Guilt is a Trip not Worth Taking

The wise words on a magnet I bought over the summer holidays……and suitable for my fridge door, especially as all the ‘goodies’ aren’t in the fridge!!!!

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Expat Post-Holiday Blues

I can’t believe it’s been 2 weeks since we have been back in Dubai and one more sleep till school starts…..the summer holidays in the Emerald Isle seem soooooo long ago.  I miss my homeland.  Don’t get me wrong, I love our life in Dubai, apart maybe from a few, how shall I say, odd characters at work,  the blank looks you get when you ask a standard question in a shop, the lack of consumer protection….oops! I digress!

Post-holiday blues are hard on everyone, but for expats who save their holiday for the summer, usually to return to their homelands to visit family, friends and more favourable weather, it is a rollercoaster ride of emotions.   In a way it is comparable to waiting for Santa.

With the onset of the new year, the FAQ of ‘how many more days till Santa comes?’ is replaced by ‘how many more days to Ireland?’ or some variation like, ‘how many more days till we see Nana and Grandad?’  And, this is only around 6/7 months before we actually leave for the summer break….We tick off the days on a calendar and do a mental countdown every few hours.  I even find myself  ‘using’ the holidays as a weapon of discipline: ‘if you don’t do your homework now……..you might have to stay here over summer to do extra schoolwork’!!!!  Instead of threatening to call Santa, I threaten to call Nana and Grandad!

By the time we board the plane to Dublin, the excitement levels are uncontainable.  The kids rise eagerly at 4:45am to take the taxi on the one hour journey to Abu Dhabi.  By the time the plane touches down on Irish soil, the kids are as energetic as ever…….and by the time we reach Nana and Grandad’s house, it is like we have not been away for 11 months.  They rush to find their old toys,  have a kickabout in the garden and wonder how it can still be bright at 9pm.

During the holidays the kids marvel at the rain, the sea, the lush landscape, the outdoor adventure playgrounds.  They love eating ice creams by a blustery coastline, wearing wellies and eating Nana’s roast dinners.  This is what summers are made of. (Note: I know sentences should not end with a preposition but it doesn’t sound right any other way!).

‘Why can’t we live in Ireland’ becomes the new refrain.  DH and I struggle to offer an answer they can understand.

DH and I get to spend some wonderful quality time with family and friends, and with each other.  For me, getting back to my roots is going back to the fundamentals, getting back to my core.  It’s a time to just ‘be’.  Without work and school runs, I have time to breathe.  My head is clear (DH would probably say ’empty’ is a more apt description!).  It is a golden opportunity to re-connect and remind myself of the track on which I want to put my life, to think about my hopes and dreams for my family; to think about 3, 5 and 10 year plans (Note: I am not a control freak!).

I especially enjoy my time with my close friends, some of whom have known me since Kindergarten.  They free themselves up from their busy, and often stressful schedules to meet up, chat and catch up. They listen, advise, encourage and share the good and the not so good times.

I love seeing the kids spend time with Nana and Grandad even though my cooking is constantly compared (and not favourably to Nana’s) and DH’s football skills compared (again, not favourably) to Grandad’s!

As with 1 January every year, I get to make new resolutions each summer.  This year will be all about revolutions (not the bloody, dictator type!).

But then comes the time to be torn from all these wonderful moments.  The return flight nears.  I get antsy.  3-4 weeks of much needed rich, organic soul injections must see me through another 11 months.  The night before we flew, DS2 woke throughout the night because he was so upset to have to leave Ireland.  Two hours before landing in Abu Dhabi, DS1 burst into tears saying he missed Ireland.  I hugged him close and we sobbed together.

I am happy to be home, in our own space, our own routine but, for the expat, post-summer blues are about more than missing blue skies, sunshine and white, sandy beaches.

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Why, Oh Why Dubai?

