The Christmas Wish List – Be Prepared

Posted on December 27, 2014 by Dubai Mum

The first drafts of my kiddos’ 2014 Christmas wish lists looked very straightforward; simple even! Could it be that Santa shopping this year would be easy???? Dare I dream???

My heart beamed with pride when I read DS1 included on his list ‘a hug from Mummy and Daddy’ and ‘a good Christmas dinner’ (although this wish did make me think last year’s dinner was not ‘good’ and perhaps DS1 was hinting at ‘ordering in’ a ready made Christmas dinner!) Not one to be outdone, DS2 topped his list with ‘5 cans of mountain dew’ and a few lines later followed up with ‘chicken’! I have to admit, the fact my boys wished for food did me make me question if I am feeding them enough….Knowing she receives them in abundance, clever DD didn’t waste valuable wishes on food or sentimentality, and instead carefully planned a substantial increase in the size of her soft toy menagerie.

Once I was made privy to the first drafts, I felt quietly confident that I could tick off the list contents in one trip to the mall (history in the making!), so much so I didn’t stress out over the usual pre-Christmas prep, and decided to leave the mall trip to closer to the big day. Sure, there were still 3 weeks to go; I had oodles of time!!

As the days passed, the children added the odd new wish to their respective lists. A Build-a-Bear, a football, tennis balls, pyjamas, snow globe and the like. My confidence was palpable – one trip to the mall and perhaps a few trips back and forth to the car park to store my booty in the car in between purchases.

As we entered the third week of December and not having observed any obvious improvement in ‘Santa Claus-is-watching’ behaviour, ‘more expensive-difficult to procure-you’ve got to be kidding me!’ type requests magically crept on to the by now 5th draft of the lists. I suspect the kids were playing mind games with Mummy and Daddy…..’let’s just see if Santa really exists….If he does, it doesn’t matter how much notice he gets and he will know which gifts you really want….The ‘not-happenin-cos-Mummy-and-Daddy-are-not-made-of-money-or-want-to-look-after-your-pet’ wishes included a puppy, an iPad mini, a full sized Go Kart (approx AED22,000!!!), an overnight extension to a bedroom. The ‘nigh-on-impossible-to-get-in-Dubai’ wishes included shirts, lunch boxes and underwear of a certain football team. At this stage’Doables’ didn’t feature high on anyone’s list…….

My smug football sideline chat with other ‘we’re-not-leaving-anything-to-the-last-minute footy mums’ was the first cringeworthy memory to slap me in the face…..repeatedly!

How do I possibly make up for the ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ requests??? At this stage???? 5 days until the Big Man was due to swoop down the fake Dubai chimney and fill my front room with colourfully wrapped gifts? As tempting as it was I couldn’t just ignore the requests and insist that the first draft is the only draft Santa considers….

Cue panicked, rushed, impulse purchases….Talk about last minute! Looking at the rushed purchases on Christmas eve, I still felt the need to send DH out for a few bits and pieces to ‘even things up’!

Lesson learned……request a more definitive list by the end of the first week of December and start shopping then!!!

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Tricky Hallow’een

Posted on November 4, 2014 by Dubai Mum

‘How many more days until Hallow’een?’ rings out on loop in our house from about 1st of September each year. With breezy summer holidays sneaking into the distance, excitement about the next celebration mounts. Hallow’een is just that: the perfect half way house between the start of school and half-term, the end of summer holidays and Christmas.

As soon as the orange and black decorations appear in the shops, DD commences her own version of torture: begging me to let her decorate the house, planning her fright night costume, egging me on to buy tonnes of ghoulishly wrapped candy all whilst plotting her ‘trick or treat?’ route to ensure a bigger candy haul than last year! Against this background of diligent planning it feels like we are sufficiently prepared to welcome the spirits for a 3 week vacation and not just the one evening they are usually granted to move between our world and theirs!

