Valentine’s Day 2013

Posted on February 18, 2013 by Dubai Mum

DH’s and my Valentine’s Day tradition is to exchange cards and go out for dinner that evening.  It’s been like that for as long as I can remember!  Yes, there was a point in time when we exchanged romantic red coloured, and often goofy (and dare I say embarrassing), gifts, but not anymore.  Cards and dinner…the chance to chat and catch up without being interrupted every 1.2 seconds by little people, is the best way to spend the 14th February!

Well, this year DH went and changed the rules without telling me.  Last Thursday I woke up to a large bag with a red envelope peeking out, hanging on the handle of the bedroom door.  My sleep filled eyes were unable to focus in the just-post-dawn bedroom light.  My first thought was ‘lingerie?….it’s too early to be thinking about things like that, Valentine’s day, or no Valentine’s day!’  Reluctantly I left my cosy, brushed cotton sheets and stumbled to the door.  As soon as I saw ‘Furla’ emblazoned across the oversized paper carrier bag, I instantly perked up.

‘He hasn’t’, I thought.

He had……a lovely new bag from this season’s Furla collection! I was bowled over.  It was gorgeous!

At work, there was lots of ‘bag envy’ but not before everyone asked me what I gifted DH for Valentine’s Day.  Embarrassed, I had to admit, ‘nothing’.  I knew I could not return home without a gift and began scouting for suggestions.  Car wheel rims, BlackBerry X10, iPhone, Golf lessons, Cuff links……the list was endless…..and nothing ticked the box for DH.  He is so difficult to buy for!  My work colleagues don’t understand.  But they were all so impressed that DH chose such a fab bag, I was not allowed to think about not getting him a gift on my way home!

Now, I know DH didn’t expect me to reciprocate.  He hasn’t used his last gift of a head, shoulder, neck massage at the heavenly Angsana Spa…..but I couldn’t go home empty handed.

So, I enlisted the brainpower of my munchkins…..DD suggested a ‘Wii’.  About to dismiss it, I caught myself…….’That just might do the trick’, I thought.  ‘I’m sure there is a golf game on there.  I know there are exercise programmes on there.  This could be just what the doctor ordered!’

I was careful to buy a Tiger Woods golf game and red gift wrap.

The kids could barely contain their excitement when DH arrived home, and practically threw the carefully wrapped gift at him!  On opening the gift DH’s first observation was ‘Is this for me or the kids?’

My reply: ‘It’s half term next week.  When you are on munchkin watch this gift will be your friend, entertain the kids for you and bring you silence!’  Not a bad Valentine’s Day gift afterall!

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Working in Dubai can be bad for your waistline!

Posted on February 17, 2013 by Dubai Mum

Today was another cake day in my office.  One of the partners celebrated his birthday by plying the office with salavatingly delicious cakes from a French bakery.  Oh, they looked so scrummy; chocolate, berry cheesecake and another that looked like a combination of both.  Each cake was delicately decorated with luscious strawberries, raspberries and red currants, all of which were lightly dusted in pure white caster sugar.  The office fell silent as everyone tucked in.

It’s always nice to have an unexpected treat to break the monotony of the working day, especially on the first day back after the weekend!  Once a few of my colleagues had finished polishing off their slices of cake, we got to thinking about just how much cake and other treats we eat when we are in the office.

There seems to be sugar rushes for every birthday, engagement, wedding, birth and national treats when people return from summer holidays.  We celebrate every feast, festival and religious holiday of all the nationalities in the office.  With at least 10 different nationalities, we are practically eating cake all year round: Christmas, Eid, Harvesting Season, Easter, National Day, 4th July, St. Patrick’s Day, New Year’s Day, Islamic New Year, the Prophet Mohammad’s birthday, Diwali, ANZAC day…..the list goes on!

Thankfully, each year we have the holy month of Ramadan to abstain from all things sugary and tempting in the office!

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Beauty Regimen

Posted on February 16, 2013 by Dubai Mum

I know I should have a regular and healthy skin regimen in place at this stage in my life.  Daily cleansing and moisturising is all well and good, but I imagine any dermatologist would recoil in horror at the thought that my skincare regimen entails nothing more than a quick scrub and dollop of moisturiser in the mornings and evenings.  For me, skincare is one of those things that makes it to my regular list of resolutions but which, after a relatively short period of time, makes its way to the bottom of that list; a bit like flossing, healthy eating and regular exercise!

