Amazing Dubai

Posted on June 21, 2015 by Dubai Mum

Having children opens the door to that beautiful opportunity to re-experience life through their innocent eyes, and watch them teach you how to effortlessly live in the moment.

Raising children in Dubai opens up another world that I never knew existed. My troop love their sport, are constantly on the go and the mere thought of winning as much as a ‘participation’ medal, drives them like athlethes preparing for the Olympics.

I remember their first trophies. Much to the disgust of her twin brother, DD won ‘Most Improved Player’ at the U5 football sessions held at JESS school at the Ranches. DS1’s disappointment was slightly alleviated by a medal….but I am pretty sure it something he has never forgotten. DS2’s first trophy was for the best wacky hair at summer sports camp (even though the trophy suggests he won it for football!) and DS1’s first trophy was for achieving the ‘Most Improved Player’ over a season in U8 tag rugby due him starting off in the development squad and then making it as a regular on the first squad.

In between there have been medals and certificates; too many to count or even correctly match them to a specific accolade. Each and every award has been celebrated as if they had won Olympic gold, the World Cup or Sports Personality of the Year. Brimming with excitement and pride, we have celebrated each and every one….even those awarded for weekly attendance at summer camp!

However, over the years, the kids have had amazing experiences related not only to their success in their preferred sports, but also to their mere particpation. I think it started when my boys took part in a penalty shoot out on Dubai’s Marathon day, as sponsored by Standard Chartered Bank. Overseen by Liverpool legend, Robbie Fowler, my boys seemed non plussed as they struck their shots as perfectly as they could (as DH was having kittens at being within touching distance of one of the ‘Pool’s greatest!). The fact that 6 year old DS2 was one of the two winners was an amazing additional bonus that saw him winging his way to Liverpool’s home at Anfield to be the team’s mascot against Spurs. Grandad, DH and DS2; three generations were mesmerised to see their heroes up close and watch DS2 have a kick about on the hallowed ground with super captain Stevie G!

At the major rugby tournaments big rugby names are invited to support the events. Our first year of attendance saw former England captain Lewis Moody, award the kids their trophies and medals. They came away with autographed boots, shirts and anything else they could get their hands on. When DS2’s team placed well in last season’s rugby, part of the prize was a personal training session with rugby 7s greats, Waisale Serevi and Ben Gollings (an evening where Dads were probably more excited than the kids!). More autographed shirts, boots and paraphenalia.

The boys’ football squads have been invited to visit the UK and take in a game at Old Trafford and join in some training sessions with a couple of London teams.

Last week DS1 had a go karting lesson with the 21 year old world champion, Sean Babbington. Swerving, weaving his way through chicanes and apexes, DS1 didn’t know he was born!

Recent research shows that experiences bring more happiness than possessions…..what can I say but my kids must be the happiest on the planet!

Shukran Dubai!

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What do you call a Heatwave in the Desert?

Posted on June 5, 2015 by Dubai Mum

It started last weekend. The end of May is unusually early. I wasn’t prepared. It felt like it came out of nowhere and blindsided me. At one point, I thought it was just me. After 7 years in the desert, I thought my body had given up and could no longer muster my internal cooling system into action to help me survive the remorseless rising mercury (either that or I had taken the first steps on the road to menopause and was suffering my first hot flashes!).

Eternally amazed (and envious) of DH’s ability to float comfortably through punishing temperatures (seriously, running the Marathon des Sables laden down with a 30kg backpack would be his threshold for breaking a sweat!), I didn’t bother to seek his counsel on whether he thought summer had arrived prematurely, and ploughed on sweatily as if all were well.

As I drove my newly serviced car to the go kart track, air conditioning on full power, I found that I just could not cool down. Beads of sweat bristled through every hair follicle on my head to goad my Celtic curls into an explosion of dried frizz. My make up felt as if it were sliding down my face, and my damp clothes began to resemble the creased mound of laundry after a particularly brutal spin cycle!

The arrival of summer in Dubai is often heralded by humourous photos and quotes posted on Facebook. A personal favourite is a photo of a driver using thick oven gloves to grip the steering wheel! A slight exaggeration of how hot a steering wheel can be, I used to think. Not anymore! It is very difficult to manouevre a large, heavy 4×4 with four half finger tips…..I genuinely considered purchasing asbestos padded oven gloves in a bid to avoid 3rd degree burns from my infernally hot steering wheel!