Somehow this year was different. The first week of October came and went without any festive purchases. The second week of October mirrored the first week. Knowing I had a wealthy stash of decorations stored at the back of a dank, dark cupboard, I didn’t feel the need to whizz around the shops to pick up a ‘fresh look’. But by this stage DD was practically having kittens. In her eyes, Hallow’een is as much about the month of preparation as the night of ‘trick or treating’ itself. At least every other day should involve doing something to honour the spooks. I think she was beginning to believe one of her favourite celebrations would be cancelled in our house this year. To persuade her otherwise, we went costume shopping on the third weekend and my crypt master and ninjas were born.

All that was needed was the ‘trick or treaters’ candy. Feeling calm, I didn’t think I needed to concern myself about this until the last minute.

Errr……WRONG

31st October. 4PM – Assumed I had enough time to shop to fuel sugar crazed kids. Treating is unquestionably better than facing the alternative of being tricked!

As I sauntered into the local supermarket, I was taken aback by the number of customers busily filling their trolleys. Making a beeline for the candy aisle, I felt a slight rise in my blood pressure. Faced with a scene straight out of Old Mother Hubbard’s cupboard, DD observed in a high pitched shrill ‘there’s nothing left, Mummy’. It was as if Dubai had declared a state of emergency and the shelves has been raided by people planning to live in security bunkers for weeks. And no one told me!!!

‘How? Why? Where has all the candy gone?’ I whispered.

A few lonely packets of Werther’s Originals and liquorice hard boiled sweets were left strewn across the cream, metal shelves.

‘I can’t give excited kids hard boiled sweets that gummy grandads suck’ I thought as I watched a 10 year old girl be lifted onto her dad’s shoulders to retrieve the only remaining, exciting looking candy from the 2.5 metre high top shelf.

The situation required quick thinking. Trick or Treating was due to start at 6pm. The kids needed time to get ready. That left about 45 minutes to avoid candy catastrophe chez nous!

Assuming the next nearest supermarket would not be as thronged DD and I made the emergency 5 minute dash and 15 minute loop round for car parking. I have to admit, I offered up a little prayer on my trot to the candy aisle. Apparently the powers that be do not respond to such harried/selfish/irrelevant/unimportant requests.

Another supermarket. More bare shelves. But this time, the pricey chocs were left on the top shelf. What choice did I have?

AED250 (Euros50, £41) later I skipped my way to my car……’who is going to be the neighbourhood’s favourite candy house now????!!!’

Premature celebration alert…..when you take your kids ‘trick or treating’ for 1.5 hours, you kinda miss daring the kids to trick you!

AED250 divided by 2 guests……that’s one expensive Hallow’een!

BUMMER.

(Just finished this post with a word count of 666….now feeling very scared!)

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10 minutes I’d rather forget!

Posted on October 15, 2014 by Dubai Mum

The day I have been dreading snuck up on me quicker than I could lace up my running shoes. Gym kit? Check. Running shoes? Check. Water? Check. Sweat absorbing accessories? Check. Sounds like I am about to embark on Marathon des Sables, the toughest footrace on earth, right?? If only. I genuinely think I would have preferred that option. Alas an injury sustained in my nascent running club career saw me heading to my physio for a biomechanical analysis.

Thinking this sounded more like a procedure that my car would undergo during a 20k service, I wanted to cry when my physio explained what was really involved.

All this just to anaylse my running gait??? Seriously? A train of thoughts sped through my mind. “I had only just started back running. As much as I enjoyed it, it wasn’t that important to me. Perhaps I should just follow the surgeon’s advice and switch to less punishing on the joints form of exercise?”

Sensing my reluctance to do the analysis, my physio skillfully shut down all options of ducking out by explaining that any glitches in my gait could still cause other aches and pains even when walking…….

D-Day

After a quick warm up my physio said ‘Take off your top and hop up on the treadmill, and I’ll get the camera ready’………Not quite as saucy as it sounds!

