Tag Archives: expat summer leave

Why I’m glad I enjoyed childhood before technology

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Adirondack Park painting
“When I was your age, I was playing soldiers in the forest,” DH glumly told our sons. They were lying sprawled on the sofa, the glow of their screens casting an eerie shadow over their faces. “Come on – off you go! Time to get outside.”

“Shoo,” I added, for good measure.

The boys sat up and stretched their limbs as though limbering up for unaccustomed exercise. DH turned to me, with frustration plastered all over him. “Why don’t they want to play in the forest? … I don’t get it.”

I shrugged. “Lost the instinct maybe? More used to shopping malls.”

It did seem a massive travesty. There we were in upstate New York, in a lovely airbnb holiday home, surrounded by six million acres of wilderness. A wild and magical place, the Adirondack Park is full of pristine lakes, coniferous forest, tranquil rivers and towering mountains.

Paddling routes weave through the dense woodland and rapids swirl along the Ausable Chasm canyon to the east. Whiteface Mountain’s ski runs are nearby, a beautiful area that has hosted the Winter Olympics twice.

We were straight out of Dubai, where the ‘feels-like’ temperature had reached 64 degrees C; it was like finding paradise. On a massive scale. The largest publicly protected area in the US, the Adirondack Park is bigger than the Yellowstone, Everglades, Glacier and Grand Canyon national parks combined.

All around us there was hiking, canoeing, fishing and white-water rafting – which we made the most of. But, still, when we were in the house, it seemed the boys would rather plug themselves into their devices than go outdoors.

“Right, that’s it,” said DH the next morning. “iPads are banned.” SCREEN.TIME.WAS.OVER.

Cut off from technology, the boys had to make their own entertainment, while I attempted to sneak in a book and some painting. As long as they didn’t start a bonfire, the kids were free to do wholesome things like building camps and hide-and-seek. It was all going well …

… Until …

Son1 got sick and ended up back on the sofa. This meant Son2 lost his playmate, leaving him in need of company (read: bored) and giving us (well me at least – I’d got really into the painting pictured above) another challenge.

“Mummy, will you come and play in the forest with me?”

“Can I just finish this?”

“NOOOOOOO!”

EDITED TO ADD: Pokemon Go might be the answer! I’m told it tricks them to get out and after about 30 minutes they actually start looking around and realise they are outside. Sad but …

Flying with kids: The bad and the worse

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Like many expat mums the world over, I’m currently on our annual pilgrimage to the motherland, to reintroduce our children to their grandparents, grassy fields and Wellington boots.

Most expat kids are frequent flyers, but I think it’s the hollow-eyed, jet-lagged mums – many of whom have to travel long distances with their overactive offspring solo – who deserve recognition for ensuring that everyone arrives intact.

“Please…help….me….”

“Please…help….me….”

Now that my two are older, flying with them is so much easier, but I haven’t forgotten what trial by two-year-old is like at 37,000 feet. During the 22 hours of flight time we’ve clocked up over the past two weeks, I turned my thoughts to the various stages mums go through when taking their little ones back and forth to see family. Without much further ado, here’s my tongue-in-cheek take on the eight steps mothers desperately seeking serenity on board must navigate:

Sky cot: Hands-free flying

Sky cot: Hands-free flying

0-8 months:
Provided your baby doesn’t cry like a banshee due to earache or colic, you’re relieved to discover that small infants are essentially hand luggage, and can be stored in a wall-mounted bassinet – meaning, in between feeds, you’re left with plenty of hands-free time for other, adult-related pursuits. Enjoy it. Indulge in a glass or two (while you can). This phase is over quicker than you can say pass the earplugs.

9 months – 2 years:
Now mobile, your infant is classed as a lap child, a burdensome phase that sees the two of you co-joined like Siamese twins and squashed into one seat. Once sleep finally arrives (for your 30lb lead-weight bundle of joy, at least), you find yourself sitting statue-esqe – and needing the loo – as you attempt to inhale a meal and not flinch an inch in case the slightest movement rouses your child.