Last weekend I received an email from the gym club DD attends.  A government department issued a ban on local sports halls being hired by private clubs for use by gymnastics clubs and the like. The ban was effective immediately. With 2 weeks of the term left and fees paid in advance, there were more than a few irate parents out there. But, this is Dubai and I am sad to say that, after a while in the Emirate, this kind of thing does not come as a surprise.

Whilst I was slightly agitated about the decision, a little part of me was happy not to have to spend almost an extra hour in the car, most of which would be in rush hour.  A drive-free afternoon is a thing of beauty in the city that does not walk!

I began to plan my Wednesday afternoon.  DS1 had been invited to a birthday party. DH was on pick up duty, leaving me, DS2 and DD at home to entertain ourselves!  BUT then, DS2’s best buddy asked him round for a playdate.  Another quiet smile of contentedness spread across my face.  One child for the afternoon and no driving duties…….this is like a moon eclipse, something beautiful and very, very rare!!!!

I was so excited to be able to have a girlie afternoon with DD, I rushed to share the news with her, telling her she was Queen for the afternoon and she could plan our afternoon.  She told me she would think about it and tell me the next day!!  Regal restraint indeed!  I didn’t mind what she chose-I was just excited to have an afternoon of QT with DD – another beautiful and rare occurrence!

But then, true to form, Dubai turned the tables.   3 days after the first email from the gym, I received an update.  The gym club owners had met with the government department responsible for the decision, to discuss options and gymnastics’ life going forward.  They even brought along video evidence to provide the decision makers with a glimpse of the budding talent the club was nurturing (Shawn Johnson of Olympic and World Class glory recently visited the gym and this is the level to which the gym aspires!).

Won over, the government did the all too familiar political move known as the ‘U-turn’ and lifted the ban.  Gymnastics classes could resume with immediate effect.  And in another well practised political move, the government declared that full details of the ‘entente cordiale’ are yet to be hammered out.  There is no doubting this will involve a price increase to cover the  government’s cut.

BUT WHAT ABOUT MY MUMMY-DAUGHTER DAY???????  Not one second of brainpower was spent on that dilemma…..how am I supposed to explain that decision to DD????  She was as excited as me about our afternoon out.  How can I now tell her that she has been relegated to ‘handmaid’ for the day?????  Thanks for putting me in this position gym club/government!!!  As happy as I am that the club scored a positive result with the government, I shall miss my afternoon of, what I am sure would have been Daddy-disapproving spendthrift abandon with DD (and no, given the amount of days we have missed due to illness, tiredness and Mummy-driving-lethargy, I won’t be keeping her off to make up for it!).

Almost 5 years here…I should have known better…..one can never know when a decision is final.  Chopping and changing is par for the course.  I blame the heat…..

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Where’s my Cut, Tooth Fairy?

There have been a number of milestones in my children’s lives which I have been quite happy to not be the first one to witness, and wobbly teeth is one of them!  These days it seems every which way I turn, there is a nigh on 7 year old poking their tongue through a gummy gap, jiggling the wobbly tooth back and forth, side to side, basically in any ghoulish direction they can.  I hate wobbly teeth.  I can’t bear to look at them, touch them or think about them.

When DS and DD wish to give me an almost hourly update on wobble status I squeeze my eyes shut tight, recoil in horror and tell them to talk to Daddy!  Unfortunately for me they think this reaction is hilarious and have told all their friends!  So now, at school pick up, I am chased by a crazed gang of kids tugging at their teeth, whether they are loose or not – just for a laugh!  When we have playdates at home, DD is now in the habit of saying to her friends ‘watch this’, running up to me and proceeding to contort her tongue and wobbly tooth/teeth into the most yukky positions whilst her friends giggle uncontrollably.

Once they fall out, I quickly wrap them in tissue paper ready for the Tooth Fairy’s visit.  5 teeth down and only 37 more to go, I am beginning to resent the glamourous role of the Tooth Fairy in all of this.  She swoops in after all the blood and gore, leaves a few coins (and, sometimes paper money, depending on place of the tooth in the milk teeth ‘pecking order’) to collect a brightly polished tooth and flits right on out of there to search under the next pillow.