Walking to DS1’s go kart pit from the car park, the sun cruelly bounced off the black tarmac to make it feel like the temperature had ramped up another few degrees since I had left my house 7 minutes previously. However, on arrival everyone was complaining about the heat; men and women alike. ‘It’s like an oven’, ‘hairdryer in your face’, ‘opening an oven door to be blasted in the face with a hairdryer’, ‘two seasons: summer and hell’. Even DH chimed in with his two bits worth about the unusual ambient temperature. You get the picture…..I breathed a sweaty sigh of relief. It wasn’t just me. It wasn’t my imagination or the premature onset of the ‘change’. It was real. The temperatures had increased to ‘inferno’ level a lot sooner than usual.

Well, as it turns out a couple of things messed with my inner temperature monitor in the past week, to such an extent that I considered to moving to Greenland. Firstly, it transpired that my ‘newly serviced’ car’s air conditioning does not work to a fraction of its capacity……hence the melting into the leather seats feeling…….

Secondly, it would seem Dubai has been experiencing a ‘heatwave’. The highest registered temperature last week was 50.5C in Al Ain (Abu Dhabi). Even with registered sub-50 degrees in other parts of the UAE, the ‘real feel’ still hit the unbearable, tortuous temperature of 50C+.

Today, for the first time in over a week, my car’s themometer dropped to below 44C. Here’s to cooler temps next week! Roll on 39.5 degrees!

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The Joys of Boys

Posted on June 2, 2015 by Dubai Mum

Growing up as the middle child flanked by a brother on either side was interesting and challenging at the same time. The pre-teen years through to the later teen years were the most challenging, and required me to hone a variety of survival skills (the main one being bolting as fast as I could and locking my bedroom door behind me!). Some days it felt like I was alone, fighting my corner against the world. On other days I would forge an alliance with one or other brother depending on whom I had to battle. Either way, a lot of the time felt like it was their personal (and only) mission to annoy and provoke me.

As DD and DS1 head towards double digits, I am watching parts of my childhood unfold before my eyes. I always knew this day would come. I really hoped and prayed it wouldn’t. It’s not as if I didn’t expect them never to argue or have differences of opinion. It’s just I had hoped the teasing and provoking would not start, but I guess you can’t fight what seems to be a rite of passage for young boys!

When I first noticed it, the poking, the prodding, the nudges and the elbowing, all carried out with with a cheeky grin, I let out an internal groan. DD’s maddened face confirmed my fears – the day had come.

Still a mere novice in the art of sister persecution, DS1 has not yet perfected one of the key elements of sibling torment – it should not really be executed in front of Mummy or Daddy! That said, he has a near perfect track record in provoking the reaction he was looking for (although I am not sure if being thwacked by his sister is exactly what he was hoping for!). Looking at their kids, parents often think ‘you didn’t come with an instruction manual’, yet it seems little boys come with a well thumbed through ‘Boys’ Guide to Riling Sisters’ manual! Tailor the agitation with some of their individual moves and DD is guaranteed to react….explosively.

As difficult as it has been, I have tried not to be a ‘parachute parent’. I did not want to save DD from her twin’s teasing. em>Nor did I want to stop DS1 from his natural flow. Cue the life lesson in dealing with crap you don’t want to have to deal with, but which will inevitably crop up in every stage of your life…

Feeling DD’s pain and frustration, understanding her desire to retaliate and make her brother feel the way he makes her feel, I called on my experience and led her to the chink in DS1’s armour. A ‘silver bullet’ if you will.

‘Ignore him. Ignore what he does. I know it is hard. I know he can be annoying, but the more you react to his attempts to irk you, the more he will continue to prod. If you don’t react, he will get bored and stop.’

‘It’s not that easy Mummy!’ she would yell, her face reddening. ‘You don’t know what it is like!’

DD is right. It is not that easy. It can be tortuous, painful and relentless.

Patience is a virtue. DD has that in ‘truckloads’.

