Silent Sunday: 50 Shades Freed

There was a stunning sunset behind us on the way home this evening – a big golden ball was hovering on the horizon, lighting up the sky as if lit by fire. I snapped this photo before the sun slipped out of sight and am posting it here as the final installment in my 50 Shades of Yellow series. Below, there’s a much better photo with colours that aren’t so vanilla! (Gasps!)

Midas touch: Love the way our blue car has turned gold. I was crawling along, almost at a standstill, while taking this, so I’m not developing slap-wrist habits on the road, I promise!

Thank you again to ace editor and photographer Elin Boyd for this picture

Look here and here for parts one and two of the trilogy.

Accidental insults at the beauty salon

Everyone knows there are high standards in Dubai when it comes to appearance – and the school run is no exception. Someone was just telling me the other day how her husband’s friend, visiting from the UK, accompanied her on the school pick-up with his eyes on stalks.

It helps that we live in a hot climate, of course; many women are tanned and if not, they at least look sun kissed. Over-sized sunglasses hide a multitude of cosmetic sins, nails are painted bright colours and sparkly flip flops add a flash of bling.

The fact Dubai is populated by so many nationalities means there are always exotic-looking mums from places like Lebanon, Cyprus or Jordan on the school run – their swishy hair, pretty, size-6 sundresses and lack of sweat pores creating an unmissable dash of school-gate glamour.

Nails today, Botox tomorrow

It goes without saying that Dubai is full of beauty salons, whose job it is to keep these women looking fresh and youthful. Inside the salons’ hallowed walls, you’ll find ladies being preened, threaded and waxed to perfection. Normal folk, like me, also frequent these havens for much-needed maintenance.

But, looking your best doesn’t always come easy. Aside from the expense and time needed, there are cultural differences that every woman in Dubai has a story about. By this, I mean the way beauty therapists accidentally insult their clients, rather than making them feel uplifted with good-old-fashioned flattery.

You might, for example, be offered a new wrinkle cream, or told they can’t do the massage because you’re pregnant (when you’re not). You might be having your eyebrows done and asked if you’d like your upper-lip moustache waxed too. Or offered some special whitening cream to make your skin look less black. There are loads more examples on Catboy’s Facebook page and they’re all hilarious.

Not being immune to the cosmetic pressures that exist in Dubai, and being married to a pilot who regularly visits exotic locations with 27 flight attendants (I’ll say that again, 27! And all in their 20s), I pop to the salon when time permits [whispers: I’ve heard if you don’t, it’s a little like your husband bringing a ham sandwich in a brown paper bag to brunch].

Bet HER cosmetic surgeon is a Facebook friend

Last week, I was there for some laser hair removal [lowers voice again: on my chin]. I’ve been having IPL (intense pulsed light) on some stubborn areas for years due to polycystic ovaries, it never works permanently and I must have spent a fortune on it. Usually I have the same person, who just gets on with it, but this time a new technician walked in. A talkative lady, who felt like a bit of chit-chat.

After some small talk, she popped the dark glasses on me, peered closely and, with a hint of concern in her voice, asked: “When did you last come?”

“Um, yes, it was a while ago. I was gone for the summer,” I replied, by way of explanation.

“Yes, too much,” she tutted. “Too much!” [c’mon, it’s not THAT bad!]

Then came the sound of her padding across the room to fiddle with the machine – presumably to switch it to a higher setting.

“Oh. You have hair here too. You want removed?”

“No, thank you. That’s fine.”

“Maybe next time,” she suggested, helpfully. “Where are you from?”

“The UK,” I mumbled, wondering what she could possibly ask next – whether everyone in the UK was hairy, perhaps?

Quite honestly, if I could have walked out the salon with that brown paper bag over my head, I think I would have done.

Could have been worse, I suppose. She could have recommended I take Pregnacare vitamins.

This post was written in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’ve got my pink on and urge readers to check your bumps for lumps. Early detection saves lives

Party time: Wrap the mummy

It was LB’s fourth birthday yesterday! How that went so fast, I don’t know. It honestly feels like just the other day that I was heavily pregnant in the UK and had to text my husband in Dubai at 5 in the afternoon to say:

“Can you get to London by 8am? Ghengis [yes, that was his working title!] needs to be born in the morning.”

Amazingly, DH made it! Just!

