The Sound of Mischief

I think it all started during the heat of the Dubai summer. All Dubaians know how impossible it is to convey how hot and humid the summer can be. No matter what adjective you try to use to describe it, you never quite seem to succeed, with all efforts falling short on the cliche side of the fence.

The time before we take flight for cooler climes can be a challenging one, when outdoor play is off limits. When the kids feel so cooped up that even modern technology cannot keep them occupied, they often revert to old fashioned play. This always brings a smile to my face for a number of reasons. Whilst their generation cannot avoid technology, I think it is good for the kids to play board games, build dens from cushions and blankies, and even play indoor table tennis. For my three, old fashioned play, brings them together in what can be a squabble free few hours. Seeing them having fun together, working together and hearing their giggles always makes me smile.

One of their favourite games over the summer was ‘pretend hair salon’. They would set up their salon in the playroom. They had their customer’s chair, a towel, squirty bottle with water, an interesting array of products smuggled out of the downstairs bathroom (including deodarant and toothpaste???!!) as well as a variety of brushes and combs. They happily took turns playing the stylist and customer, bursting into fits of giggles with every squirt of cold water to their manes. For this game, I had only one rule ‘NO SCISSORS’. This might seem quite an obvious rule for two 10 year olds and an 8 year old….but having recently followed a trail of shiny, fluffy, freshly cut snippets of youthful blonde hair through my kitchen to discover DS2 had taken a scissors to his own fringe, the last thing I wanted was weapon-wielding children playing barber shop with their siblings!!!

As they played in rare harmony, I went about my chores. There was no yelling, no arguing, no ‘that’s not fair’ moans, no slamming doors or huffs of ‘Mummy, DS1 is being mean to meeeee’, to the point I had almost forgotten they were in the house. As I hung out the laundry, the unusual silence made me feel like I was the only one in the house. That kind of silence is the kind of silence every parent knows not to trust! With my kids in any case silence, more often than not, is the very loud sound of mischief!!!

Not wanting to give them the chance to stop or hide whatever they were doing, I tiptoed across the tiled floors to the playroom, and spied through the crack in the door. A soggy haired DS2 was sitting in the chair with the towel draped around his shoulders, his eyes shut tight as if he were bracing himself for a shock. Looking on with a big grin on his face was DS1. On the other side an unsure but willing DD inched a scissors towards the side of her brother’s head (insert horror emojis!!!). I felt sick. Every instinctive fibre of my being wanted to yell ‘NOOOOOOOOO’ but I couldn’t risk half of DS1’s ear being sliced off by the not so steady handed ‘barber’. Instead I made a shuffling sound to alert the trio to my presence. Three sets of ‘oh, oh, she’s caught us’ looking eyes met my ‘are you absolutely insane???’ facial expression. Without prompt the scissors were handed over. No lecture needed.

Comparatively iPads are a lot less dangerous…….

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First World Problems

Live in housekeeping help is an affordable luxury in Dubai. Walking into a tidy, clean, organised house after work or the school run, where dinner has been prepped, laundry washed and ironed is definitely a perk of living in an expat country, and something one can become accustomed to quite quickly! Unfortunately, being an employer is not always an easy role, especially when your employee is living under your roof. Indeed many of us ‘Madams’ decide the hassles outweigh the benefits, and enter the first world problem condition of being ‘maidless’ (‘FWPML’)! Like anything in life you only miss things when they are gone and the early phases of FWPML make one wonder how one ever coped without help! However, as time passes, the condition reveals some pleasantly surprising benefits:

– Doing laundry can reap financial rewards. Checking hubby’s pockets before putting his clothes in the washing machine can be quite a profitable household chore (no need for him to know this!);

– There is no option but to teach the kids to pick up after themselves and bring their plates from the dinnertable to the kitchen;

– Water bills are substantially reduced as sink plugs re-discover their function and dusty, desert driveways are not on the cleaning ‘To Do’ list;

– Increasingly self aware DS1 and DS2 can run around in their boxers;

– Hubby can walk around shirtless!

– The maid’s room becomes a tardis for everything and anything that has no home of its own;

– Hubby and I can now argue the traditional way…..at the top of our voices!

