Tag Archives: worry

Back to school: The Most Confusing and Complicated Time of the Year

Posted on by

I always find the start of the new school year really perplexing. It’s like everything I knew about their classmates, routines, PE and swimming days and library sessions has suddenly become obsolete, and must be pieced back together again like a giant, 3D puzzle.

It’s as though there’s a software update for the hard-drive in my head, and downloading the update not only mysteriously erases useful data like pick-up times, early finish time and the teacher’s name, but also makes the desktop in my brain look different. Nothing is intuitive anymore. Do I click here for homework? What days do I send PE kit in? Or does he wear it to school? Which class is my car pool mum’s child in now? And where the hell is the new classroom anyway?

"Updates are installing. Do not turn off your brain"

“Updates are installing. Do not turn off your brain”

It doesn’t help that we’ve got two schools following different curriculums on the go, so it all feels a bit bi-polar, and I haven’t had time to study all the emails and newsletters coming out of both schools in detail.

Then there’s the mixed-up emotional side – and this one has really hit me this year. I used to be one of those women who, on the first day back, would skip down the supermarket aisle celebrating my freedom. Now, to my amazement, I’ve turned into someone who wishes it could be summer f-o-r-e-v-e-r, and is even at risk of shedding tears at the school gate. Although which camp I’m in depends on the day.

My DH tells me I’m no good at change, but I’d correct that to say transitions. I’m fine once I get into the new routine, but that unsettled period before it’s established bothers me, and the worry comes out in odd ways. At the grocery store the other day, I couldn’t find the pâté. They’d either moved it again, or it hadn’t arrived on the boat this week. I was talking to the nice man in the pork section, who showed me where it was. “Why isn’t it where it always is,” I asked. He shot me a sympathetic, pitiful look. I think he knew I wasn’t talking about the pâté.

Trucks that go bump in the night

Posted on by

Before telling this story, I probably should confess that I have a habit of imagining the worst. I think therapists call it ‘catastrophic thinking’. I prefer to call it an ‘overactive imagination’ (hence the blog – it’s a great valve!).

Last night, I caught myself at it again – in the dead of night, when it’s all too easy to let thoughts of bad things, gremlins, or ‘could something happen to get us kicked out of here?’ ruminate through one’s mind.

I was lying awake at 3 in the morning. My head full of cold – my second cold since we turned the air-conditioning on just over a week ago (it’s that time of year when the AC feels a bit chilly, but if you don’t switch it on, you feel menopausal).

Everyone else was sound asleep – all was quiet, apart from the gentle snores drifting out of the boys’ bedroom and the cat scratching her ear.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered. There was an almighty noise, coming from outside. The sound of something very big screeching to a halt – skidding along, careering out of control. An engine droning. Tyres bursting.

And then an eerie silence.

Due to the fact we hadn’t been obliterated, I ruled out an airplane landing on our heads (you might laugh, but we get some deafeningly loud Russian cargo planes with dubious air-worthiness flying pretty low over us).

I guessed instead there had been an accident on the highway and leapt out of bed, shaking DH until he woke up, frightening the life out of him.

“Quick! Go up onto the roof,” I whispered in the darkness. “Something’s happened on the road.”

While I peered out the window at the traffic grinding to a halt, DH climbed the stairs to the roof – reappearing a minute later to tell me he couldn’t open the door.

“Oh yes, that’s right. I hid the key,” I replied. BB had gone up there a couple of times by himself, to holler at our neighbours – a habit I nipped in the bud by taking the key away and putting it somewhere.

And that’s when my overactive, over-tired imagination sprang into action. Knowing it had to be a truck or tanker that had just crashed but not being able to see it, my brain lit up with, “But what’s inside? It could be anything!)” Petrol, flammable chemicals, poo …. a nuclear reactor!!! (see, I told you I’m good!) “Is a gas tanker about to explode, igniting our compound and torching our homes too?”

It didn’t, of course. After hurrying into another room, where I got a clear view of the accident, I saw that, yes, it was a crashed truck. It had careered into the central reservation and spilled its load – timber, not toxins. The driver was fine, and there were no other vehicles involved (he’d fallen asleep perhaps).

Within minutes, there were police cars on the scene and men scurrying around trying to clear the highway of debris so traffic could get by.

I stayed to watch for a few more minutes. “Can I go back to bed now?” DH said, not in the least bit phased, whereas I just about got to sleep before the dawn chorus! Yawn.

Boys will be boys

Posted on by

What is it about motherhood that makes a congenital worry-wart grow 10 times bigger?

Since having kids, it seems I spend half my life talking the boys down from high walls, breaking up fights at home and stepping in when their antics get a bit too dare devilish.

Yet there are times when all I can do is stand by and watch their risk-taking ways – with my heart in my mouth.

As it’s a little chilly for swimming right now (if you live here, that is, tourists are not deterred), we’re making the most of Dubai’s park life. The city has wonderful parks – green, landscaped, clean and strewn with flowers and things to do, from train rides to trampolines.

One of my favourites is a smaller park near BB’s school that looks like this:

From lush golf courses to grassy parks, Dubai is surprisingly green

The landscaping, fountains and bridges are lovely and it’s set in the middle of a gated community of luxurious million-dirham villas, in which many of BB’s school friends actually live.

The only drawback – as is the case with most of Dubai’s parks and play areas – is it’s mainly nannies who watch the kids, so the chances of striking up a conversation with a like-minded mum are reduced. But that didn’t bother me today, as I imagined myself sitting on the grass with a book.

On arriving, however, we found a towering plastic inflatable slide, with various other 15dhs (£3)-a-pop rides, and I immediately knew my plans for an afternoon of wholesome, inexpensive fun were thwarted.

As BB clambered up the giant slide, I tried to close my ears to the deafening din of Bollywood music competing with ‘Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush’ coming from the helicopter ride opposite.

A couple of kids, supervised by a nanny with no teeth (I don’t mean that literally, I mean a timid, overworked nanny with little control over her charges), were climbing the wall of the slide and, thankful that BB wasn’t doing the same, I relaxed a little – until I saw what he was doing.

He was bouncing at the top of the slide to gain momentum, then took a flying jump, which I can only describe as a backward flip with a twist – landing half-way down the slide on his head with an audible jolt.

“BB NO,” I roared, far too late. I was honestly scared he could have broken his neck. Didn’t bother him, of course. He simply sprung up at the bottom with a massive grin on his face and an expression that said, “Mummy, look at me!”

Boys – they’re not for the fainted hearted – and I know I just have to get used to it, because the day will come when they’ll want flying lessons.

PICTURE CREDIT: CollectAir