Last year, we had a very small party at home and, because BB’s birthday is the next month, we did a family day-out to Ferrari World in Abu Dhabi.

The perfect birthday outing for car-mad small boys. Surely?

“I can juggle or bend balloons – for a small fee”

They STILL haven’t forgiven me!

What they really wanted was a big playarea party – each – with all their friends, presents, cake, games, entertainment, a party host bellowing into a microphone, balloons and chaos. The kind of event that causes mummy to lose sleep and requires daddy to sell a kidney to pay for it.

So this week I’ve been busy organising LB’s out-sourced party – it won’t be anything lavish, and certainly nowhere near the scale of a birthday his brother attended earlier this year at the Atlantis hotel, with valet parking, the aquarium and Apple Mac computer room at guests’ disposal.

But, even so, it seems the tab for throwing a children’s party these days is always going to be more than you bargained for.

So far:

Use of playarea for 2 hours CHECK

Party host CHECK

Kid’s meal for 20-plus children CHECK

Cake (with Titanic picture) CHECK

Party bags CHECK

Catering for adult guests (so they’re not sent home needing to lie down in a darkened room and/or apply wine) CHECK

Balloons (blue and silver) CHECK

But, wait, there’s more. You can fork out extra for a theme, or a magician. Provide a helium balloon for each child to take home. Book a sideshow, such as face painting. Or pick a couple of games for the children to play, charged per head.

And, the trouble is – such is the money-grabbing nature of the party industry – you can never be quite sure what you’ll actually get for all this expense.

“Could we have musical chairs please,” I decided when going over the details this week.

“And what’s this?” I asked, pointing at the Wrap the Mummy option, there in black-and-white on the booking form.

“Wrap the Mummy? Hmmm. I don’t actually know – we got it off the Internet,” was the reply.

“But would you like a 250 dirham piñata?”

Where have all the dinner ladies gone?

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!

Tooth Fairy Trouble: How MUCH?

My oldest son appears to be hanging on to his milk teeth for dear life, but I hear from friends that when a child loses his or her first tooth, the question crops up: How much does the tooth fairy pay these days?

I’m also told that the amount you slip under the pillow soon becomes public knowledge, with every child (and mother) in your little un’s class finding out the exact denomination the wee pixie stumped up the next day.

The following story happened to a friend of mine and I’m retelling it here because I think it’ll resonate with anyone who’s ever wondered if they’ve paid too much, or too little, for a tooth….

Did I mention the dolphins?

“Although few and far between, opportunities to get away from it all for a day or two pop up for most families. Time being of the essence, I started to consider a ‘staycation’ – a holiday at home – and what better place than the Atlantis?

Built on The Palm – land reclaimed from the sea and shaped into a colossal palm tree – guests not only stay in the most beautiful rooms and play around elegant pools and beach huts, they can also get up close and personal with dolphins. And to top it all, The Atlantis hosts Aquaventure, a magnificent aquatic theme park filled with so many different types of water slides and play areas it’s hard to cover them all in one day.

Sounds fabulous, doesn’t it? Of course, there’s something for everyone; of course, we all want to go; but of course, once a few enquiries have been made the shout comes up as “….HOW MUCH?” However, after more than four years in Dubai, eventually along came the opportunity to justify a visit – and how can we possibly not go just once?

Leap of Faith: Daredevil riders are catapulted through a shark-filled lagoon

The room was indeed splendid and thanks to some clever sliding door/wall trickery the children could even watch TV in the bath. The food was top class; again, “…how much…?” we cried weakly as we melted into some of the best Italian food we have ever had.

The highpoint, however, was indeed Aquaventure; two whole days of sliding and splashing, screaming and laughing, floating and gliding, at the end of which the children (and me!) crawled back to our room to sit, motionless, in the bath and roll straight into bed without a single protest.

This was especially so for one little boy, who, after weeks of wobbling, finally lost another tooth during our stay. The minor incident of only realising it was gone over a sumptuous breakfast resulted in DH making a break-neck dash to get back to the room before housekeeping to pluck this little tooth from between the sheets. Because of course, wherever you are, the Tooth Fairy will always come…. (phew!)

“Will the Tooth Fairy definitely know we’re at the Atlantis?” asked a tired DS that night, his head and body folding up into the sheets like an envelope. “Of course darling,” I crooned, “She knows exactly where you are,” and with that he fell fast asleep.