– My gardener now feels sorry for me and hoses down my car when he stops by to tend to my garden – two jobs for the price of one!

– DH is more likely to be able to find something if it remains where he offloaded it when he walked in the door, thus making my policy of ‘everything has its place’ redundant which in turn reduces my household workload;

– I no longer have to tend to my bed head and sleep deprived look before going downstairs in my own home!

Every cloud……

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Spinning

I had often heard people talk about how tough a spin class can be. I had even heard hardcore spinning addicts talk about pushing through the pain barrier to burn an insane number of calories in one session. The blaring music and the possibility to laugh in the face of half my daily calorie intake in 45 mad minutes was very appealing…….but the thought of bobbing up and down on my pedals at speeds nearing the leading Tour de France peleton racing downhill terrified me, and so it was that I decided to stick with my leisurely, early morning constitutional as my exercise!

Last week however, that all changed….when a Mum at school convinced me to sign up for a spin class at school (Yes – our lovely school offers spin classes after drop off twice a week for parents!). Not long after agreeing to try it out, my What’s App pinged to alert me to the fact I had been added to the group ‘Spinners’. I chuckled to myself at the group’s name as ‘spinner’ translates as ‘mad/crazy/nutter’ in German, and that is exactly how I used to view spin enthusiasts, and what I thought about myself for signing up!!! Alas, there was no going back now!!!

One of two virgin spinners in the class that day, I was nervous as I watched other Mums attend to their bikes’ saddles and handlebars, as if they were fine tuning a high performance car. The instructor bounded in, her voice filled with infectious energy. Her lovely baby bump was obvious, and I admit I did think I should be able to keep up with a pregnant lady…..

How wrong was I?????!!!!

I had broken into a sweat by the time we had finished the warm up! As I dabbed my brow, I furtively scanned the room to see if anyone else looked like their flushed faces my combust, like mine felt it was going to!! No puffing. No panting. Just focused faces waiting for the next instruction. It wasn’t just my beetroot red, sweaty face I was worried about! The wise words of advice from a lovely friend echoed in my head ‘try to get a a bike with a cushioned saddle’. Feeling slightly violated on the narrow racing bike saddle, I willed the energetic instructor to end the bruising discomfort, and order us into a standing position!

Relief was granted at the same as Kylie’s ‘Spinning Around’ pumped out through the music system. This made me smile. It was around this point that I realised why spinning and loud music make such good partners; not only does the music drown out the cries of aching, burning muscles, it keeps you going, distracting you from the fact you are doing high intensity exercise!

Even though I proved less than graceful when making the transition from saddle to pedals and back down again, I enjoyed the switching up of the routine. Indeed as the music slowed to Boyz to Men’s appropriately titled ‘End of the Road’ I felt quite smug to think I had dropped the kids to school, burned some extra calories, and released a bunch of endorophins – and all by 9am!

The following day endoprhins were replaced with agonising, post exercise muscle ache; with each step a burning reminder of how tough spinning is! Will I go back? My head says ‘yes’, but I am not sure my thighs would ever forgive me!!

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Back to School

The day I have been waiting (not so patiently) since our return from our summer holidays finally arrived……I had been planning this day for 2 weeks now. Unlike every other morning, I planned to be like Usain Bolt out of the blocks, blazing a record breaking trail down the stairs to prepare breakfast for munchkins who were torn between mourning the end of the summer holidays, and celebrating reunions with their buddies.

Last night I had prepared everything with military percision. Freshly laundered uniforms were meticulously ironed and laid out. New shoes were labelled, lunches and snacks were made with love, something healthy and something not so healthy (in the attempt to slowly wean them off their overindulgence in summer sugar!). With a smug sense of satisfaction I went to bed, careful to give myself enough ‘zzzzz’ time to look reasonably refreshed after 8 weeks of no school runs.

At some point in the wee hours, my brain was dragged from a sweet slumber with a nagging thought. Much like a bad dream escalates, I felt my subconscious forcing me to wake up.