A biomechanical analysis checks to see if any joint is out of alignment and thereby causing undue stress on other joints. What is involved?

Picture this if you will……a woman on the inclining side of my 4th decade, donned in nothing more than my sports bra, lycra knee length shorts and trainers, I tentatively stepped onto the treadmill. Having someone watch and record me running was bad enough…..but why the need for the floor to ceiling mirror in front of the treadmill?????? The situation was traumatising enough without being forced to watch my pasty, jiggly self jog…..You see, in my head, I am still 25……but my body, and in particular my right knee refuses to support this notion!!!

In his bossy tone the physio ordered ‘no running, no walking (apart from the necessary), no pressure on your knees, and all the rehab exercises.’ I nodded compliantly whilst secretly dreading the tedium of the exercises.

‘We’ll do the test again in 6 weeks and hopefully we’ll see an improvement.’

My mind reacted in horror: Again???? It took all my strength to order my face not to betray me before my practical side kicked in; I must remember to get a more supportive sports bra!

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My First Brush with the UAE Law

Posted on September 14, 2014 by Dubai Mum

Day 2 of the New School Run

DS2 is now in a new school. DD and DS1 are still at the ‘old’ school, waiting for oversubscribed year 4 places at the ‘new’ school to open up.

Leaving DS2 on day 2 was less traumatic than his first day at his new school, and I set off on my post school drop off run home feeling a lot less guilty and emotional. Not being familiar with that end of town, I followed my basic, albeit traffic laden and probably longer route, home. Approaching a green traffic light in front of a very large yellow box, I slowed to assess whether the traffic on the other side of the box would clear quickly enough for me to get across the rather large yellow box. Thinking it would, I creeped up to the line after the lights but before the box. Needless to say the lights conspired against me and turned RED. Of course they did! As I sat there observing the traffic on the other side of ‘no man’s land’, I was disheartened that it didn’t appear to be moving at all. Frustrated and ticked off, I actually thought about taking a not so legal right turn…..but if I were careful….I might just stand a chance of driving instead of standing still cursing Dubai’s rush hour traffic.

Alas, the almost fleeting thought of illegal turns was vanquished at the mere sight of traffic moving on the other side of the yellow box. Cue green lights and me happily on my way…..

My ‘phew’ moment was shortlived. A nod and a gesture from a police officer on a CHIPs (showing my age!) motorbike indicated that my dubious transgression had been noticed. He was practically writing the ticket as he pulled me over.

First thought – You are flippin’ kidding me…I didn’t impede or cause danger to anyone!
Second thought – You know what??? Am so emotionally exhausted, just fine me!!
Third thought – DH ain’t gonna be happy
Fourth thought – If I pay the fine, will DH ever need to know????

It’s quite amazing how many thoughts one can have in 45 seconds!

Dubai drivers being Dubai drivers stood their ground and refused to allow me to cross lanes to where the Police Officer motioned I should pull in. However, when he kindly made it clear to other motorists that I was about to get a dressing down, it was like Noah parting the Red Sea, such was the relief that it wasn’t them in the firing line. As I gingerly inched my tank across the lanes, I couldn’t help but contemplate the irony of being pulled over (for what I believed was a non-hazardous offence) to a lane on the road where people were actually parked so they could drop off their kiddos at the nearby school. As the lane was full with hazard lights’ flashing parked cars I had no option but to pull up alongside the police officer’s motorbike which left my car jutting out into the middle lane and thereby causing an actual traffic hazard…..

I wound down my window and the officer greeted me in Arabic. Thank goodness I could respond!

With a cheeky smirk he asked if I knew what I had done wrong.

I explained it wasn’t as it seemed. Given my position on the road, he suggested I jumped a red light. I explained that was not the case. Indeed, if anything, I was being ultra safety conscious by not proceeding.

‘I need to see your driver’s licence and car registration. I will be back once I have fined this idiot’ he said as he gestured to the car parked on the road in front of me!