I was quick to follow; falling face down into those pristine white sheets, only vaguely aware that DH was leaving to go downstairs to meet up with some friends we’d bumped into that day.

On returning to our room, DH had the wherewithal to remember to remove the precious tooth and pop a note down in its place. In the UAE, even small amounts are represented in note form, 5dhs (approximately 85p or $1.35) being the smallest.

“How much did you get?” Even children newly informed about the Tooth Fairy are already in no doubt about the true relevance of her visit

But where could he find this ‘change’? He didn’t appear to be carrying any himself. Aren’t I always the person to be relied upon to supply just the very small amount he always seems to be without? Aren’t I always the one with that extra dirham required for the parking meter? After fumbling around for my bag in a very dark… (boy, those blackout curtains were good!)…. and did I say, glorious, room, DH finds my purse and wrestles a note from within.

Morning arrives, and the children wake up first, of course. As DH and I are dragging ourselves into consciousness, the squeals of delight start. I’m instantaneously horrified that I forgot all about Tooth Fairy Duty and equally grateful that DH had not.

“Mummy! Daddy!” shouts DS. “The Tooth Fairy! She found me!” We manage all the right noises as we struggle to remain horizontal with two excited children now bouncing up and down on our bed. “How much did you get?” asks DD.

“TWO HUNDRED DIRHAMS!!!!!!” DS exclaims! ……. Both of us bolt upright in bed, “HOW MUCH……?”

We were powerless. Utterly powerless, just about managing, “Yes darling, THAT.IS.A.LOT of money. Yes, it must have been because she was The Atlantis Tooth Fairy. And…..er, yes ….. she’s very generous……”

The incident left us with two problems: How to not give a small boy nearly £34/$55 for one tooth; but worse, how to keep him quiet? We did manage to prise the precious note out of DS’s clutches – with the promise of an ice cream. But great were my blushes at the school gate as mothers cast those oh-so critical looks…”

That sinking feeling at bedtime

My sons are absolutely obsessed with the Titanic. It started after DH told them the story at bedtime, and has grown out of all proportions so that they now want a story about a different sinking ship every night.

Yesterday evening, when I got in from work, they were both sprawled on the sofa, watching the Titanic movie again.

“Mumm-eeee,” they squealed, immediately bouncing into action to kick off the most frenetic two hours of my day.

Not the part little boys want to see

We fast-forwarded the ‘kissing bits’ and got to the part where the boat hits the iceberg and the seawater comes rushing in, which always grips them until they’re wide-eyed – their pupils dilated – with an emotion I can’t quite define.

And that’s when the torrent of questions started.

“Mummy, how many doors did the Titanic have? What was it made of? Wasn’t it stronger than the iceberg? What happened to the iceberg? How many rats were on board?”

“I know Mummy, let’s make an iceberg!” [requiring ice, water, a plastic bottle, pens and paper].

I love getting home from work, but I must admit, after my commute and long day, my head feels like it might actually burst if I’m asked one more question I can’t answer, or I’m thrust into a Blue Peter-style project that simply can’t wait until tomorrow.

Upstairs, I finally managed to chase them into bed, only to be met with a barrage of demands that I stay with them until they’re asleep.

“Mummy, don’t go,” whimpered a by-now alarmed BB, coming down from his watery special effects-induced adrenalin high and entering over-tired territory.

“I’m scared the house is going to sink…”

Cue another 25 minutes of cuddles and reassurances that we’re not at sea.

Next time, they’re watching the romantic bits instead – even if it means listening to that Celine Dion song.

Crime file: Knobbery at Motor City!

One of the great things about Dubai is it’s a really safe place to live. The crime rate is very low, I’ve never felt threatened and parents definitely have their children on a much looser rein than they would in the US, or Europe.

Touch wood, we’ve never had anything stolen, been burgled or mugged (except by the rip-off prices in the stores). What crime there is tends to be petty, like a housemaid stealing her Madam’s diamond earrings, or Cartier watch.

“Phew, it’s hot under here – and I’ll have balaclava hair when I’m done!”

So imagine our surprise when we learnt there’d been an armed robbery just down the road! I was even there – and didn’t notice a thing!

It took place at the money exchange in Motor City, just before my car broke down in the car park. Two men wearing balaclavas (boy, they must have been sweating) and brandishing a pistol burst in and screamed at the petrified employees to stand aside.