‘What if the uniforms don’t fit??’ Irked that my attempt at a revitalisng rest was being interrupted, and even more irked that my military planning omitted the rookie rule of the ‘uniform dry run’, I tried my best to resist thinking beyond the school shoes (which were actually the only part of the uniform I was certain were the correct sizes). Losing the battle to resist, there I was, counting shorts and shirts instead of sheep.

I wondered if it were possible for 8 month old uniforms, that at the time of purchase had a generous amount of ‘growing room’, could now be too small. The summer growth spurt didn’t seem to be that obvious…..but as I imagined DD strutting her stuff in an indecently short kilt, I began to toss and turn. What about the boys’ shorts???? Could shorts ever be too short for a boy??? It’s not like they could ever resemble hot pants unless I had managed to shrink them in a boiling wash….Oh, and what about the dry cleaned blazers???? Somewhere in between summoning up dry cleaning disasters in my mind and wondering when gaping shirt is too ‘gapey’ to be worn, I finally drifted off…..

OK, OK, so after a less than restful night, my ‘Usain Bolt’ plan did not exactly spring to life. In fact, in the time it took DH to feed and water the munchkins, whilst ensuring they were dressed problem free in their perfectly fitting uniforms, I had only managed to trudge to the shower. My first thought? ‘What ‘uniform’ am I going to wear for the first day back to school????’!!!! Given the sartorial part of my brain (if you could even call it that) was still sleeping I had no option but to select the default choice….the old reliable gym kit it is then!

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Ode to the Expat ‘Homers’

When we Dubai Expats pile home over the summer break, we often tend to focus on ourselves and what summer means to us. We look forward to the break from the relentless desert heat, and relish the thought of catching up with family and friends. Indeed I think many of us feel ‘hard done by’. The summer temperatures are unbearable, so unbearable that the kids dare not play outside between the hours of 9AM and 4PM. Re-hydration proves a losing battle. Sweating is the norm. Daily overheating is exhausting and increasing confinement induces cabin fever.

Oh how sorry we feel for ourselves!

Despite all of this, at the back of our minds we still have one eye on the ever nearing glorious winter temperatures that will usher in breakfasts on the beach, weekend bike rides and chilly swimming pools, leaving the locals in more likely than not, damp, drizzly goo in ever decreasing light…

However, what I can be guilty of forgetting is the impact my young family makes on our summer hosts:

– Thank you Nana for a delicious, warm, home cooked meal on the dinner table each night;
– Thank you Grandad for supervising the kids on the road when using their skateboards, bikes and other various transport-helmet-required methods;
– Thank you Nana for increasing your carbon footprint 5-fold by washing and drying machine loads of grubby clothes on a daily basis;
– Thank you Grandad for giving us a break by taking the munchkins to the park/relatives/beach/surprise locations;
– Thank you Nana for teaching DD how to replicate your amazing scones (DH is very happy!);
– Thank you Uncle J for allowing the kids’ cousin to come play with them as often as possible;
– Thank you Friends (you know who you are) for giving the kids so many ‘firsts’- sleepovers, dog walking, cliff walking, afternoons out, dinners, parties, shopping trips and the big ‘fave’ – getting all the kids together to play and have fun;
– Thank you Grandad for re-tracing my childhood steps with my bambinos;
– Thank you Nana for impressing upon DD the importance of regularly brushing long hair, and taking her for her first blowdry!
– Thank you Grandad for being a goalkeeper, striker, defender, darts’ player, golf player, skittles player;
– Thank you Nana for cooking the Top 5 dinners on loop!
– Thank you Nana and Grandad for opening up your home to us and making it feel like it is ours.

Precious

You make summer special. You make summer memorable. You help make summer what we think it should be.

Thank You. xx

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Rules of the Road

Depending on your perspective, driving in Dubai can be divided into two categories: ‘drive it like you stole it’; or ‘driving Miss Daisy’ (the latter being hot on the bumper of the former but still not fast enough for the driver behind you who will more than likely order you to yield by flashing his headlights!) . 12 lane highways + up to 120KPH speed limits + high performance cars = not a surprise that driving can be such an hair raising, terrifying, sweat inducing experience.

