Tag Archives: Christmas in Dubai

Christmas Day with teenagers

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On waking up it was eerily quiet. I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. I’m not sure what I was expecting really. DH had already left for Brazil. And it would be hours before the teenagers got up. 

There were no demands to open presents (that we had actually done the day before, while DH was still in Dubai). No squeals of excitement. No pitter patter of feet at the crack of dawn. It was just the dog and me. And even the dog was still snoring quietly.

Like many people, I’d chosen not to travel due to the arduous PCR testing requirements. And a case of the jingle jitters had deterred my parents from flying to Dubai at such an uncertain time.

I got out of bed, shuffled downstairs to make my tea and went about my morning, which was actually rather lovely – blissfully peaceful and stress free.  

Eventually – and I mean about five hours later – the kids got up. They appeared downstairs, looking for food, yawning and rubbing their eyes sleepily. 

I reminded them it was Christmas Day. They looked up from their cereal briefly, then carried on shovelling milk and Rice Krispies into their mouths. As I said, we’d already done presents so I didn’t have much left to motivate my teens with … other than, we had struck a deal the night before! They had to spend at least three hours with mom! No isolating in their rooms as though they had Covid (which they don’t have; they just prefer isolation it seems).

“Right, we’re going to the beach – we’ll set off in 45 minutes,” I announced cheerfully. 

They both groaned. The 13-yr-old managed to exempt himself on medical grounds (he’d had a minor operation a few days previously to insert tubes in his ears). “I can’t swim,” he said triumphantly. “My tubes might fall out!” 

I wasn’t giving up that easily, and told my 16-yr-old we’d go anyway, and soon – before it got dark again. 

“Then let’s go for sunset,” he suggested, barely disguising his procrastination at actually leaving the house!

“Alright,” I agreed, reluctantly. ‘We’ll leave at 3.30pm.”

So 3.30pm rolls around, and I chivvy him into the car. “Can I drive?” he asked cheekily.

“Absolutely not!”

While visions of a Christmas Day mother-son chat in the car filled my head, visions of his phone screen lit up his brain. Between games on his phone, and me getting us totally lost due to a major highway completely changing overnight, I did get a few words out of him, however! Quite a result. I learnt that a friend had bought him a Deliveroo voucher for Christmas, and he was excited to use it.

When we finally got there (and it was lovely! Well, I thought so – the water was chilly and clear, and there were a billion fish to snorkel with), he rubbed his stomach and mused, “I wonder if McDonald’s deliver here?” 

Teenagers!!

Santa between the covers at the Media One hotel

What did you circle in the Argos catalogue?

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About 12 days before Christmas, the 13 yr-old shared his Christmas list with me on Google Docs. 

I’d heard stories about uber-organised families setting up this kind of thing, with information about current interests, clothing sizes, general ideas, gift card locations, etc. Not something we’ve ever thought to do, but, hey ho ho ho, I’m all for convenience in the frenetic run-up to the festivities. 

My son had helpfully included links to amazon.ae to make things easier. 

Main stuff

RK Royal Kludge RK61
Bloody A60L
COD Vanguard ps5

I scanned the list – and I have to say, I didn’t have a clue what any of the things were. I mean – COD – that’s a fish, right? I was sure it must be in a foreign language. 

So, ever obliging on these matters, he thoughtfully went back into the document and added photos so I, erm, I mean Santa, couldn’t mess up.

“Mom, you might want to be careful about the delivery dates,” he warned.

“If you don’t do it soon, Amazon might not be able to deliver before Christmas.” 

I noted the hopeful glint in his eyes, and told him I’d let Santa know not to delay. 

What on earth had happened to the good ole days of circling things in the Argos catalogue, I wondered?! It was a rite of passage, wasn’t it, ringing all the stuff you wanted with a highlighter. 

It even got me thinking about standing at the counter in our local Argos store, flicking through the laminated book of dreams and carefully copying the precise product code onto the order slip with one of those stubby biros. Then the goods arriving, Larry Grayson Generation Game-style, on the conveyor belt. Oh the excitement! 

