. WHY is she not getting back to me?” [remembering glumly how the booking was messed up to begin with)

“It’s the first party of the new school year – I blanket-invited the whole class and nearly everyone said yes!”

“What if we get there and it’s all locked up?” [cringes with the predicted embarrassment]

LB: “Can we have lunch now?”

Me: “We haven’t had breakfast yet, love.”

“Her phone is OFF. We should never have given this party a Titanic theme.”

“It’s a sinking ship” [tries to think of an escape plan and fails]

LB: “CAN.WE.GO.TO.MY.PARTY.NOW?”

After a couple of hours, DH gets in the car and drives there to put me out of my misery! “Don’t worry!’ he texts 30 minutes later. “They’re ready.”

PHEW! “And the cake?” I texted back at lightening speed.

“It’s here – pink with a princess on.” [very funny, DH!]

To be fair, the party was great – apart from the gift bags, which they forgot; the song played during Musical Chairs (Sexy and I Know It!); and the miscalculated bill. The best bit was this cake, complete with chocolate frosting waves. Thank goodness that’s over.