To visit family and friends (as well as escape the sweltering, sweaty temperatures of Dubai’s summer), every year we set sail for the windswept shores of the Emerald Isle. As a ‘lifer’ expat, it’s difficult not to compare current life with former life. Once at home, I find myself comparing fruit and veg prices, petrol and water prices, rents and house prices. I even go so far as to check the Euro version of M&S price tags to see if the conversion rate is remotely similar to Dubai’s branches.

When I think about it now, I find it quite astonishing to see how I have adapted to Dubai’s driving and pedestrian etiquette. I seem to have adapted to such an extent that I have caught myself wondering what my hometown drivers are doing! In my two weeks at home, I have had to search the cobwebbed depths of my memory for the rules of the road:

– The black and white stripey, zebra crossing…..who actually ever stops at that? In Dubai, cars seem to always have the right of way. Afterall, who wants to mess with a hulking great 4 x 4????

– Why do drivers here not use their horns here????? Surely, all forms of dithering, deliberating and dawdling are deserving of a long, frustrated hoot, especially those who are so slow off the mark when the traffic lights turn green!

– Drivers observe the parking rules and instead of parking on single/double yellow lines and at bus stops. Preferring to avoid a nasty fine and/or black points, they search out the nearest paid parking zone.

– Drivers who yield in the desert (without being bullied into it) are as rare as raindrops in summer…at my first few encounters with examples of such considerate driving I felt unnerved, almost afraid to trust the good nature of other drivers.

– Numerous times a day I am forced to run the gauntlet that is the roundabout near my home in Dubai. ‘Already on the roundabout’ rule seems to have bypassed 99% of my fellow road users who often force those of us who are familiar with the rule, to slow to a standstill on the roundabout until they pass…..In Ireland, roundabouts are an ocean of dignified calm.

– By now it should be pretty obvious that many Dubai drivers think they are alone on the roads…so it will not come as a surprise to learn that, more often than not, acknowledging another driver’s positive road driving is not the done thing. Cue my surprise when yielding is, more often than not, met with a wave of gratitude.

When expats compare their lives with that of their home countries, we often come to the conclusion that it is like comparing apples with oranges; there is no point in even trying to draw comparisons. With so many different nationalities, backgrounds, standards of driving, driving experience, road network standards, rules and regulations, it is inevitable that all drivers will find something to complain about. In these circumstances the best we drivers can do is to be alert, aware and be safe.

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The Science of Undergarments

On a recent pre-summer getaway trip, I wandered into Marks & Spencer in Mall of the Emirates. Just browsing, I was hoping to pick up the ‘in between’ summer and winter clothes that might cover the changeable weather back in Ireland. I flicked through pastel tops and floral skirts; cropped trousers and Bermuda shorts. With 3 munchkins in tow, shopping is never fun unless it potentially revolves around them. Shelving all ideas of completing my summer wardrobe (who am I kidding?, I mean, starting my summer 2015 collection!), I made a beeline for the kids’ section.

Choosing the path of least resistance to the children’s department (i.e., the path where DS1 and DS2 were deprived of any opportunity to play ‘hide and seek’ amongst long, flowing skirts and hobo dresses), our ‘as the crow flies’ detour took us through the lingerie department. Surrounded by sheer, shiny-ness, I couldn’t help but pause to admire the vast array of delicate, sexy undergarments on display.

Slowing to almost a crawl (much to the disgust of my Munchkins who were more intent on standing in the cinema line to purchase Jurassic World tickets!), I was practically drooling at the beautiful bras that looked like they could make any woman feel like they looked like Eva Herzigova in the days of her ‘Hello Boys’ advert (I accept that is going back quite some time….but since the arrival of my beloved Munchkins, the only undergarments on my radar have been maternity bras and those offering super firm support!)

Well, it is just amazing, and actually mind boggling how the ‘boulder holder’ industry has transformed. What was once a ‘choose-size-in-comfy-cotton-with-an-embroidered-daisy-on-the-strap’ has been catapulted into what feels like a world where one requires some sort of university degree to even begin to comprehend the terms with which I was faced.

Stunned and flummoxed (yes, at the same time) at the range of upper undergarments on offer, I tried to make sense of it all.