But, as I am back on the flossing bandwagon, I thought ‘why not give a facial mask a go?’  A few months ago I bought an organic based mask but never seemed to have the 15 minustes required to let it set.  This evening, after a workout and a hot shower, I thought it would be a nice way to relax while I waited for my post-workout pulse to return to normal.

Unlike other masks I have used in the past, this one looked and smelled very natural.  It looked like glue.  But hey, as a near face-mask-virgin, who am I to comment?!  I applied the gloopy gunk to my face and neck.  It appeared clear and shiny on my face and wasn’t all that visible.  Thinking I hadn’t used enough, I squeezed the tube again to top up the first layer.

The 15 minutes zipped by.

My face felt taut. I felt like what some of those ‘botoxed’ ladies look like.  I couldn’t move my forehead or smile.

‘Perhaps the mask has tightened my face so much, my wrinkles, ahem, fine lines, have been forced to melt into each other’ I thought, getting excited that I may have accidentally stumbled upon the elixir of youth!

I was careful to re-read the removal instructions.  ‘Peel off’ as opposed to ‘wash off’.

Hmmmm…..how?  How do I peel it off when I can’t find a starting point.  The now dried substance was like a layer of skin, barely visible but for the shiny factor.  Using my fingernail I searched for a starting point at every point on my face, just as you do when you are looking for the start of the clear sellotape roll.  My face was beginning to feel like it had been frozen and I was beginning to look like I had stretched cling film across my face and someone was tugging very hard on it from behind!  I had no option; I had to bite the bullet and do some facial gurning in an effort to cause a crack in the mask.  Not exactly my idea of a facial exercise which would reduce lines!

At the same time, I rubbed and rubbed at the edges with my fingers, and finally bits of the gluey mask began to come away.  Teasing the thin layer of mask off my cheeks felt like an old aunt pinching my cheeks that little bit too hard.  My skin followed the direction of the tug, and all I could think was this must be doing more harm than good.

I had hoped that once I got a start, and took it slowly, I would be able to peel off the mask in one go.  Not so.  Like peeling sunburnt skin, it came off in bits, leaving behind shaggy, frayed bits.  It wasn’t long before my face resembled that of an extra on Michael Jackson’s Thriller video; not quite the youthful glow I was aiming for!

Having been in the bathroom for so long, DH thought I had fallen down the loo, so he sent DD to confirm.  I didn’t hear her come through the bedroom and was startled when she asked ‘Mummy, why are you taking your skin off?’  If DD is up with nightmares tonight, I will only have my vanity to blame!

Eventually when I had removed as much as I could, I resorted to the old reliable water and scrub method to remove the rest.  My hairline looked and felt like someone planted a piece of chewed gum in it.  My eyebrows looked like they were hosting a family of nits.  No amount of ‘peeling’ was helping; indeed I think it was making it worse!

As I splashed more and more water on my face, I remembered why my promises to engage in regular, healthy skincare treatments quickly find themselves at the bottom of my list of priorities!

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Dubai Religion

Posted on February 9, 2013 by Dubai Mum

There are many forms of worship in Dubai; there is sun worship, designer handbag worship, fast car worship and bling worship, to name but a few.  Indeed beauty treatments/maintenance is practically a religion in itself.  Many Dubai divas (and divos!) regularly attend the many temples of beauty dotted around the emirate to worship the technicians who work their magic to make them look polished and sparkly, and ready to hit the hottest nightclubs, or at the very least be ready to compete on the school run catwalk.

I am not ashamed to admit that I had never had a pedicure before I lived in Dubai; the main reason being that I can’t stand having my feet touched by anyone.  Growing up when I would fight with my younger brother, he just needed to threaten to tickle my feet, and that was enough to send me running for the hills, forgetting why I was mad at him in the first place.  Besides, living in the moody climate of the UK, there were not very many opportunities to showcase pampered tootsies, so I didn’t see much point!

However, since living in Dubai and, when not working, I spend a lot of time in flip flops or Birkenstocks.  The sand, the sun, the dust leave one with no choice but to head to the nearest salon for foot maintenance.  Over time, it has gotten easier to surrender my trusty feet to a complete stranger to treat them with the care they so deserve however, recently I have been, rather negligent in attending to their regular upkeep.