2-2½ years:
Your toddler has progressed to a seat, but the games, toys and books you’ve spent days collecting are dispensed with in minutes. Fun is sought in mischievous ways: Meal tray up/tray down. Light on/light off. Window shutter open/shutter closed. Call the flight attendant. Call the flight attendant again. When all the un-dinging you have to do gets too much, you traipse up and down the aisle – jolting several unsuspecting passengers awake as you go – or visit the bathroom together, where double-jointedness is always a plus when assisting your offspring.
flying-with-kids-vs-without-kids-article
2½-3 years:
You’ve reached that murky zone where diversionary tactics are all that stand between you and a mile-high meltdown. Tantrums occur due to the most innocuous of reasons: not being allowed to bring the stroller up the aisle; the seat belt sign coming on. No other passenger makes eye contact – not even the smug mother of two crayon-loving girls opposite.

3-3½ years:
By now, you’re travelling with two small children – a whole new world of in-flight angst – which means that if you’re on your own, losing your oldest at the airport or on board must be avoided (if you have more than two, good luck with that). After collecting all the luggage at the other end, you feel like hugging the kind lady who, on seeing that you don’t have a seventh arm to push the stroller, offers to help.

3½-4 years:
Someone’s told you stickers are great for keeping children entertained on board, so you’re armed with sticker books. But while in the toilet, your kids stick them all over the TV. Bad idea: the heat from the screen can turn the adhesive into superglue. Imagining the entire aircraft being decommissioned while engineers scrape Lightening McQueen and his friends off 35F’s TV, you start peeling and don’t stop until there isn’t a single trace of sticker left. A happy coincidence is it uses up a good 20 minutes of flight time.

Happy travel days await (honestly)

Happy travel days await (honestly)

4-5 years
An iPad loaded with games is your saviour and, whilst still arriving disheveled and decorated with orange juice stains, you realise you had more time to relax on board, and even watched half a movie. A basic aviation knowledge – so as to answer questions like How does the wind move? – is extremely useful during this stage.

5 years+
You’ve made it. Long flights with small children no longer fill you with terror. While queuing at security, you see a mum with a seven-month-old infant struggling with all her baby paraphernalia, juggling her little one, taking her belt and shoes off, then, at the other side of the x-ray machine, pulling it all together again like a 100-piece jigsaw puzzle, and you feel like punching the air with joy that you’ve left the aforementioned stages well and truly behind. Well done, you’ve arrived!

Sponsored by: My own personal experiences. Every.single.example.

The expat mum endurance test

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The best thing about summer leave is, of course, seeing family and friends, and this year, more than any other, I’ve marvelled at how certain members of my tribe are becoming super fit. There’s my sister-in-law who went for a bike ride, and can now do 60 miles from London to Cambridge, and my cousin, who’s doing a triathlon this weekend.

But for us expat mummies, it’s not so easy over the summer, is it? Aside from being ‘on the road’ for 6 weeks or more escaping the Dubai heat, there’s the small matter of all that good food in your home country, the shelves of wine in the supermarket and the ‘holiday’ treats you deserve because you’re solo with the kids.

So, I’ve been having a little think, about some of the endurance contests that expat mums across the world are competing in this summer, so we can pat ourselves on the back too.

Ready, steady….GO:

Pole-position passport queuing: With a child desperate for a wee

Sprint to the toilets: Before the inevitable

The bath-book-bed triathlon: With wide-awake time travellers

The time zone leap: No napping

The sweat-athon (in a British heat wave): Where will you hide?

The cross-country: How many relatives / landmarks / toilets can you visit en-route?

Team-member down: When DH breaks away from the pack and streaks to the finish line a month before you

The last hurdle

The last hurdle

The stamina test: After 5 weeks of children’s activities, August shows up with a wry smile and a “So, how will you entertain ’em for ANOTHER FIVE WEEKS?”

Hitting the wall: How long until the noisy / messy / hazardous things our offspring do to fill their days get too much?

14-hour cycle: Two weeks to go and too tired to go anywhere, the 14-hour cycle of front garden, back garden, side garden kicks in

The home straight: Just THE PACKING still to do [shudders]

Crossing the finish: And time to play beat-the-body-clock again

Good luck everyone – bonus points for putting petrol in yourself.

Watching the world go by

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So, I’ve just got back from London’s Heathrow airport, seeing DH who was on a flying visit from Dubai and who I miss terribly during the summer.

I never thought of Heathrow as romantic, but places can surprise you. Plus, when you’re not staring down the barrel of 8 hours in a metal tube with small children, airports can actually be fun – not least because you can watch the travelling public, fresh off the plane from far-flung corners of the world.