My money is on her for the years of 10 – 16 for now…..

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Mrs Mop Dubai Style

Posted on June 1, 2015 by Dubai Mum

Having live in help is an affordable luxury in Dubai. Imagine having someone to do the washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning; all of those chores most of us dread doing. An eternally spotless and tidy house….just imagine….. You get used to it. Very quickly you get used to doing nothing, just as quickly you forget how fast dust accumulates and sand sneaks under doors and through window frames. You forget that your kids drop their clothes where they are standing and have no comprehension that everything has a place. You forget the endless Everest-esque mountains of washing, daily ironing of uniforms and polishing of shoes.

However, being ‘maid-less’ paints a very different, and not so perfect picture. Before you know it, your house looks like the proverbial ‘tip’. Ahh yes, the sense of relief I felt at the departure of my trouble causing helper (and if I am honest, happiness about regaining control over my household), disappeared as rapidly as the decline in the frequency of housework!

However, even my aversion to housework has a tipping point. There always comes a point when I can’t stand it any longer. The physical clutter and lack of order encroaches on my brain and I literally feel an urge to undertake a cathartic clear out. Earlier this week, I reached that point. I am sure my long suffering DH wishes I would reach this critical point more often! Determined to make my house sparkle, I snapped on my rubber gloves, tied back my hair and rummaged through the cupboard under the sink looking for my accomplice cleaners. I was ready to do battle……

The last home I cleaned regularly (as opposed to outsourcing the job) was when we lived in a one bedroom apartment in London. 4 rooms covering 600 sq ft. I recall zipping through that. Now my house is 10 rooms covering more than 5 times that area…….where to begin???? Thinking I was clever I thought I would employ a multi-tasking approach so I loaded the washing machine and made a start on the dusting. ‘This shouldn’t take too long!’ was the rhythm in my ears.

Manouevering around stacks of DVDs, Skylander figurines, pieces of school ‘artwork’, soft toys, boxes of match attax, iPod, iPad and Wii cables, proved challenging but not as challenging mopping floors! Who would have thought mopping floors requires almost as much planning and thought as a military operation??? Starting at the furtherest point in the room and working backwards, I soon realised I was stranded in the middle of a half damp floor, out of reach of the bucket of water which I needed to finish the job. Thankfully, I was barefoot and tiptoed across the freshly mopped floor to retrieve the bucket. Disappointed to see the messy footprints I left behind, I grabbed the Dettol-water filled bucket in my left hand, the mop in my right and tried a precarious, and less than graceful reverse tip toe mopping manoevre, as I tried to erase the initial footprints. It is surprisingly difficult to mop with one hand. Images of a purple, oversized hippo in a tutu attempting ice skating continually flashed through my mind. That was how I felt I must have looked!!

Slightly deflated and tiring of the novelty of housework, I proceeded upstairs to tackle the bathrooms; smaller rooms, less chance for mopping disasters! Eager to try out my home made cleaning concoction of vinegar, lemon and baking soda, I happily sprayed the shower stall and smiled smugly as the mosaic tiles began to shine. Stepping into the stall to rinse the tiles, I realised my second domestic faux pas. The shower head is attached to the wall, with a very limited range of motion. Sensing the easiest solution would be to rinse in my birthday suit, I thought about the rest of the housework that needed to be finished, and stepped in fully clothed. To rinse I needed to position myself under the shower head, stretch up my hand and guide the water to the far end of the shower and against the walls. No matter how I tried, the water just continued to stream down my arm, creeping across my oversized ‘housework’ shirt as quickly as ink on blotting paper.

Having gone from feeling like an ice skating hippo to looking like a drowned rat in the space of two flights of stairs, I was ready to give up and give in. I cringed at my appearance; not quite sure if I looked more like a participant in a wet t-shirt competiton or an excessively lactating mum……

Is that the doorbell I hear????

If I had a maid….I could answer that….

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Fitness and Fit Bits

Posted on April 20, 2015 by Dubai Mum

When it comes to technology, I tend to loiter on the periphery. I don’t feel the need to have the latest gadget or know why it is superior to its washed up predecessor. Even still, it is hard not to pick up a thing or two about the latest gizmo on the market. So when the raving started about something called a ‘Fit Bit’, it wasn’t long before I realised that this was not a modern way of describing ‘eye candy’!