Some women are so organised about this kind of thing that they book their next salon session when they are paying for their most recent session.  True followers of their religion, they show a dedication and committment to maintenance that I can only dream of.  My level of commitment and dedication to foot maintenance would be better compared to that of a near lapsed catholic who struggles to attend mass every Sunday. Booking the appointment to go to the salon for a pedicure puts me in a good frame of mind.  But, when the day comes, I look for an excuse not to go.  One look at my tired feet changes my mind, and reluctantly slouch off to my pedicure appointment like an hormonal teen.  Less than an hour later I emerge from behind the closed, blacked out doors of the salon a new woman, feeling invigorated and positive.  As I walk to my car with my perfectly polished nails, I vow never to leave it more than 2 weeks between salon visits again…….

But true to form, I do leave it longer than 2 weeks before my next visit.  Indeed, I think it has been a few months (forgive me Father for I have not kept up with my maintenance schedule) since my last visit.  In my defence it is winter, and I have been, more often than not, wearing shoes.  With a feeling of ‘Groundhog Day’, I picked up the phone to book a pedicure at my local salon.  Before I got there, I realised the self imposed drought of ‘professional care’ left my poor trotters needing more than an outward spruce up.  A full spring clean would be required.  Bring on the callus treatment……

I know I said I had overcome my dislike of having my feet touched but for a pedi, it is bearable; almost like an injection, the ‘uncomfortable’ part is over in a few seconds.  When the technician told me the callus treatment would take 1 hour 15 minutes….I nearly ran out the door….but my betrayed feet rightfully stood firm, and wouldn’t move.

As I sank into the oversized plush, purple armchair, and closed my eyes I felt soothed,  and at one with my zen surroundings.  As I focused on the meditative tone of the music I felt as if I had been transported to South Asia where willowy ladies floated effortlessy from one client to the next, waving magic wands and making dreams of ‘redcarpet ready’ come true.  My blissful reverie was disturbed by a tug at my toes and a barely audible question.  I opened my eyes to see the complete antithesis of the figures in my imaginings.  The callus treatment technician looked more likely to a round in the sumo ring than to expertly, and imperceptibly, remove the lumps and bumps of hard skin which was beginning to form a ‘protective’ layer on my feet.  I took this as a sign of just how bad my feet were; they required a pair of strong, experienced hands which could triumph in the battle to vanquish my dry skin.  There and then I just wanted to hide behind the plump, purple cushions.

Half way through the treatment, I swear I saw this poor technician break into a sweat.  I think she even mumbled a few swear words….well, if I were in her shoes, that’s all I would have been mumbling.  Her cheeks began to glow a rosy hue as she gritted her teeth, and glared at my feet with a look of determination that said she would not be beaten.

Looking at my post-callus treatment/French pedicured feet, one would never guess the state of them just over an hour before.  I left feeling fab-roo whilst promising myself never to leave more than 2 weeks between appointments!

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The Baby Talk…..Again

Posted on February 4, 2013 by Dubai Mum

A recent conversation started by DS2went like this:

DS2: ‘Do babies come out of a hole in Mummies’ tummies?’

Me: ‘Sometimes they do.’

DS2: ‘How do the doctors fix the hole?’

Me: ‘They stitch it.’

DS1 (in an almost admiring tone that I could be so brave and not cry): ‘So you had stitches 3 times?’

Me: ‘No, only once.  You and DD are twins so the doctors only needed to fix one hole.  DS2 came out another way.’

DS2 (with a very confused, almost insulted look on his face): ‘How?’

Me: ‘There is a special place in Mummies’ bodies for babies to come through.’

DS2: ‘Do they come out of your spine?’

Me (surprised he knew the word ‘spine’): ‘No, not from there.’

DS1 (with a look of delight on his face thinking about the potential teasing-miles he could get out of this): ‘Did DS2 come out of your bum?’

Poor DD, on the other hand, had gone completely silent, the colour draining from her cheeks.

Before I go on, I think it is important to point out that each answer I gave was repeated by the boys in voices at least 10 decibels higher than their normal volume.  Yes, everyone in the Polo Club restaurant could hear what they were saying.  In the past when this topic of conversation has been raised, I usually distracted them so as to avoid answering questions.  But today, I just felt like going with it and being as upfront (and brief) as possible.  That was until DS1 said the word ‘bum’ loud enough for the guests outside to hear.  Nope, this was not the time or the place to mention the name of the birth channel.