Missing you, DH!

So good to see you, DH!

Today, among the crowds, there was the blonde Virgin flight attendant in pillar-box red, who’d climbed onto the highest scarlet heels I’ve ever seen and must have decided her regulation skirt didn’t offer enough leg room (fabulous legs, though, so the short skirt was forgivable).

And a little Japanese boy banging away to his heart’s content on one of the pianos dotted around the airport as part of its ‘Play me, I’m Yours’ scheme. (What were they thinking?)

Funny, though, how when it’s your kid bashing away at a piano, you hear it with your teeth, but when it’s someone else’s child it doesn’t grate so much.

My people-watching reached new heights of hilarity, however, on the airport bus back to my parents’ town. It was a National Express coach service and stopped at Terminal 5, where it was boarded by a lady who actually needed the underground, and a man who hopped on and asked: “I’ve got a car booked with National. Can you help?”

“That’ll be the car rental office you need,” replied the bus driver (who must field dumb questions every day). “Over there.”

I felt kind of sorry for him (intrepid, he wasn’t) and heaven help him when he’s flung into orbit on the M25 motorway.

You might also like: The Six People You Meet in Travel Hell

Our world … and their world

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“LOOK out the window!”

I don’t know how many times we’ve said this to our children in the car, and in how many different countries, but however amazing the view, it falls on deaf ears.

Kids! You're missing so much by not looking out the window... it's boring.com to them

Boring.com to my children. But, kids, you’re missing so much by not looking out the window!

I’ve long since learnt that if someone pipes up, “Sheep!”, they’re not looking at a flock of fluffy animals grazing on grassy meadows outside the window. There’ll be a pixelated sheep swimming across the small screen in whatever world they happen to be inhabiting on Minecraft.

And, another thing, the vast swathes of life that took place in our BC (before children) world? No interest to them. Whatsoever.

In Florida, we drove by the apartment we used to rent when DH and I were newlyweds. “Look, boys, that’s where mummy and daddy lived before you were born!” I said, pointing excitedly at the grey-timber building, nestled in lush landscaping.

There was a flicker of interest, a brief glance out the window, with one eye still on the square-headed sheep.

Then Son1 says, nonchalantly: “C’mon, let’s go! You don’t live there anymore!”

And returns to his electronic stimulation.

If my eyebrows had risen any further, they would have shot past the atmosphere.

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On trying to keep fit on a 6-week holiday

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If you’ve been following this blog, you’ll know that I do – sort of – go to the gym. I’ve been plugging away for a year or so now, although recently, I’ve discovered I can prop my kindle on the treadmill to snatch some reading time while strolling (briskly).

Whenever I come to England, I always imagine myself running outdoors instead – and, again, I do mean ‘running’ in the loosest sense of the word. My parents live a stone’s throw away from the local park, and gently jogging a lap or two around the cricket pitch, under the ever-changing sky with birds chirruping and dogs chasing sticks, sounds like the perfect antidote to the sterile gym.

Except it was too hot. Even at 7pm. My runs turned into a sweaty limp, with me practically staggering past gangs of scantily clad teenagers drinking alcopops and frisky lovers mauling each other in full view, hoping no one would laugh at my excuse of a jog or hear me panting.

Parklife in the UK, I remembered, is dotted with scenes and characters you just never see in the UAE. “Smile love – might never happen,” quipped a Heineken-drinking, paper-bag carrying fella the other day.

All this I actually find really fascinating – and the scenery IS nice – but then my mum told me that the leisure centre had been revamped and the new gym was now very state-of-the-art.

I took a look. I was seriously impressed. There were brand-new machines and contraptions I could only imagine were used to train astronauts, rows of bikes, and treadmills with large, multi-media screens (plus the all-important ledge for my kindle). The Olympic legacy was alive and well – with air conditioning and Costa Coffee next door!

So, now I have a four-week summer membership and I’m back exercising in the gym, keeping an eye on the calorie-count so I can whoop with joy when I’ve burnt off an apple.

xxxxx

Overlooking the park, It’s spacious, state-of-the-art – and, above all, air-conditioned!

Operation Longvac

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This is a stolen term, from a writer in the Times newspaper, but I’m borrowing it because she was talking about a six-week British school holiday. Anyone reading this in the US or expat-land will be thinking, ‘Six weeks? PAH! That’ll be over in the blink-of-an-eye!’