I am sure over time there have been basic devices to measure how many steps one takes in a day, but once you sync your Fit Bit with your smart phone, the device transmits more information about your activity than you could ever have thought possible. Short of making you breakfast, this clever little wristband can tell you everything from how many steps you take to how many calories you burn in a day, week, even in a month! You can record food and water intake, set targets and even challenge your friends remotely.

Persuaded by a Fit Bit believer, I finally took the plunge and bought a shocking pink device to help me walk my way to ‘fitter bits’! As walking has become my main form of exercise, I was confident (smug even) that I would zip through the recommended 10,000 steps a day, and was excited for my chic little bracelet to confirm such in all its 21st century smart technology glory!

My excitement quickly fizzled out when my Fit Bit told me how just how little we desert dwellers walk. Even with regular outdoor exercise, I was just about making the 10,000 steps! As the temperatures rise, walking is substituted with driving. You park your car as close to your destination as possible to minimise sweating, instead of further away with a view to burning more calories!

Feeling a tad ticked off with my new Fit Bit friend for being so brutally honest, I felt it was time to up the ante, beat the heat, and return to my trusty treadmill. Fit Bit? Check. iPhone synced? Check. Incline set? Check. Pace set? Check. Determined to prove the Fit Bit wrong I got ‘lycra-ed’ up. Let’s see how many steps I can knock out in 50 minutes…..Making sure I was moving my arms with each step, I couldn’t help but look for the endorphin rush of watching my steps tot up on my phone. I have to admit, I was slightly disappointed to see what looked like an average, albeit steady, increase in the number towards my daily goal. Convinced I was walking quicker than the Fit Bit cared to acknowledge I checked the distance and calorie burn calculations on my treadmill. My reliable treadmill told a very different story. My trusty friend told me I had walked further. The speed and time confirmed that distance to be more accurate. Perhaps my old friend treadmill was being kind to me; perhaps my new friend Fit Bit felt I needed to work a little harder to prove myself. There was only one way to find out – I reverted to the old fashioned method of mental maths. I counted my steps over a minute using my phone’s stopwatch. That cheeky little gizmo was cheating me out of hundreds of sweaty steps!

It seems I could clock up just as many steps on my Fit Bit by moving my arm up and down whilst in a seated position, watching TV than I could sweating it out on the treadmill…..however I will not ditch the ‘FB’….when I hit the 10,000 target each day, I will smile because I will know that I probably did a lot more!

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‘Carbed’ Out

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Dubai Mum

The past week in the Italian Alps was fabulous. Crisp, fresh snow and aquamarine skies made for a wonderful combination of a snow/sun holiday….all a welcome relief from the rapidly rising temperatures, and what I understand was one of the worst sandstorms, of the sandpit.

As much as I dreaded returning to the rising mercury of Dubai, and saying ‘arrevderci’ to la Bella Italia, I think my jeans’ belt was looking forward to a holiday from overindulgence in Italian cuisine. I know we all tend to take our foot off the portion control break when we are on hols, and are guilty of having more cheat days than ‘good’ days. On active holidays, such as ski holidays, it is even more acceptable to ensure that energy levels are kept up with generous servings at all three main mealtimes.

Having enjoyed a number of ski holidays, I was amazed at how famished I was after a few hours on the slopes. I guess regularly having to pick yourself up from each wipe out is a real calorie burner! So to top up a low fuel tank and preserve against what can often be a brutal wind chill factor on the chair lifts, full, warm meals are something the doctor would definitely prescribe!

The only thing is, that this time around, I have been a mere spectator as the kiddos and DH brace the wintry conditions in pursuit of skiing (as opposed to snow ploughing!). Not willing to aggravate a recently recovered knee injury, I decided to sit out skiing – literally sit it out on the freely available deck chairs at the bottom of the slopes! Tan top up anyone???!!