At the very least, I think I am entitled to some sort of compensation for the emotional and psychological distress (as well as the humiliation) suffered in helping the Tooth Fairy build her pearly white mansion!

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Moving up to Big School

Two weeks ago, DS2 had his first ‘Moving up’ day at ‘big school’.  ‘Moving up’ day means each class in the school moves to the class which they have  been allocated for the September school start.  This gives the children the chance to meet their new teachers and the other children in their class.  For the first timers going to ‘Big School’, it’s their chance to also see the school and their classroom.

For the past two years DS2 has been tagging along with me at pick-up to meet DD and DS1.  He is familiar with the children, the school, some of the teachers and the lovely security guard who greets us each day with a warm smile and a ‘high 5′ !  DS2 has been there for his siblings’ assemblies and Christmas productions.  He has been a ‘hanger on’ at school birthday parties.  He practically does homework with them!  He has learned his numbers, the alphabet and phonetic sounds with the other two.

On their first induction day, the new joiners were asked to bring along a picture of themselves which they had drawn.  DS2 started off promisingly….two matchstick legs.  Then he added a big round head, a round body, some chicken feet and, finished off with two circles in the body.

Without thinking, I asked ‘what are the circles, honey?’

‘Your boobies, Mummy’ came the response.

He then proceeded to draw a ‘mini-me’ to represent him but, thankfully without the boobies!!!!

DS1 and DD were in stitches.

I didn’t know what to say other than my well practised line of ‘that’s beautiful honey’.  I was even less sure what to think…..perhaps DS2 was not so ready to go to ‘Big School’ afterall……….

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Mercury on the Rise

It’s the 3rd week of June. It’s flippin’ hot. Yet Dubaians still react with renewed shock every time a temperature rise is confirmed by the Met office here. Summer Solstice is due to welcome the hottest day of the year with the silver line hitting 48! Cue the collective groan. Yesterday was 42 and 60% humidity. Walking to the pool in the afternoon, I thought my skin would bypass the sunburn part and go directly to the peeling stage……does one ever get used to these temps?

Last week as the average tremperature hovered in the high 30’s, I couldn’t decide if summer was unusually late or, after almost 5 years in the desert, I was finally starting to acclimatise. Oh, how I wished it was the latter but I am pretty certain Mother Nature is playing a trick on me!

What does it matter anyway? Whether it’s acclimatisation or a late summer, it only means the inevitable heat has been postponed for a short time and the life of relay racing from one air conditioned place to the next resumes!

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with more promises of diligent blogging.  Maybe this time I will make more than 5 entries…..From memory, I wasn’t bad as a diary keeper…but, then again,  that was in my youth ( sentence I never thought I would say but somehow, these days, am saying a LOT!)….hormones ricocheting off every wrong word my parents said, I had a lot more to complain about then!!!  That is not to say I do not have a lot to complain about now.  I have plenty on which to dwell, exacerbate, be melancholic and sentimental, scared and insecure about in my ‘middle’ years….BUT with 3 children and a job, I don’t have much time to document my life’s traumas!!!!  Instead, I find myself trying to memorise my little darlings’ moments.

And of those there have been plenty…..where do I start?  In the last week there have been the dead terrapins which we have replaced without telling the kids….I have always been opposed to getting pets at the age the kids are now for fear of prematurely inviting the ‘death’ talk.  However, DH reckons they already ask enough questions about death (worryingly about mine and his!) that we could handle explaining the passing of a goldfish.

Despite DD’s puppy craze at the moment, we thankfully have the excessive summer heat to use as a valid reason against getting a dog.  I couldn’t bring myself to get a hamster/guinea pig…..I have heard horror stories of kids opening the cages and ‘losing’ the little furry mites somewhere in the house only to be found long after rigor mortis has set in.  Nope, something containable and easy to manage.