Try 27 June – 2 September for size, presently yawning in front of us like a gaping hole – a mind-bending vortex that needs to be filled with activities, every.single.day, to prevent my children’s boredom from toppling us.

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

Happy (long) holiday, kids!

And because Dubai is as hot as Hades at this time of year, many of these activities need to be planned in another country, maybe even two or three different countries, if you’re going to get anywhere near the romantic notion of happy, rosy-cheeked kiddies hanging off the farm gate.

So, right now, we find ourselves in the UK – then tomorrow, we head off again, for our annual trip to the US. This year, to Florida, where we lived as newlyweds.

Something tells me we’re destined to meet Mickey Mouse and his motley crew, and obv. this means peaking far too early in the holiday, because when we return to the UK, and DH disappears off over the horizon to the blue yonder of Dubai, there’s still another six weeks to go. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Grandparents rock!

There’s also the small matter of keeping my newly founded Writing Inc. going – it has to take a back burner, of course, but still demands attention, at times like a hungry child. So, I’ve packed my career in my suitcase and, this week, worked remotely from my parents’ dining room.

With this as the view (mum’s garden, a 20-year project that was a field when we moved here), and sausage rolls in the fridge, it’s been such a lovely change. Best of all, the ankle-biting whippersnappers can be thrown outdoors for lengthy and wholesome, energy-burning games of hide-and-seek.

And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up - so we'll find playmates at last!

Office with a view: And by the time we get back from the States, the British schools will nearly have broken up – playmates wanted.

The Expat Summer Olympics

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If you think about it, it’s a funny ole thing that expats spend such a big chunk of the year away from their adopted home, living out of a suitcase. While most people take 2-week holidays, for expats 6-8 weeks is often necessary in order to see all your family and friends who you don’t see the rest of the year.

And, for expat families in the Middle East, an extended vacation over the long summer school holiday also provides a solution to the how-to-entertain-the-kids-when-it’s-46˚C problem.

This is what the summer heat in Dubai feels like!

But being gone for such a long time isn’t all plain sailing, by any means. Inspired by Mrs Dubai’s brilliant Mummy Olympics post, I’ve been thinking about some Olympic events that expats the world over would be in great shape for this summer:

Speed

Catch every flight, with time to spare

Pole-position passport-queuing

The find-your-holiday-home-before-dark Road Race

The 32-hour-day Time Trial

Sprint to the toilets before the inevitable

Endurance

The up-before-dawn jet-lagged 6YO (how long til you lose it?)

The bath-book-bed triathlon in new surroundings

The time zone jump (how many days to adjust? Bonus points for family members under 10)

The Eventing marathon (plan and execute 4-6 weeks of events and get-togethers without leaving anyone out)

The 1,500km cross-country steeplechase (how many relatives can you visit?)

Sofa surfing (who needs a good night’s sleep anyway?)

Circles staggers over the final hurdle to win gold in the 3-in-a-bed at 3am relay!

Gymnastics

Stay vertical at the Bar during reunions with friends

The Parallel park on tiny roads

The Roll-your-clothes test (does this mean you can fit more in your suitcase?)

Pommelling-it-shut after repacking

The Beam-me-up-Scotty moment (when it all gets too much)

The Dismount (when DH extricates himself from the travelling circus and goes back to work – no blubbing)

Skills

The daily Dress-Arghh competition (find something uncreased to wear in your capsule wardrobe)

Ride public transport in rush hour with children and suitcases

The don’t-stick-your-oar-in family regatta (aka, don’t rock the boat if it’s best left unsaid)

The triple shift childcare derby (one mum, two whining kids, DH gone)

Synchronised schedules (find a good moment to Skype your absent DH)

The overtired tantrum throw (how many until you have one yourself?)

Peace, serenity – the kids, who are STILL on American time, go quiet after 11pm here!

Leaving America (sob)

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“Why did we leave?” I asked DH, as we drove to Minneapolis airport at the end of a wonderful holiday. “I love America – everything’s so green, so spacious, so easy and I get so many comments about my accent!”

We’d driven past our house, again, and taken a detour so I could retrace a drive I used to do nearly every day when BB was little (a nostalgic form of hara-kiri).