He was clearly on a roll.

I nervously opened my wallet. I hadn’t seen the car registration card for a while. Indeed DH often takes it when he puts the car in for a service. I found my licence no problem but I was at a loss as to where the car registration was….

When he returned, I was rummaging through my wallet for the third time looking for the car registration and praying it was not an offence to not have the car registration in the car but knowing full well it is in every country on the planet.

I handed over my licence and explained I was at a loss as to where the car registration card was. Don’t quote me but I think I saw his eyes change to $ signs behind his aviator shades.

Thinking out loud I said ‘I think DH has it, as he takes it when he puts the car in for a service’ (not having any real clue of when the last service was but at the same time reminding myself that the car is due for a service!).

‘What about your glove compartment?’ he helpfully suggested.

Checking the compartment as requested, I explained I doubted it would be in there. If only he had suggested the sunglasses compartment above the rear view mirror……

Shaking his head from side to side and smiling he asked ‘What to do with you?’

‘Passing the traffic lights with nowhere to go on the other side of the yellow box and now no car registration? That’s two offences. AED800 fine and your car impounded for 3 days’.

Not one to ever consider worming my way out of a fine, I burst into action……I could not afford to lose my car for a day, let alone 3, especially now that we have two different school runs at polar opposite ends of town to manage each day.

‘Oh officer. I am not familiar with this area. So much traffic. Too much traffic. I was trying to stay safe and not cause an obstruction. This would be my first traffic fine in 7 years (how I conveniently forgot the back to back speeding fines I racked up last year on the work – school run!).’

Attention grabbed.

Having ascertained where I live, he asked why I was at this end of town at this time of the morning.

‘Dropping off my son at his new school’ I replied (thanking God he hadn’t pulled me over the day before when I could hardly see through my puffy, cried out eyes).

‘Do you not have any schools near where you live?’

‘Not as good as this one’ I countered.

Not quite following the relevance of his questioning, I didn’t dare not answer.

‘Where do you work?’ came his next question.

‘At home’ I replied without elaborating.

‘Where does your husband work?’

‘DIFC’ I said wondering if he thought about busting my hubby for allowing me out without my car registration card!

‘This time, I will not fine you. You know you did wrong. Do not pass a green light again until it is clear on the other side of the box’ he advised in a friendly tone.

I wanted to kiss him as I imagined following his advice in reality. In a country where one his honked from behind within a millisecond of the traffic lights turning green, to stop at a green light for traffic to clear on the other side of a yellow box would cause the ultimate in road rage!

Immensely relieved I smiled and offered ‘My husband will be doing the school run from tomorrow, so I won’t get caught up in this horrendous traffic. Shukran officer.’

‘I think that is best. You should be at home. Let your husband do the driving’ he responded with a near salute.

In any other country, I would probably have been insulted at that comment but not here. I actually believe he thought a woman should not have to be subjected to crawling through jam packed traffic, amongst so many idiot drivers….women should be at home, taking it easy, whilst husbands sweat it out (literally!) in rush hour.

I couldn’t but say a prayer for that lovely officer that evening.

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Where the Streets are Paved with Gold

Posted on August 20, 2014 by Dubai Mum

So many expats in Dubai scarper the minute the school bell tolls for the last day of the summer term. Lurching towards 9 weeks of book/test/teacher – less holidays uber-excited kids are catapulted out of classroom doors. However which way one describes the desert summer heat, be it ‘oppressive’, ‘sizzling’, ‘sweaty’, ‘unbearable’, ‘hell on earth’, ‘hell’s sister’, ‘hell on rollerblades’….you get the point…..surprisingly it could be bearable if one didn’t have 3 very active kids to entertain…..