Now that the Argos catalogue is no more (as of January 2021, they stopped printing it after almost 50 years), my kids will never feel their legs go numb as they sit with the giant book sprawled across their laps.

Merry Christmas everyone! Some more nostalgia below… then it’s back to Google Docs I’m afraid!

Ho, ho, ho! The modern Twelve Days of Christmas

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screen-shot-2016-12-21-at-00-09-43Who knew before having kids that the month of December would leave you feeling like you’re crawling to Christmas?

Even though I swore this year would be different, I found myself yet again facing 12 days of Christmasgeddon in the final weeks of school.

There were no piping pipers, French hens or milking maids – and the only rings were the ones run around me by my children, school and work.

Here’s how it went:

On the first day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the second day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Two hundred dirhams
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the third day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Three rides home,
Two hundred dirhams,
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the fourth day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Four plates of sandwiches,
Three rides home,
Two hundred dirhams,
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the fifth day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Five Secret Santas,
Four plates of sandwiches,
Three rides home,
Two hundred dirhams,
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the sixth day of Christmas
The school gave to me
A reminder for costumes for the school concert (“and volunteers please to pin stars on 400 t-shirts”); instructions for festive fun-wear; and a shift at the bake sale.

On the seventh day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Seven new midnight leaping-Elf moves,
Six different outfits,
Five Secret Santas,
Four plates of sandwiches,
Three rides home,
Two hundred dirhams,
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the eighth day of Christmas
My true loves gave to me
A coughing virus that’s been going round and apparently is more contagious than the plague.

On the ninth day of Christmas
Work gave to me
Ninety pages of Yearbook to edit

On the tenth day of Christmas
I gave to myself
A severe reprimand for buying not 10 but ZERO presents

On the eleventh day of Christmas
My true loves needed from me
Eleven packs of crisps,
Ten yet-to-be-bought pressies,
Nine kids to tea,
Eight hours of shopping,
Seven midnight leaping Elf moves
Six different outfits
Five Secret Santas,
Four plates of sandwiches,
Three rides home,
Two hundred dirhams,
And tinsel on a brightly lit tree

On the twelfth day of Christmas
My son’s baseball team gave to me
Twelve dirty jerseys, all needing washing…

Then the end of term arrived. We limped over the finish line, and suddenly it’s beginning to feel a lot like the Christmas holidays.

Merry Christmas everyone!

On finally getting a chic tree (after 11 years)

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Christmas pasts in our household have always looked something like this: Haul the dusty box containing our fake tree from the storeroom. Assemble tree, by slotting twenty branches of bashed-up greenery into the right holes. Arrange fronds in a symmetrical fashion, with no help whatsoever from the children (the same children who 30 minutes previously were desperate to put the tree up).

Next, I’d attempt to sort out the spaghetti junction of tangled lights, while stopping the boys from jumping on the tiny bulbs and attempting to create a fuzzy, homely, festive atmosphere with jingles in the background and the sweet, gelatinous smell of mince pies in the oven.

Then (and don’t tell me you haven’t done this too!?) indulge my secret habit of rearranging haphazardly placed baubles later.

Ha! It was all … so stressful!

Now I just have to keep the dog away

Now I just have to keep the dog away

Not only because of the general chaos and mess that ensued, but because Christmas decorating with two small boys involved such terrible colour schemes, and so many bald spots on the tree, smashed decorations and tinsel-tastic explosions.

“What on earth’s happened to the lights?” I asked one year, after DH strung up new gaudy, electric bulbs with the boys. “They’re all blue, and flashing … kind of like a police car rushing to a traffic accident.”

“You’ll get used to the neon-blue glow,” DH had laughed, and I’d stared, mesmerised, half expecting to hear the wail of a siren, eventually agreeing that the boys’ handiwork was indeed lovely. And colourful.

This year, thanks to the boys being that much older, it all went a lot more smoothly than usual – and a bigger kitchen in our new house meant there was room for a second white tree, decorated only by moi!