Mornings saw DH and me encouraging the kids to fill their boots with the plentiful and varied buffet on offer. Hot chocolate and scrambled eggs were favorites for my boys whereas DD zoomed in on all things pork and nutella related. Not generally a big breakfast eater, I found it very difficult to resist the variety of homemade, wholemeal breads on offer. In Dubai (thankfully) I am not tempted by supermarket bread (the day Pain Quotidien supplies supermarkets, I am in big trouble!). Alas here in Italy, the first thing in the breakfast room attacking all of my senses was the smell of freshly baked bread. How could I resist???!!!

Joining my starving budding winter Olympians for lunch I felt part of the ‘team’ as they excitedly recounted their adventures on the slopes. Feeling as if I had also expertly weaved my way down the mountainside time after time, my appetite seemed to match my imagination, and not my sometimes sedentary morning. Succumbing to my stomach’s demands, my eyes veered from their usual healthier side of the menu and wandered to the risotto, pasta part of the menu. After all eating a salad in snowy conditions just didn’t seem right; surely I would suffer brain freeze or something similar to the numbing pain of biting into a fresh scoop of ice cream with sensitive front teeth…no, it just didn’t seem right.

Well, about five days of this rich, carb filled diet, my entire digestive system just didn’t feel right, and in very unladylike and unmannerly terms seemed to be screaming at me to stop, to eat something light, something that would not induce a nap within an hour of finishing my plate. Mental note for next ski trip: only skiiers are permitted a diet of twice daily carbs. My waistline (and probably the weighing scales!) are more likely to thank me!

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Little Tibet in Europe

Posted on April 3, 2015 by Dubai Mum

If you had asked me (a non skiier) to recommend a European ski destination Italy would not have come rushing to mind. Instead my mind would have wandered to the usual suspects of Val d’Isere, Zermatt, St. Moritz, Klosters etc. in France, Switzerland and Austria. Italy is more famous for ancient ruins, breathtaking architecture, Tuscan countryside, vineyards, olive groves, crystal blue mediterranean waters, Geary pasta dishes, picturesque villages….the list goes on….but snow????

5 days into our Easter break, our first ski holiday as a family and I am already planning next year’s holiday in the home of the Azzurri!

Livigno is an unspoiled, tranquil resort comprising three side by side villages nestled in the Italian Alps, a stone’s throw from the Swiss border. Known as ‘Little Tibet’ because of its comparatively remote setting, Livigno’s charm lies in its relaxed, laid back pace. Climbing to just over 1,800 meters above sea level, Livigno’s slopes are practically guaranteed good skiing and boarding conditions until the first week of May!! The promise of snow so late in the year was the main reason DH chose this resort for our Easter trip.

On our arrival the Alps’ crown was covered and just enough snow lay on the main slopes to make skiing fun. At the village base, the roadsides sheltered exhaust fume dirtied slush and the pathways were bare and dry. The sun shone. The sky was electric blue. Skiing conditions were pretty good.

A couple of days of non stop snowing and blustery blizzards ensured a generous snowfall of up to 15cm, thus making for a lighter powder through which my little skiiers could glide and hone their skills.

The resort appeals to all levels of ability: 115km of ski area is home to 12 black runs (advanced), 37 red runs (intermediate) and 29 blue runs (beginner). Ski schools run lessons in the mornings and the afternoons, and the instructors will have the most green of beginners on the red slopes in no time!

The village itself reminds me of a distant era gone by. It is a place where neighbours take the time out of their day to stop and talk to each other, where the supermarket cashiknows on first name basis with his customers and is never too busy for a chat (irrespective of the queue forming), where grandparents push buggies containing their precious next generations. Church bells ring out every half hour. Shops close for a couple of hours to mark the afternoon siesta, allowing weary skiiers to ‘down tools’ and recharge. There is no distinction between high street fashion and haute couture here – fluorescent ski jackets, pants and fleece lined waterproofed footwear are the order of the day. There are fruit and vegetable shops selling just that and supermarkets do not stock over the counter medicines – a 2.5km trip to the nearest pharmacy is necessary for a pack of panadol. Small, boxy cars like Opel Corsas and Fiat Pandas zip though the one way streets; there are no moster 4x4s here. I think this is where lemon cars come to retire!

We have had a fabulous time in this snow haven. It has been a wonderful introduction to ski holidays, and with the kids declaring skiing as their new number one sport, I think we can safely say it has been an all round success!