Welcome Soni and Sparkie, 2 red eared terrapins.  They tick the ‘containable’ box but I am not so sure about the ‘easy to manage’ box.  It seems nigh on impossible to keep fish tank water clean – even with a filter!  These critters are to be fed several times a day on a diet rich in vitamins and minerals which should include lettuce leaves, fresh cuttle fish, snails, shrimp, mussels, fresh fruit, tomatoes…….seriously????  That diet is better than my children’s!  They require a lot of direct sunlight and daily exercise…..The puppy option is now looking more attractive….  At least puppies show affection, and unlike terrapins, there is not much chance of contracting salmonella poisoning from cleaning up after them.  Terrapins can grow up to 8 inches and live for up to 30 years.  The kids will probably have left home in half that time and DH and I will still be flushing salmonella infected terrapin poop down the toilet every day…..

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So, the gardener bangs on my window

to the point of almost shattering it……it’s Thursday.  It’s 7pm….The weekend started 4 hours ago……

‘What does he want?’ I wonder…..’I don’t owe him money (yet!).

I really don’t want him to hoike up the creeper and attach it to the 1st floor balcony now…..doesn’t he know it’s the weekend?

Begrudgingly moving from our staple-start-of-the-weekend-fare, sausages, chips and beans, I open the door to see him brandishing an empty 250ml water bottle.  I raise my eyes to heaven.  It’s almost mid-July.  It’s the desert. It’s mid-summer.  Throw in a bit of humidity for good measure and it feels like a sauna on overdrive ALL the time.  250ml of water won’t cut it.

I refuse his bottle and shuffle off to the water cooler to fill a 1.5l bottle instead.

He now has my attention and he starts to speak and gesticulate towards certain plants in the back garden.   He always speaks to me in his native tongue (which, as most gardeners come from remote parts of Pakistan, I assume is some form of Urdu).  This always makes me giggle.  The likelihood of me speaking a sub-continent language is as likely as the gardener understanding the importance of horse manure to roses.  My general reaction is to nod my head from side to side, wave my arms from side to side and say ‘NO’.  I always get the feeling he is asking me if he can chop things down…..

For months now DH has been telling me to fire him and find another gardener who knows something about gardens.  His idea of pruning is to take a large garden shears to anything that has a flower on it.  In the height of summer, when temperatures can reach 50+ degrees, he thinks cutting back all the shady trees/plants is a good idea.  Fertiliser is a foreign concept (despite the fact the biggest plant nursery is within walking distance of the sewage treatment plant!).  We are now on our third creeper for the front wall of the house.  Under the gardener’s watch, we have seen two of them die a dry, hot, barren death……not that the gardener would have noticed had we not pointed out the leaves should be green and not crumple-dry brown.

I can’t bring myself to sack the poor chap.  All I know is he works hard and tries his best.  He pushes his petrol fuelled lawnmower with as much intention as if he were representing Pakistan in the gardening Olympics.  As for his green fingers….well, let’s just say, I, who struggled to grow watercress in damp cotton wool, stand a better chance of saving my grass and plants from the tortuous sun……but I just cannot bring myself to replace him.

I Google ‘gardening in the desert’.  The results are not very fruitful.  I feel like one needs an horticultural degree to be capable of nurturing anything in this cruel environment.  I decide the gardener is doing a perfectly good job.    DH, if you want me to sack the gardener…..you had better find me an equally hardworking/better replacement!

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Shopping Battle

It’s Friday.  It’s the weekend.  It’s mid-June.  It’s hot, sticky and unpleasant outside.  Where does everyone head on days like this?  The malls…the air conditioned malls.  It’s not one of my favourite pastimes, especially on Friday when it always feels … Continue reading

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An alternative bedtime routine

Putting the kids up to bed and each took their turn to do a ‘wee’.  DD, who was already balancing precariously on the toilet seat, shouted out in her most shrill of voices, ‘theres’s a gecko’, and nearly fell down the toilet trying to get off the seat and pull up her knickers at the same time!  She rushed to show Daddy who, judging by his face, was already thinking about how he was going to catch this one with no equipment and ruling out the ‘bare hands’ approach…….