DS1: ‘Mummy, does the baby live in in a round house in your tummy and get its food through a tunnel from your tummy, and then come out of the other tunnel when he has had enough to eat?’

Me (gobsmacked): ‘Where did you learn that?’

DS1: ‘The library.  Not the school library, the other library.’

Feeling revived DD piped up ‘He means ‘Borders’, Mummy!’

Mental note: Supervise the munchkins when they are reading in the kids’ corner in Borders!

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Sons and White Lies

Posted on February 1, 2013 by Dubai Mum

Tonight DS2 asked me if a person could be married two times.  Not quite sure what he meant, I probed a little further.

‘What do you mean?  Do you mean can someone marry the same person twice?’

‘No Mummy’, he snapped with the look of disappointment that felt heavy enough to sink the Titanic.

‘Oh, do you mean can someone be married to more than one person at a time?’

This observation seemed more pleasing to DS2.  Phew!

A tricky question from a 5 year old.  I explained in 5 year old ‘speak’ that some cultures and religion permit marrying more than one person.  But our beliefs encourage one marriage between only 2 people (explained in 5 year old ‘speak’).

DS2’s lower lip began to quiver.  His eyes welled up and a protruding pout told me tears were on their way.

‘But Mummy, I want to marry you‘ he cried.

Some people think lying to children is unfair, especially as adults lecture them on the importance of honesty.  However, there are times when telling a 5 year old  a white lie which will comfort him in the ‘now’ is the only thing to do.

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Absent Daddy

Posted on January 30, 2013 by Dubai Mum

We are very lucky.  Thanks to the international offices of DH’s company, he does not need to travel much.  He flies within the region a few times a year, and back to London for a few days at the start of each year.  This has never been much of an issue with the kids until now.  DH flew out late morning after he dropped the kids off at school.  They seemed happy.  DH reported they were happy.

‘Fabulous’ I thought.  ‘They won’t feel the 5 days pass’.

That was clearly one of my ‘Mummy Moments’.   A ‘Mummy Moment’ is when my being is filled with positive energy, leaving no room for a single, negative thought about a future event, only for that future event to give me an a*& kicking.

This feeling is probably best explained by examples:

– At school pick up, DD glared at me, her eyes  glistening with the kind of cold contempt that is usually reserved for someone who might want to rip the stuffing out of her favourite soft toy.

– When I met DS2 at his classroom door his teacher took me aside to mention he had been very upset/fragile all day.  He and another little chap had a minor run in and DS2 had been floods of tears since.  According to Miss E he was out of sorts all day.

– DS1 flung his bags at me and made a dash for the football pitch.  My pleas to help me carry them were met with ‘Daddy always carries my bags’.

– By the time we reached the car DD screamed at the top of her lungs ‘Mummy, you gave me the shortest ever uniform in the world,  to change into after PE ( I am sure she peppered her sentiments with a few more ‘evers’ ) (the uniform was to her knee).

– In the car DS1 was like a broken record ‘Mummy, I miss Daddy.’

– By the time we reached home DD was sobbing her little heart out.  She just wanted Daddy.

This sparked a trio crying a chorus of  ‘Mummy, when is Daddy coming home?’

The day’s mood was sombre.  The evening was one of hugs, cuddles and suppressed sobs (all mine!).

3 observations:

– Daddy is not allowed to go away before confirming Skype availability;

– I take my hat off to those Mums whose hubbies travel regularly; and

– Thank you to all of the involved Dads out there – we couldn’t do it without you!

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Foggy Season

Posted on January 29, 2013 by Dubai Mum

Since last week most Dubai mornings have been shrouded in dense, drizzly fog.  DS2 thought it was still night time when he got up, and was on his way back to bed when DH explained it was just the weather, and that schools do not close due to fog!

‘Is it autumn?’ enquired DS2 in all earnestness.

Bless, kids who have spent so much of their young lives in Dubai are only exposed to 1.5 seasons in a year, so they assume anything that diverges from the heat norm constitutes a season, even if it only lasts for a week or so.