I have to say I’m rather pleased. So it’s not quite the same as when my dad used to take my brother and I to a farm that sold firs in all shapes and sizes, and we’d come back in high spirits with a freshly cut tree smelling of pine resin and the outdoors. But my chic white tree winks away rather cheerfully and casts a lovely warm hue over the kitchen.

Season’s greetings to all!

Christmad: Twas the last week (of term) before Christmas

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Ho! Ho! Ho! I’m sure I speak for school mums everywhere when I refer to the last fortnight of term as utter madness. It’s only now that it’s over that I finally get a moment to stop and think, ‘What the heck was all that?’

Because really, rather than winding down for the holidays, doesn’t it feel like being in a spin dryer that’s starts turning faster and faster, as though it’s about to take off? And then when it stops, the drum is still spinning pretty fast even when the lid is released? Feeling rinsed out doesn’t even begin to describe it.

Lest I forget what these last couple of weeks involve, here’s my Christmad rundown:

Decorating: Bring out the silver foil for a gladiator costume, with shield and hat. Cover aforementioned items with foil. Hide remaining Sellotape for the gifts you haven’t had time to wrap yet. Or buy. (Helpful hint: there’s always a run on Sellotape in Dubai in the weeks before Christmas. Basically, if you haven’t stockpiled it and are caught short, you’ll be gluing your gift wrap.)

Screen Shot 2015-12-22 at 00.54.40Handicrafts: Cajole children to write thoughtful messages for their teachers on handprints that will be made into a tree. Make a 25km round trip to get to Decoration Day conveniently timed at 11am. Attempt to stop your child spilling the glitter everywhere as you work on cut-out Santas and Christmas tree cards. Return to office with your skirt decorated.

Shopping: Procure a shop-full of gifts and cards for all the people who make everything tick and keep you sane (bus driver, bus nanny, teaching support staff). Stuff money in envelopes. Run round at the last minute looking for a PLAIN red or green top for the Christmas concert and place in labelled bag. Try to feel full of the joys of the season.

Food preparation: Conjure up a dish that gladiators would eat (birds? cheese? Settle for grapes, green). Provide food for ‘super snack’ for 10 children (cheese cubes). Cookies, end-of-year-party food, the usual 20 lunchboxes required for a fortnight.

Party clothes: Send child in festive PE kit (“fancy it up with some tinsel and a Santa hat”), and help him/her pick out a toy to take in for party treat day. Nothing expensive or noisy. Clone yourself so you can be in three places at once, or face having to fess up to your other child that you can’t get him to his class pyjama party.

Pantomime: Organise/make costume for Victorian Day on the beach. Volunteer as parent helper (think: sandcastles, Punch & Judy, hoops and ropes). Run 500 steps in sand, repositioning hoops.

And all this on top of the day job – which, oh did I mention, involves producing a 150-page yearbook during the busiest work period of the year.

When it’s all done – Breathe! Now you can start getting ready for Christmas!

Work-to-rule Santa

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Where would Christmas be without a repeat? Here’s a rerun from 2011 … apologies if you’ve heard it all before.

At the Wafi mall this morning there was a long line of harassed-looking parents, with kids orbiting round a giant Christmas tree two houses high and decorated with baubles the size of small planets.

"C'mon Santa! You can do it!"

“C’mon Santa! You can do it!”

Barely concealing the fact they wished they were spending the morning sleeping in and reading the paper rather than queuing for Santa, the Christmas-weary parents were doing their best to keep their overexcited offspring under control as the queue inched forwards painfully slowly.

Some of them must have been waiting for up to two hours, but most remained resolute – the promise of seeing Dubai’s most authentic-looking Santa, followed by a free cup of tea and entrance to the play area, proving to be a crowd puller.

Santa’s top-security grotto was heavily guarded by toy soldiers and you couldn’t even peep at the man in red – we tried, but just found ourselves face-to-face with animatronics.

Then, at about a quarter to one, a Filipino lady appears and walks over to the queue. There’s a pause as she surveys the expectant little faces and restlessness among the ranks.