“Let’s move back,” I challenged. “I really think we should. It’s not right that the kids don’t get to play in the woods [referring to a little incident in which we discovered that our desert-raised BB is terrified of forests] and don’t get to enjoy all these lakes,” I continued as I glumly watched the lush scenery pass by. Greenery that will – at the end of the sweltering hot summer – give way to the brilliant red and gold hues of Fall.

‘Minnesota nice’: This lake is just round the corner from our house, and we gave it all up – sigh!

I do this every year on our long summer sojourn. Despite enjoying our Dubai life very much, I remember just how much I love seeing family and friends. How much I enjoy fresh air, my favourite foods, effective customer service and people who understand what I’m saying.

“Well, we had good reasons for moving,” DH reminded me. “Just look how much travelling you’ve done since.” Then he played his trump card with, “And if we came back to America, you wouldn’t have Catherine the Great.”

He gets me with that one, every single time.

Imagining my life without Catherine the Great – yikes..

There are many reasons why I miss the States so much – here are just some of them:

• The wide-open spaces: Big skies, no bumping into people, and always room to swing a cat

• The positive outlook: Americans see the glass as half full

• The can-do attitude: So refreshing and a deep-rooted trait (AmeriCAN)

• The random conversations: Strangers talk to each other, about everything and anything

• The extras: From free wi-fi to refills at restaurants

• The shopping: Target is retail Disneyland and I got to go straight there after our luggage got lost (wooohooo)

• Their love of pets: Cat with an ear infection? No ailment is overlooked

• The seasons: I got to ditch coats I thought were warm in the UK and buy fleece-lined mountain gear instead

• The welcome: With the notable exception of immigration at O’Hare, I’m always welcomed with open arms in America (the accent, perhaps, with the inflections I don’t hear and foreign terms?)

• The opportunities: Be it Lindsey Lohan, Britney Spears or just your average schmuck, Americans allow people to mess up and get second, third, even fourth chances

• The patriotism. Americans love their country. Period.

Minnesota, I’ll miss you – though, I must say, it looks like our timing turned out to be good this summer….

The World Tour

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You’d think it should be easy organising a family holiday for four. No third child to have to book an extra hotel room for, no need for the millions I hear are required in the bank before you can take a family of five away.

But, believe me, our imminent World Tour has taken months to plan. Along with the flights (which were rising meteorically in price due to a certain event of Olympic proportions taking place in London), there’s the holiday we’re taking to break up the main holiday. The mini break for a certain birthday. Connecting flights (three legs each way), the hire car (with car seats, somehow), the rental house in the States. And Catherine the Great’s ticket for her home leave to the Philippines, via Hong Kong.

Long gone are the days when it was as easy as booking a package holiday to Crete, packing a few dresses and a sarong, and jetting off to drink tequilas in the sun

Quite honestly, my DH, who took on most of the organising, deserves a gold medal for – fingers crossed – pulling all this off.

So after much deliberation (should we try doing all this on staff travel? Can we fit Florida in too? New York? Wouldn’t it just be easier to go to Thailand? Or Wales?) and many late-night calls to the States, here’s what the itinerary looks like:

Dubai-London. Then a few days later, London-Chicago-Minneapolis. Then, by road, Minneapolis-Lake Superior and back. Two weeks later, Minneapolis-Chicago-London, then nearly four weeks later, London-Dubai. All with two small, high-energy boys, and the extended UK part without DH (who gets a month of bachelor-living in Dubai).

Excited, very. Anxious, yes. Worried the boys might turn feral with jet lag and give up sleeping, yes.

But I’m counting the hours now!

There were definitely moments when our desert escape plans seemed too complex, but during all the planning, we discovered something that added a whole new dimension to our search for a holiday home – a secret weapon that meant we could practically spy on the properties we’d seen advertised.

While I trawled the Internet and followed leads sent by kind friends, my DH – who loves anything to do with navigation – would bring up Google Maps to pinpoint the house. Not content with me calling out the name of a neighbourhood, he’d say, “Look, here’s the road, and if you just go up here a bit, this must be it…Look, right on the end…Right by an enormous patch of industrial land.

“With some construction. And a huge area of …. wait, is that SAND?”

Thank goodness for virtual reckies!

When you’re hoping for a leafy neighbourhood, and discover it looks more like Dubai, you’ll never book a summer holiday home again without using Google Maps