When I think about it, most adults have an interesting reaction to the foggy season.  Thinking back to last week and 2013’s first day of fog in Dubai, I can chart a wide variety of emotions from the moment I turned the key in my car ignition to my arrival in my office.  Like most sensible drivers, I dread having to drive in the fog.  Driving in Dubai can be quite scary at the best of times, but in fog it feels like a form of Russian roulette!

As I set off on my work commute Virgin radio reported that in some spots visibility was down to 8 metres.  Needless to say I was a tad nervous.  I stayed in the middle of the road, kept my distance from the car in front and drove quite a bit below the speed limit (if you have read about my recent speeding tickets, you cannot begin to imagine how frustrating this is!).  By the time I reached Al Khail road heading in the direction of Dubai, the fog seemed to become thicker.  The ghostly fog swam along the highway swallowing the road markings as it went.  I couldn’t see car lights ahead of me.  My rear view mirror reflected the same view as the one in front of me.  I felt alone and lonely on the road.  At one point when I was down to less than half the speed I would normally drive on that road, I thought about pulling over to the hard shoulder, turning on my hazards and waiting for the fog to lift.

As this thought crossed my mind, my car wobbled from side to side.  Speeding cars flew past me, easily travelling the speed I would only risk on a clear day.  And that’s not the worst of it…..some of these cars hadn’t switched on their headlights, let alone their fog lights!  That kind of behaviour explains the 100+ car pile up in a foggy Abu Dhabi a few years back.  To think I used to rant about those drivers who think it is OK to use hazard lights instead of fog lights in fog……hazards are better than nothing!

As I neared the office, I encountered a woman on a mountain bike.  She was dressed in grey with not a reflective colour in sight.  She was not wearing a helmet (an AED500/Euros100/GBP80 right there) but she was wearing headphones (?????? = are you crazy).  I was driving in my 4×4 and I felt vulnerable…..she obviously had a deathwish!

Turning towards my office tower’s car park, I prayed the usual peacock traffic jam would not materialise.  Peacocks around Emirates Towers are like sheep on the country roads in Ireland.  They taunt drivers by faffing around in the centre of the road.  I think they are deaf; revving the engine or hooting the horn has zero effect.  Generally, I love watching them; that peacock blue is simply one of the most beautiful colours on the planet and a lovely sight first thing…but I don’t want to be responsible for squishing one of them because I didn’t see it!

When I entered my office in the dizzy heights of Emirates Towers, I was met with a buzz of excitement and the question ‘have you seen the fog?’.  Kind of difficult to miss it!  This is precisely what I mean by the reactions fog evokes in Dubaians.  One minute I am negotiating my way like a blind rat through a lethal maze that is my commute to work, and the next I am staring in awe at the breathtaking views from my office.

Being very fortunate to have one the best positioned offices on our floor, I am very popular when it’s foggy.  Until mid morning when the sun chases the fog away, my office is like Euston Station, with people coming in and out to take photos of the ethereal view (mental note: I should start charging an entry fee!).  I can’t blame them.  From my office I can see the top half of the Burj Khalifa shining proudly above the mist and teasing the fog with a ‘beat that’ attitude.  The other tall buildings in the vicinity keep the Burj Khalifa company.  The Gate at the Dubai International Financial Centre (DIFC) is invisible.  From the safety of my fabulous office, I think this must be what if feels like to sit on a cloud!

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Rugby Weekend

Posted on January 26, 2013 by Dubai Mum

Yesterday DS1 participated in his first rugby tournament, the HSBC Dubai Rugby Festival, at 7he Sevens grounds.  To date he has had all of 3 sessions of rugby with the Dubai Exiles and is pretty crazy about the game.

As we drove through dense fog along the Al Ain road, he couldn’t contain his excitement, the thought of winning a trophy almost catapulting him through the car roof in the direction of the moon!  It is very difficult to try to divert an excited 7 year old’s ambitions of glory to the mundane details of reality.  During last week’s rugby session, DS1 was chosen to play for the 3rd team.  Being a novice at the sport, that was to be expected.  He would be up against stronger sides where victory was less likely.  DS1 didn’t mind.  He was playing on a team, in a competition with the chance of  winning something.