“Santa’s taking a break at 1,” she announces. No apology.

“For 30 minutes,” she continues, deadpan.

You’d think, wouldn’t you, that since he only works for a couple of weeks a year, Santa might be able to plough on through?

Home for the holidays

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So the kids are off school again, full of pent up energy and excited about the arrival of a man called Big Red in a few days’ time.

The great thing about this time of year is being able to throw the children outdoors to let off steam. If you live in the Northern hemisphere, I really don’t mean to rub it in, but the winter weather is perfect – clear skies, warm days, and cool enough in the evening to wear a sweater. Mostly inhabited by families, our neighbourhood is a hive of activity, with children running from house to house and riding their bikes in the sunshine.

Our eye-popping bougainvillea

Our eye-popping bougainvillea

The hot-pink bougainvillea that climbs frothily over our front wall looks stunning and, at night, the generous smattering of villas decorated with flashing Christmas lights is making the compound look delightfully festive. One street, in particular, is creatively lit with blinking bulbs on nearly every house (they could almost have had a Regent Street-style light switching-on ceremony).

Christmas wreaths hang on front-doors, and in the busier, touristy parts of Dubai, there are lines of palm trees with fairy lights coiled round the trunks.

Of course, you can’t step far without bumping into a Christmas tree either. The malls have been dressed up for the season, with trees several floors high and bedecked with dazzling ornaments. Santa has been putting appearances in too, and just across the road from my office, at the Dubai Christmas Fest, I hear they had snow falling on the hour and an outdoor skating rink.

xxxx

Fairy lights twinkling in the dark

We’ve had carollers from the Philippines going from door to door with a guitar, spreading Christmas cheer round the compound; there’s ample opportunity to gorge on mince pies; and a neighbour’s annual carol-singing evening was a huge success – washed down with mulled wine.

Even if you’re not travelling back for Christmas, I just love the way Dubai makes expats feel as though they’re home for the holidays.

Getting over the Christmas tree OCD

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Every year, as soon as December hits with a wry smile and only 24 days to go, the boys want to put the Christmas tree up.

You’d think that living in a Muslim country would mean Christmas might start a little later. Not so: the commercial side of it is alive and well in the UAE. The shops are full of Christmas-themed merchandise, and their windows decked out with glittery, wintry displays. Expat Woman, the hugely popular online forum, even held its festive family day-out – complete with a Santa’s grotto and Christmas market – on 8 November.

Not the blogger's tree! A chic variety at our local restaurant

Not the blogger’s tree! A chic variety at our local restaurant

And each year, we try a little harder to teach the boys the true meaning. There was the occasion when I was setting up the Christmas nativity, and Son2 came over to peer at the figurines: he looked quizzically at the reverent wise men bearing gifts, the proud, tired parents and the guardian angel. Then he reached out and grabbed the cow sitting lowing in the hay. “Mummy, what is it?” he asked, with a not-so-reverent shine in his eyes. “Is it a farm?”

I think we’ve made progress since then. Which is easier said than done in a country where many of the schools treat this holiday as a hush-hush operation, putting on celebrations but disguising them as winter festivals. However, while my mum can now pull off pretty Christmas trees with beads and candles, and which even rotate, there’s a department where I’ve had to learn a thing or two myself:

Letting go of the Christmas tree OCD.

The children’s excitement about hanging twinkly lights, baubles and tinsel on a fake tree takes on the momentum of a runaway train, and despite knowing this should be a fuzzy, homely experience – with Christmas jingles in the background and mince pies warming in the oven – it never quite works out like this.

The tree needs to be built; and slotting 30 branches of greenery into place bores the kids silly; the spaghetti junction of tangled lights then needs sorting out at the same time as stopping the boys from jumping on the tiny bulbs; then they don’t work; the dusty boxes of decorations are ripped open dangerously fast, and the contents practically flung at the tree in excitement. I can’t be the only mum who secretly rearranges the multi-coloured, haphazardly placed baubles when the children are sleeping.