The following are the names of Bras from a well known UK shop….along with my interpretation of what those names suggest to those of us still stuck in the days of Madonna’s conical bra extravaganzas…..

High Apex Padded Balcony – DS1 races karts. Apex is something to do with turning corners. I watch him from a Balcony. Padded???? Am hoping that refers to the tyre padding on the side of the track that cushions any potential crashes……
Moulded Smoothy Pull Up – Leave out the last two words and I am sipping on a not-so-nice-green-kale smoothie
Sling Strapless – Am reminded of a ‘Singapore Sling’ cocktail…..could this be its younger sibling????
High Impact Eco non-Wired Sports – My brain has been fried by this one….women with big boobies wearing unsupportive yet ethically sourced bras?
Textured – Who benefits from this???
Perfect Fit Memory Foam – Something invented by NASA
Post Surgery – Would never have entered my mind….but think it’s an amazing idea.
Multiway – having lived in Dubai for a number of years, this could be a multi car pile up.
Crossover – Again, having lived in Dubai for a number of years, this sounds like an illegal move across a 6 lane highway!
Push Up Plunge – Something to finally clean the toilet without much effort????
T – Steak? Pain? Mr.?
Smoothy Vanishing Back – Honestly? NO IDEA!
Minimiser – I wish!
Sumptuously Soft Plunge – a delicate waterfall?

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The Land of Sun, Sand, Change and Goodbyes

The ‘Sandpit’ as expats affectionately refer to Dubai truly is a place that bristles with a permanent sense of ambition and excitement. Indeed in Dubai the rate of change is something on which the Emirate appears to thrive (especially where that rate is at ‘headspinning’ levels). World’s tallest building? Check. World’s largest shopping mall? Tick. World’s most enviable police car fleet (think Maserati, Lamborghini, Ferrari et al)? Check. Dubai is in a constant state of flux, growing and evolving into its best self.

One thing is for sure, the status quo does not remain so for very long, for example, to assume a car’s hi-tech GPS could ever hope to keep pace with the continuous changes in the road networks, would be considered sheer naivety and utterly laughable. Needless to say, residents are often skeptical and afraid of change, preferring to cling to the security of the ‘familiar’, like a child would cling to its comfort ‘blankie’. Re-learning new road networks requires an element of getting lost until one can readjust one’s internal GPS to match the new road networks. This process can take a while, and even with that, not everyone will be able to reach a point where they truly know or are comfortable with the new road system.

Equally Dubai residents cannot escape the dark cloud of change, no matter how hard they may try. Fact: from one summer to the next, one never knows who will be returning in September (the start of the school year amongst my peers). When each summer rolls around, one is guaranteed to be wiping one’s eyes with Kleenex and cursing the expat life that sees wonderful people who have shared one’s life here setting sail for another destination whether by choice or not. Sadly, it is often more than one family packing up and shifting as quickly as the desert’s sand.

When all of those goodbyes have been sobbed, one still has to wave ‘au revoir’ to other friends as you and they depart the Sandpit for their home countries or less sweaty holiday destinations…..the sadness is nursed with the promise of the fresh air of home and the warm, welcome embrace of family and friends on the auld turf. Alas the end of the summer break signals another round of ‘Goodbyes’……the round that is hardest of all. It never gets easier. We are never truly comfortable with it, but it is the life which we have come to accept.

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Milestone No.#havelostcount

I knew this day would come; just like I knew the day would come when my boys would make it their mission to relentlessly tease their sister, and just like I knew the day would come when sharing a bathroom with two young boys would make me check how well they have been aiming before I sit!

Thankfully the day of keeping secrets from Mummy has not yet come for my brood (well at least not for two out of three of them!). A few nights’ ago, it would seem, instead of pouring over their bedtime reading, a top secret conversation about ‘crushes’ topped the bedtime agenda…..amongst awkward, embarrassed giggles, each of my babies listed their top ‘three’ favourite girls and boys.

Clearly not undercover agents in the making, DD and DS2 didn’t make it to dinnertime the next day before spilling the beans, and not of course about their own faves!

DS2 started: ‘Mummy, don’t tell DS1 that we told you, but last night when you thought we were asleep, DS1 told us that he likes Molly (real names have been changed to spare the parties’ blushes!).’