When we arrived at the grounds they were bustling with colour, and what felt like a million kids running around in their sponsored rugby kits and boots.  Pop up sun shades and gazebos lined the pitches, foldable chairs reserved the much coveted shaded spots.  Large cooler boxes told me that we should be settling in for the day.  With up to 3,000 kids (boys and girls) playing in the tournament, accompanied by siblings, parents, grandparents, that wasn’t a surprise.

The first game was a case of nerves and confusion.  I did wonder if the coaches had forgotten to relay vital information to the kids about the sport, the most important one being, the ball must be passed backwards. For the first half DS1 was a sub, waiting on the sidelines.  When he got to play in the 2nd half, he ran his little heart out, chased, harried, attacked, defended and scored!  I, as usual, was very vocal in my support.  DH usually nudges me to let me know I should take it down a decibel or 10 but I can’t help it.  This time neither could he as he bellowed technical instructions from the sidelines.

Game 2 – DS1’s performance in the first game guaranteed him his full time spot in the second.  The confidence shooed away nerves, and as they lined up to start, they looked ready to do business.  And that they did.  DS1 dodged, sprinted, weaved and tagged.  He scored 2 tries.  I was hoarse by the end of the match.

Game 3 – This was always going to be a tough one.  The Exiles 3rd team playing the 1st side of the Hurricanes.  On paper – an uneven battle; David v Goliath.  Fuelled by adrenalin and confidence our little Davids took the game to Goliath.  Undeterred by the opposition’s speed, strength and experience, they didn’t give up.  They put some points on the board and probably did the best a side a that level could do against the 1st side.

They played well enough to make it to the quarter finals of the Plate.  Unfortunately, I had to dash off to taxi DD to a birthday party.  I didn’t want to leave.  I was having so much fun.  It was invigorating to watch these kids enjoy the game, give it their all, and bond over a sport they clearly enjoyed.  DS1 just seemed to be improving before my very eyes.  My heart was bursting with pride.  It’s moments like these when I am overcome with pure emotion.  Very little can match seeing your child do something he clearly loves and which brings him so much joy.  It always reminds me about the endless possibilities that await them.

3 hours after I left DH called to let me know DS1’s team had been knocked out.  At 4-4 (3 tries courtesy of DS1), the Muscat Pirates threw the ball over the line and the ref  blew the whistle to confirm a try and end the game.  7 little hearts broken, 7 exhausted warriors walked off the pitch to collect their participation medals.  Not quite the trophy of which DS1 had dreamed but still better than nothing.

Thankfully after a candy floss, a coke and a ‘heart to heart’ with Daddy DS1 bounced back.  Focusing on replaying the games, how well he played, the compliments he received for his ‘natural’ talent, helped him push the upset to the back of his mind.

As DH and I watched the recording of the games last night, we laughed at the times when DS1 seemed more intersted in road testing my high heels than kicking a ball, no matter what shape!  How times change…….

 

 

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Everything You Need to know (if you are under 8 years of age!)

Posted on January 23, 2013 by Dubai Mum

Gunpowder is illegal (I do wonder what question DS1 asked to get this answer!)

If you touch a piece of really old cheese which has been on the floor for a very, very long time, and if it is blue, you will get the cheese touch (DD and DS1 are convinced of this even though they have no idea what the ‘cheese touch’ is.  I am not sure I want to know!)

Brazil is a very big country with lots of animals in it and a footballer. (What are they teaching them in geography/sports history???)

R is our House-elf (DS2’s comment about our live-in helper.  Granted, it was after a marathon Harry Potter DVD session)

If you only half faint, you won’t be as lucky as Harry Potter and go to heaven to talk to Dumbledore. (See above)

Teddies can get married when they are 7 years old. (As he said this, DS1 told DD that his teddy could not marry hers because her teddy was new!)

The Tooth Fairy should pay AED20/GBP3.50/Euros 4 for top teeth.  Bottom teeth are worth half.  (DD on her way to being a businesswoman!)

An hotel is where you live for the weekend, get food (I think they mean room) service, have a big bed and your own TV.  But is is very expensive, so Mummy and Daddy won’t let you live there for very long (we have raised them well!)

If you fart somewhere, that means that is your place and no one else can touch it (who would want to?)

Ireland is a big city in England (seriously, we fought 800+ years for freedom and at 7 years old DS1 thinks it would be nice to be one in the same! Daniel O’ Connell….I apologise)

 
 
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