Note: this is not a sponsored post!

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Snow Fun

Posted on April 1, 2015 by Dubai Mum

Livigno, like many European ski resorts is a quaint, ‘olde worlde’ village. Running through it is one main street lined with three storey wooden guest houses with colourful wooden shutters, like something straight out of Johanna Spyri’s Swiss tale of ‘Heidi’. Parallel streets are connected by short, steep hills. Every 10 metres there is a restaurant promising hearty traditional Italian fare. Sprinkled amongst the warm and welcoming restaurants are ski rental and ski attire shops as well as thrifty duty free shops touting perfume, wine, cigarettes and electronics at prices lower than any airport can boast.

We settled into our family apartment less than a five minute walk from the slopes (well, perhaps a 7 minute robot like walk in stiff, unforgiving ski boots and laden down with ski paraphernalia). The munchkins were uber excited to see real snow for the first time and could hardly wait to test out their Ski Dubai skills on real ski slopes!

Day 1 of ski lesson week saw my 3 join the excited huddle of super colourfully clad wannabe skiers, all of whom were awaiting their assessment to determine their appropriate ski level. Unfazed by the natural terrain and slightly icy conditions, my munchkins each showed off impressive snowplough technique and even managed to strut some sweet, albeit wide, turns.

DH, being the parent representative (dodgy knees…..what can I say?!!!), was not as slick as the threesome who use their age blessed lower centre of gravity to their full advantage. 50 metres and 2 wipe outs later, DH was confirmed a ‘beginner’. After a 10 year absence from the slopes, this hardly came as a shock!

The first two hour ski lesson passed as quickly as some of the downhill slalom skiers I had been watching. I waited excitedly at the bottom of the slope to greet my sure to be weary skiers after their first session in real ski conditions. The kids were full of excited chat whereas DH described his return to the slopes as ‘brutal’.

After a warm lunch DH was brave enough to take the kids back out on the slopes by himself. I felt torn: whom should I worry about more? The kids with 15+ hours of ski/snowboarding lessons under each novice belt or DH who had a 1 hour discovery ski lesson at Ski Dubai 2 days before we left for our holiday?

DS2 provided me with the answer when he recounted his adventurous afternoon: ‘Mummy, Daddy was sooooo slooow. I was tired waiting on him’!

It would seem Daddy was in good, albeit impatient, ski gloved hands!

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Ski Italia

Posted on March 31, 2015 by Dubai Mum

Last Saturday we finally set off on our first family ski holiday. Livigno, Italy….here we come. Rising with the Dubai peacocks we set off on the 6.5 hour flight from Abu Dhabi to Milan. Once there, only another 4 hour car journey to get us to the mountains. Flying 6.5 hours on a comfy plane with access to TV, movies, video games and fizzy drinks on tap makes for a great start to the hols as well as an easy travelling experience for Mummy and Daddy.

Completing our journey in an entertainment/fizzy drinks free car, DH and I took bets on how long it would be before we heard the words every parent loves to hear – ‘are we nearly there yet?’! We obviously underestimated our offsprings’ impatience…..we had not even made it out of the airport grounds before we heard it’s sister sentence ‘how much longer until we are at the hotel?’…A no nonsense glare in DS2’s direction said that was the first last time we wanted to hear that statement!

Not much looking forward to the car trip myself, the stunning scenery we witnessed on the way to our destination, Livigno, definitely helped take my mind off the tedium of motorway driving. Hugging the banks of the spectacular Lake Como, part of me wished we were holidaying there for a few days (and not just in the hope we, I mean I, might catch a glimpse of George sans Amal!). The serene beauty was lost on the kids who continued to entertain themselves with games such as ‘dead arm’, ‘Chinese burn’ and ‘who can be the most annoying sibling’.