For me, it is crucial to keep the kids entertained whilst simultaneously burning off their boundless energy so that at the very least, an 8 hour sleep through the night is a veritable certainty rather than just a mere pipe dream. A pinch of fresh air and a nub of the unfamiliar of home make for the perfect recipe for inquisitive, engaged, contented bubs (with the added bonus of possibly allowing Mummy a lie in – I know….the Oxford dictionary defines ‘lie in’ as ‘Remain in bed after the normal time for getting up: if I’m not due anywhere I’ll lie in until something kick-starts the day!).

As my 3 reconnected with their familiar haunts, I noticed DS1 had acquired a new ‘activity’ to his list of ‘things he loves to do in Ireland’. Indeed it seemed this activity was his favourite.

Unlike Dubai, my hometown in Ireland is a quiet-ish (compared to world cities), pavement rich town. If you need milk, you walk to the shop. If the kids want to go to the park, you walk. If you want to go to the beach, you walk. That is one of the best parts about being home during the summer, walking is a necessity (and to an extent replaces Dubai’s indoor gym workouts, and all without even realising you are actually exercising).

Walking everywhere gives you time to notice things that are just an unnoticeable, uninteresting blur when you are driving. Walking becomes like a voyage of discovery: you notice the new shops, the old shops, the vacated shops. You stop off at the newsagents to buy the local paper. You collect early fallen conkers and ripe pine cones from the pavement. You jump into every puddle (well, maybe the kids do!). You avoid walking on the pavement grooves (this one is easier to join in with!). You push every button on every pedestrian light (because the more you hammer it, the quicker the lights will change!!!). You guess the time it takes until the light turns green. You amble through the church and light a candle. You play the lottery and hope for the best. You buy fruit and veg from fruit and veg markets/outdoor shops. You lick ice cream on a breezy beach. You scald your mouth on freshly cooked fish ‘n’ chips whilst shivering on the boardwalk.

This summer walking presented DS1 with the opportunity to add to his piggy bank stash! Dropped coins. Coins left in parking meters. These were just the start. Before we knew it, he was on all fours in every shop, scouring the monochrome tiles for glittering pieces of copper. Realising he often couldn’t reach the coins that were daring enough to roll under freezers, counters, cash tills, he acquired a stick with which to shuffle them out into his overexcited little hands. A morning at the Amusements proved almost more than he could take. Stick in hand, he prodded, poked, slid, shuffled, enticed and scooted out every coin that had been dropped in the previous 6 months…..honestly, the bouncers must have been happy to see the back of him!

A booty of AED20 in one morning was his best haul……gotta say, he beat me hands down. Let’s just say, the Irish Lotto took a lot more money off me than it returned……

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Gone Fishing

Posted on August 8, 2014 by Dubai Mum

When I had office jobs I always had the urge to post a ‘Gone Fishing’ sign on my office door when I jetted off for my summer holidays. I didn’t actually want to go fishing; I just wanted my holidays to mirror the warm, lazy, zen summer feeling that the image of ‘going fishing’ evokes. Just like Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘Summertime’…..’Summertime and the livin’ is easy, fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high’ – those kind of cool, breezy, carefree times were what I dreamt of. My colleagues would envy me and I would feel a world away from my tedious, sedentary job.

Alas that was B.K. (before kids)! Now ‘Gone Fishing’ means just that……we’ve taken the kids fishing. No envious colleagues, just envious Mummies annoyed that they hadn’t thought of this novel activity first!

Growing up in the Emerald Isle where the fishing industry accounts for a sizeable chunk of the economy in terms of revenue and employment, one might be misled to think that we Irish were born with fishing rods in our hands instead of silver spoons in our mouths. NOT so. Having been raised close to the sea, lived in a town and within walking distance of the countryside, I seem to fall through all kinds of cultural and geographical gaps…..DH is of a similar ilk and needless to say, outdoors’ activities are not something pulsing through his veins.

So when DS1 begged us to take him fishing on this Irish summer holiday, we were instantly filled with fear. Images of sitting on cliff edges on the rim of the Atlantic Ocean screamed through my virgin fishing mind. I was having flashbacks to ‘The old man and the sea’, with the fish taking charge and burying me in the sea!