Already feeling slightly emotional that my babies are teetering on this grown up phase of life where they are beginning to notice the opposite sex, I think I felt a tinge of disappointment at DS1’s choice, and without thinking replied:

‘Really????’ in an unintentionally squeaky, surprised voice!

I do not intend to be unkind. Molly is a lovely girl; diligent, friendly, helpful, kind and is exactly the kind of girl you would love to see your son go out with, and a testament to DS1’s good judgment of character if nothing else! But in terms of physical appearance she was the complete opposite of me!!!! A slight girl with the deceptive strength and litheness of a dancer. Keratin straight, long, blonde hair; not an unruly curl in sight.

I recall reading about scientific research that showed one’s children are generally attracted to features similar to those of their parents. Mental note: get DS1’s eyes checked!

‘But,’ continued DS2 divulging more confidential information, ‘DS1’s #1 is Maddie.’

Desperately trying not to get ahead of myself I blurted out ‘Is Maddie about as tall as DS1, with dark, curly hair and freckles?’

DD and DS2 chimed ‘Yeah’.

You can always rely on Science!

Wondering if DD would offer up anymore information, I chanced my luck.

‘So, who is on your list of favourites?’

‘Archie’, she replied as directly and casually as if she were answering her times tables.

My diligent, hardworking, sport and school loving DD likes the bad boys…..good to have a few years’ advanced warning!

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Ramadan Timings

Just over a week ago the Muslim world welcomed the holy month of Ramadan, when Muslims abstain from drinking or eating during daylight hours until sunset when they break their fast. To accommodate those fasting, (and to encourage those not fasting to reflect on the meaning of Ramadan), work and school life timings are adjusted. Working hours for those fasting are reduced to 6 hours per day while school days start later and finish earlier.

At school my munchkins learn about the importance of Ramadan within the Muslim faith. They learn about respecting those who fast, how to conduct themselves in the company of those who fast, and how they should behave in public during the holy month. They know that many restaurants and cafes are closed or serve takeaway options behind cloaked windows. Other than that, they know life goes on as normal.

And life does go on as normal. On the second day of Ramadan DD lost a tooth! Even though it has been a long time since the Tooth Fairy has paid us a visit, DD hadn’t forgotten the ‘drill’. Holding the tooth as if it were fine bone china, she carefully wrapped it in tissue paper, labelled it ‘TOOTH’ in thick permanent marker, and placed it under her pillow.

As I mentioned, the Tooth Fairy has had no reason to pop by for quite some time, and even though DD hadn’t forgotten what to do, it appeared the Tooth Fairy’s rep, i.e., me…..had forgotten…..well not so much as forgotten what I was supposed to do…..just forgot to do it! #parentfail. #andnotforthefirsttime.

The next morning DD told DH that the Tooth Fairy didn’t come. DH, not yet having had the chance to speak to me, assured her she must be mistaken and the money must be caught up in the menagerie of cuddly toys and pillows on her bed.

‘But my tooth is still there’ she insisted with as much passion as if she were pleading her case before a jury.

Noticing me lurking in the background, I furiously tried to communicate to DH via exaggerated hand gesturing and mouthing that I had forgotten to perform my fairy duties. We had already exhausted the usual excuses of ‘oh, the Tooth Fairy must not have been able to find the tooth’ or ‘oh the Tooth Fairy must not have been able to find the house’.

Thinking quickly on his feet DH said as casually as if he were talking about the weather ‘Oh, you know what? The Tooth Fairy is working Ramadan timings….she will probably come by tonight’!

Not usually one to be put off the scent easily, even DD seemed stumped; genuinely pausing to consider the possibility of this excuse as she wandered out of the kitchen.

‘Mummy……Daddy said the Tooth Fairy didn’t come because she is working Ramadan hours’ yelled DD looking for my reaction.

Pleasantly surprised at DH’s ingenious reason for the Tooth Fairy’s absenteeism and trying not to giggle, I supported his theory.

‘But Mummy, our Fairy is Irish and she doesn’t fast’.

DD wouldn’t be DD if she didn’t have the last word!

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