As the incline of our route to the mountains increased the snow capped mountains came into view. Excitement grew. The kids’ eyes searched for the answer to the forbidden question. I explained that just because we were practically surrounded by mountains did not mean we were close. Indeed we were not quite 2 hours into the journey and still had some way to go. I appreciated their frustration and empathized with their impatience. As the car climbed higher, the route took in more and more man made passes which were carved into mountainsides to facilitate access to the higher plains. Being a nervous flyer, I thought my hours of praying for a safe arrival were over when we landed in Milan. Not so. It seems that pulsing through the veins of every driver on Italian roads is a wannabe Formula 1 race car driver! One would have thought that the daily craziness on Dubai’s roads would have more than prepared me for the racing track that is northern Italy’s roads…..alas….no!

White knuckled, hair raised, one eye open and praying to the man above was how I entered every mountain pass. A single meandering lane in either direction in an enclosed tunnel signaled some sort of time trial and what felt like a ‘near miss’ at every turn. Perhaps there are no speed cameras in the tunnels and drivers feel ‘safe’ from the law. Perhaps there is a thrill in driving on what follows the format of a racing track. I don’t know, but I think even non believing DH offered up a prayer or two!

Once we reached the roads skirting the mountain’s edge, I realized the tunnel races were for amateurs. High up on the narrow, icy, precipitous tracks, where the only view is downwards into what can only be described as a ‘valley of death’ is apparently where the ‘real’ fun begins. Missing each other by millimeters, cars whizz along without a care in the world. I am sure rally car race drivers take more care and pay more attention on less treacherous tracks. Trying not to infect my babies with my severe anxiety I tried my best to chat and joke with them.

Never could a conversation have ripped me from my fear induced state as the one started by DS1 3 1/2 hours into the journey:

DS1 (excitedly): ‘Mummy, can we order room service when we get to the hotel?’
Mummy (not thinking ahead): Honey, we are staying in a guest house and there is no room service. We will go out for dinner.’
DS1 (no longer excited and rather confused): ‘Whhhaaattttt? Awwwwwaaahhhhhh. I don’t want to go now. I want to go home if there is no room service!!!!!!!!!’

Expat brat alert!!!!!

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Loyalty and Allegiance

Posted on March 23, 2015 by Dubai Mum

International sporting fixtures provoke a huge, emotional outpouring in our household! Being a family of two nationalities growing up in a third culture with kids who are sports crazy makes for interesting times on any level. Cue a family contested contest: battle lines are drawn and the family splits to set up camp on one side or the other.

To the kids, nationality has nothing to do with parental nationality but rather all to do with place of birth! Applying this diktat, DD and DS1 who were born in London are English and DS2 who was born in Dublin, is Irish. Expect a glare of disapproval if you suggest for one second that they are Irish/English or English/Irish…….

Needless to say the recent annual 6 Nations (England, France, Ireland, Italy, Scotland and Wales) rugby tournament caused quite a stir in our household. At the start of this year’s tournament I noticed a minor shift in the hereto allegiances….’English’ DD and DS1 seemed open to supporting Ireland without feeling any sense of betrayal to their ‘home’ nation, to the point that by the final game of the tournament DS1 had donned his Irish rugby kit!! I suspect this turnaround may have had something to do with the fact that Ireland returned to this year’s tournament as champions ready to defend their title whilst proving to the world that they are serious World Cup 2015 contenders – the Twins couldn’t possibly have DS2 laud it over them if Ireland were to retain the title, so they cleverly hedged their bets!

Off to a good start, Ireland steamrolled over their early competition. Winning against France in France was immense; psychological barrier smashed. Phew! Anything is now possible!

Then came Wales…..Always a tough match…especially when it is in Wales. Emotionally charged. Painful. Knife edge. Hard to take. 23-16….How did that happen???

Breaking the news to my increased Ireland in house fanbase the following morning was not the easiest!

‘Mummy!’ bawled DS2 with a ferocity I had never witnessed.

‘I am taking out the 1/16th Welsh from me’ he announced whilst wriggling around as if he were genuinely trying to entice evil from his soul with his bony fingers.

Being 100% Irish, I did not see a problem with this….indeed, it left a gap which could be filled with more Irish!

Not so. DS2 had other plans.

‘I am replacing the Welsh part with FRANCE!!!’…..

Slightly disappointed. Slightly confused. Why France?

But hey! France is a beautiful country, with amazing food, fab temperatures (for summer and winter skiing!), great vino and some pretty good rugby…..how could I argue with that????

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