Now normally we leave the geckos alone.  Somehow they find their way in and somehow they find their way back out again….their favourite hiding place seems to be behind the curtains in the front room, and sometimes they can be found lurking around the shoe rack near the front door through which they make a break for it once opened.

But unusually, this little chap decided upstairs would be more exciting.  Little did he know, come bedtime, he would be hounded out rather than let roam freely to find a gap under a door.  My boys being boys squealed with delight, armed themselves with teddies and blankies (???)  and rushed to find the gecko.  Anything to distract from actual bedtime and lights out…Thankfully the little critter was quicker than they were…goodness only knows what fate would await him should they have gotten hold of him!

In the meantime Daddy jumps down 2 flights of stairs to get something in which to catch the poor mite humanely, and release him back into the night desert.  He comes running back up with a plastic food container…
I groaned ‘You can’t use that.  I put food in that!’
‘I’ll wash it out’ he snapped back with the seriousness of someone about to do battle with a monstrous enemy.
I guess it was a better choice of weapon than the first time he tried to catch a gecko when we were new to Dubai.  Back then he grabbed a breakfast bowl.  The gecko survived: the breakfast bowl didn’t.  A boyscout he clearly was not…….
By now the poor gecko has scarpered from its original hiding place and was darting under every little dark nook and cranny it could find.  The kids were running around after it and getting under Daddy’s feet.  Eventually they all decided being half a foot off the ground on the beds was a safer place for their tootsies…….and from Daddy who clearly needed to focus.  He waits, he hovers, he holds his breath, he stalks like a predator and forces the gecko, who has now been nicknamed ‘Pinky’ by DD, into the corner.  Nowhere to go……I swear I saw the poor thing shiver with fear (Pinky that is, not Daddy!).
‘Gotcha’ yells Daddy triumphantly.
At this point I am still giggling…….I would have shooed it down the stairs and left him there rather than go through this palaver!
Yes..the gecko is now in the container but it proved tricky to slide the lid on.  Attempt 3 was successful!  Or was it………It would appear the poor gecko’s tail was sliced off in the ‘lid-sliding’ process.  Daddy pretended not to notice and tried to restore calm to bedtime but hawkeye DS1 doesn’t miss much!
‘Daddy…..there’s something wriggling on the floor.  Oh Daddy it’s his taaaaiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllll’ he adds looking more frightened by a chopped-off-still-wriggling tail than of the gecko itself.
I checked to see if the gecko survived the shock…….as I was feeling quite faint myself at this point.
DH swiped up the tail and flushed it down the toilet and released the gecko into the night.
But the kids had questions that needed to be answered…..
‘Daddy, do geckos have Mummies?’ asked DS1.
‘Yes, they do’ replied Daddy not quite sure where this conversation might be going.
‘Daddy, will his Mummy be upset he has no tail now?’
Daddy stumped.  Mummy snorting.  My beautiful, sensitive son.
Finally we convinced the kids the gecko’s tail would grow back and that he was feasting outside on a sumptious dinner of ants, spiders and roaches, and would be going to play with his friends later!
Overcome with guilt about the poor tail-less gecko Daddy rushed downstairs to ‘Google’ geckos’ tails.
Thankfully gecko tails do grow back – no lie  there then!  Apparently the tails can be used as a defence mechanism against predators.  The clever little rascals can ‘drop off’ their tails in an attempt to distract the enemy.  Hence the reason it continues to wriggle without a body and the gecko itself remains still.  Phew, guilt lessening by the minute.  However, once this happens, the gecko has lost many of its fat stores so it should be fed to help give it energy.  Soothing cream should also possibly be applied to the wound.  Sudocream???  BUT worst of all was to learn the tail-less gecko may be a victim of bully geckos who see him as ‘different’ or ‘deficient’. We stopped reading at that point.  As if Pinky’s ordeal indoors was not enough, he/she may now bullied by gecko gangs outside…..guilt restored to maximum levels……..I think I’ll leave out that information  if the kids bring up the subject again.

Night, night…sweet dreams!

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