That was until my wise brother suggested what now seems the obvious – ‘why don’t you try the fish farm up the road? Guaranteed to catch something and the look of delight on their faces is worth every penny/euro/dirham/dollar!’

Fishing day came. It was a chilly, damp morning when we set off to Laragh in the depths of Ireland’s garden, Wicklow. As we drove deeper into the countryside, the clouds swooped in to mask our path to the fish farm. I was glad I had thought of bringing fleece wear in what was supposed to an Irish heatwave. Shivering, we waited patiently for the junior pondkeeper to arrive.

When he did, I asked for 3 rods and sufficient bait. The bait consisted of sweetcorn kernels and a brown, foul smelling mush that looked like poop but which DD insisted was chocolate cookie dough! I don’t know what terrified me more – the sharp fishing hooks or the thought of touching the poop bait. For a few uncomfortable seconds after receiving the equipment, I stood waiting for instructions on how to use the contraptions. Nothing. Refusing to accept I had to figure this out for myself (and possibly risk serious injury!) I asked the pondkeeper chap to demonstrate how we should safely use the equipment.

His simple tutorial led to a fish being caught in what seemed like record breaking time of sub 5 seconds. ‘At Euros 3.90 per fish caught, this could be a very expensive morning of entertainment’, I thought.

The first victim wriggled, wrangled and desperately tried to free itself from the incredibly sharp hook that now gauged its inner cheek. Once the pondkeeper got hold of it, he reached into his back pocket and whipped out a blunt looking piece of wood. Feeling woozy looking at the blood oozing from the poor fish’s mouth, I could not have prepared myself for what was about to happen next. Holding the fish in his left hand, his right hand wielding the wood; he began to beat the fish over the head until it was dead. Unmoved he placed the now officially ‘dead’ fish in a white plastic bag and flung it on the bench by our fishing spot.

By this point my stomach was lurching and even though I couldn’t watch the ‘finishing off’ of the fish, I berated myself for exposing my babies to such barbarity. Errr that was…until I peeled a squeamish eye open to spy on their reactions. Polar opposite reactions – they were fascinated, enthralled, captivated. Experiencing a life they have never seen.

‘Lemme try’ came the yelps that signalled the battle for the first one to try to catch a fish.

Without even a glance in my direction DH assumed control. I can hardly cope with a wobbly tooth, let alone a bloodied, squirming fish battling for its life.

For each child DH cast off with a kernel of corn as bait. In some cases his offer was immediately accepted and the fish tugged on the bait, became entrapped and were open to being reeled in by the least experienced of our posse. Steadily reeling their prey towards them there were enough grins to power a county’s grid. Shrieks of unbridled, toothless happiness reigned and ‘warriors’ were born.

Until the critter surfaced, struggling and fighting capture with every fibre of its being.

Then everyone fled. Scrambling for safer grounds, each child panicked and ran. Horrified and terrified of this fish beast, they ran screaming for the hills. DH was left holding the rod and the struggling fish dangling on the end of that rod. Nothing could deter him from his mission. Not even the supposed dead ‘fish in a plastic bag’ that was thrown on the bench…….until that Darwinian fish rolled off the bench in its plastic bag and scared the ‘bejaypers’ out of him…..

6 trout and 50 euros + one ripped hook finger later (the hilarity of it all – I hooked my finger!!) = a great day out!

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Out of the Mouths of Babes

Posted on August 5, 2014 by Dubai Mum

After a long day wandering through Dublin’s streets, we arrived in a Gastro pub in my home town. With 3 famished kids in tow, the countdown to the arrival of their food order became a game of wills and a test of my nerves.

‘How long will it be until dinner arrives?’ moaned my first born as he passed the menu to the polite server.

‘How many minutes until dinner is here?’ yelled DS2 as Heidi, our server, made an almost clean getaway from our table.