In less than 30 seconds, they stole Dhs 1.6 million in cash, before speeding off with their loot in the direction of Abu Dhabi.

Sounds pretty slick, no? But robbers in Dubai, they’re just not professional – even ones who attempt an audacious daylight raid like this pair. They might even be described as a little vain – a slither too eager to boast about their spoils.

Otherwise how do you explain the fact that within about two hours of the heist a suspect had been arrested in a Dubai hotel room – with a celebratory photo on his camera, in which he’s smiling from ear-to-ear and waving wads of notes?

You can see the photo of the alleged thief with the stolen currencies here (I daren’t post it on the blog as I’m sure I learnt in media law that that jeopardises the case).

Talk about having the smug smile wiped off his face!

When the cat’s away…

It’s become a bit of a pattern in our household that whenever DH goes away on a trip (packs bag, disappears to the other side of the world), my corner of the planet starts throwing curveballs.

Thankfully, it’s usually only minor things, like being offered work on a day the children really need me, a poorly child, tantrums, a scrap between the boys that ends in injury. Or a household appliance breaking down.

Today, the car wouldn’t start after a playdate – at Motor City, of all places (maybe the car thought the autodrome looked more fun, or maybe I’ve watched Cars with the boys too many times). Again, though, this could have been so much worse, as anyone who’s broken down on the highway in 40 degrees heat, with children who need the toilet, will attest to.

Whilst I only got as far as Motor City today, DH gallivants the world

The sweet thing is, when DH is away, especially far away, like in Sydney last week or Seoul this week, he really worries about us.

“We’ll be fine,” I always say. “Don’t worry about us! What could go wrong?” I lie! [temping fate, I know!]

“I’m perfectly capable of looking after the children – and the cars,” I claim in mock indignation.

So, tonight when he skyped from South Korea after receiving my text about the broken-down car, I had some explaining to do.

“Erm, yes, the car. I just left it there. And the boys. Yes, both fine. But I have to work tomorrow, and so a complete stranger is picking LB up from school.”

Not a complete stranger, of course – she’s another (very nice) mum with a child in the same class who I talked to for the first time today after a moment of mummy desperation, in which I realised I couldn’t let LB (and our nanny) come hurtling home at 130kph in a taxi.

Now, I just have to keep everything crossed that LB actually agrees to go with her, walks to her car and climbs in it – because, as we all know, shepherding three-year-old children is rather like herding cats.

Silent Sunday: Fifty Shades Darker

Following on from my Fifty Shades of Yellow post the other week, here’s the sequel! This is what the sky looks like when a shamal (sandstorm) is being whipped up. Pretty amazing, no? And the best way to ensure a sandstorm appears out of nowhere? Have the car washed. Or leave a window open and go out.

Once again, I have my friend Elin Boyd to thank for the photography

Three-word Thursday

Sporadic work on a news magazine is always a nice change. It’s probably about the only time I stop worrying about what the children are (or aren’t) eating, what they’re getting up to, or into, and instead start worrying about Iran’s nuclear capability.

There HAS been a lot of activity at the airbase right by us, lately.

This aside, landing slap bang in the middle of a news office again has rendered me speechless this evening, so today’s post is inspired by something I heard on the radio on the way to work.

A school car park calamity! Also on Catboy’s Facebook page, it would appear this BMW-driving Dubai mum needed a break from the school run too (and look at the shadows of the other mums taking photos!)

Every Thursday, Dubai 92’s Catboy & Geordiebird invite listeners to leave three words on their Facebook page saying anything they like about their day. People put things like ‘Nursery today, yay!’, ‘Oh no dentist’, ‘Homemade fluffy PANCAKES’, ‘I’m in labour’ – you get the gist.

So, to join in the fun, here are my three-word Thursdays:

Nothing to wear

Traffic’s terrible again

Dubai is back

Late for school

Dodgy drop off [forgot LB’s pet fluffy duck]

Seriously? Slow down, lady! EDITED TO ADD: Though I think a consensus has been reached: She must have put the car in drive, not reverse

I’m at work

Two-day week!

No afternoon pickup!

Pea-soup brain

Adult world shock

Gossip round kettle

NEED office wardrobe

Missed the children

Iran’s VERY close

Oh no, traffic

Weekend’s here, yay!

Pizza or Lebanese?

Will kids lie-in?

Christmas is coming!