This week, the chance arose to skip all this rigmarole and mess. The boys were off school for the 3-day National Day break and at home with our nanny while I worked 2 of the days. “Shall we do the tree?” she asked (and I swear I saw a faint hint of trepidation in her face). “YES!” I replied, a little too eagerly. “Please, that would be great!” (I wouldn’t have to sweat about colour schemes, bald spots, smashed decorations or gold, tinsel-tastic explosions).

I got home from work and Son1 practically blind-folded me in his keenness to show me their handiwork. The lights were turned off, and in the darkness I was led to the tree: “Wow, it’s beautiful! I love it,” I exclaimed. “Great job, boys!”

And while I really did mean it; and haven’t moved a single decoration (honestly!), apart from the ones the cat swats at the bottom, there was one thing I had to ask DH later. “What happened to the lights?” They were different from last year’s now broken electric bulbs. “They’re all blue, and flashing … kind of like a police car rushing to a traffic accident.”

Turns out they were the only ones left in the shop (and grabbed in a rush by my family of boys with no care for aesthetics) – and the neon-blue glow is rather growing on me. At least, it will when I take the lights upstairs and string them on the white tree instead.

A technically challenged Christmas

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Twas Christmas morning, when all though the house, there was the most almighty din.

As the morning mayhem ensued, I braced myself for what I knew was coming next: “Dad, can we set up the Xbox? Now, now, NOW – pleeeeeeease!”

Expecting Son 1 to just look at the box was a far-fetched notion, so we started in earnest. I mean, how hard could it be? Surely easier than flat-packed Ikea furniture. Once the Xbox was done, we could move on to setting up the wii, then head out to eat and relax later while the children played each other (Santa had wisely brought two Xbox consoles to avert WW3).

DH plugs it in, disappearing in a puff of dust as he moves things around behind the TV. The Xbox springs to life, and immediately tells us:

Updates required.

What? It’s brand new. How can it possibly be out of date already? (damn you, Microsoft) So, we wait patiently, watching the bar nudge its way across the screen as the first lot of updates are installed. And then the second lot.

seasonal-celebrations-xbox-christmas-yuletide-father_christmas-grotto-ksmn1526l.jpgLongest wait ever for two small children on Christmas morning.

The machine seems happy now it’s been fed with the latest software, but I suspect couldn’t care less about us getting Christmas dinner. It starts calibrating.

Then it needs to run some tests. On the background noise in our house. Now, remember, we have two boys – both of whom are loud at the best of times, let alone after a visit from Santa.

It soon becomes apparent that we’ve failed the test. “Your house is too noisy,” it states, or words to that effect. And I could hardly argue otherwise.

We’re given a second chance (it’s Christmas, after all). “Shhhh,” I tell the overexcited boys. “Don’t make a sound.” And, miraculously, you could have heard a pin drop in our house.

Finally, it looks like we’re getting somewhere – escape out of the house, to a Christmas brunch, is shining like a light at the end of the tunnel. We shove a disc in and hope for the best.

“The system does not support PAL50,” it flashes back at us. “Go to settings… [And, while you’re at it, forget about getting dressed up – why not go in your PJs, no make-up, messy hair.]”

“OK, OK,” we muster, scrolling through various menus, somehow pressing the right combination of buttons and unleashing a game, which (small mercy) the boys already knew how to play.

A few minutes later, DH and I are lying on the bed upstairs, snatching a few minutes of respite – as the unassembled wii machine winks at us from the corner (Round two, ding ding).

“It was much easier in 1996,” says DH. “When all you had to do was put a cartridge in.”

“I know,” I nod, wearily. “It’s all so kids can have uncommunicative playtime with gamers all round the world, hiding behind avatars. Maybe they can hook up with their cousins,” I add brightly. And then we head out, taking my new Sat Nav with us and plugging it into the car.

It defaults to Arabic – and can we change it? No, of course not. Fifteen minutes of fiddling with it proves fruitless. “You know what DH,” I sigh. “I think we might have to read the instructions.”

Happy days!