Conspiring with every fibre (if I have any left!) of my being, I tried to answer patiently.

Needless to say, the threesome who were by now fixated on the muted TV screen in front of them, forgot their orders.

Xavi of Spain retired from International Football.

‘Xavi is sooooo old’ commented DS1.

‘How old is old?’ I asked.

’34’ announced DS1 with pride stemming from a question that I could not answer.

Without thinking my reaction was ‘Oh to be 34 again!’

Not anticipating the reaction of DD ‘Why would you want to be 34 again?’, I had to think fast.

‘Because that was when I fell pregnant with you two (DD is a twin)’

DS2, who was not listening properly, piped up to ask:

‘What? You were the President????’

I wish.

It transpired DS2 thought I had served as the US President…..cuter than cute

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Bounce!

Posted on July 30, 2014 by Dubai Mum

Dubai is always on the lookout for the latest, hot (no pun intended) trend to persuade parents to part with their hard earned, tax free cash. Not short of interesting and often unusual things to do in the desert (think: learning to ski, ziplining and rock climbing), it is still surprisingly easy to persuade parents to spend even more. Ever eager to offer their darlings a fresh, new experience, without question, they willingly hand over the dosh to fund the continuously stimulated Dubai bub the platinum experience. And let’s not forget, as with all things ‘Dubai’, there is always the rush to the top of the queue to experience the latest gimmick whilst earning ‘finger on the pulse’ points with your kids and amongst parent peers!

As a rule, I like to see new attractions first go through their teething problems and come out the other side safer. Ever since hearing about one of the lifts in the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa, grinding to a halt mid journey for a number of hours, I like to err on the conservative side of caution and avoid all injuries including but not limited to those involving blood, broken limbs, concussion, bruises and even pushing that one wobbly tooth that has been hanging on forever by a gummy thread, over the edge and into the tooth fairy’s greedy hands.

Alas, sweltering desert summer temperatures + 3 energetic kids = mummy doesn’t have time to wait for all teething problems to be ironed out when it comes to entertaining kids in the desert’s sizzling temperatures. So, rather than have the kids bouncing off the walls, I booked them an hour’s session at one of Dubai’s latest play areas – Bounce!

A warehouse of wall-to-wall, multi coloured trampolines is, without doubt, every child’s dream world. Bouncing, tumbling, flipping, dodgeballing, slam dunking basketballs, back flipping, optimistic somersaults, bum bouncing, springing, jolting, bolting, and at times flying; wall walking, running, hopping, cart wheeling, free wheeling……anything goes….as long as you have a general clue of what you are doing! Supplied with rainbow coloured, gummy glue gripping socks, my 3 launched themselves over the black canvasses like wannabe Olympic gymnasts. Within minutes they were mimicking the bigger kids who were attempting Harlem Globetrotter dunking moves and not long after that were engrossed in a bouncing battlefield of softballs being blasted at them as they fought fiercely to hold onto their bouncy spot.

Infected by the fearlessness surrounding me, I was itching to try it out. It looked like so much fun. It looked easy. Well, the kids made it look easy. My keen adult awareness of not wishing to make a fool of myself held me back until I realised falling on my ass in a place that such a move is considered a legitimate move was not going to make me look so much of a fool as it would do in any other sporting endeavour!

And let’s face it, anything that can burn as many calories in 10 minutes as it takes to jog off in 33 is worth a shot!

Like a reluctant dancer in the middle of the disco dance floor (#showingmyage) I ventured onto a trampoline. I testily began pushing my feet against the flexible fabric underfoot, as if I were checking the firmness of the ice on a recently frozen winter lake. As I focused on keeping my balance, landing on my ass looked the better of all potential options. Let’s face it, I couldn’t afford to fall over and break something. I had to drive the kids home!

As my confidence grew and my inner daredevil level beckoned for freedom, I found my feet lifting off the trampoline. Before I knew it, I was turning (and probably gurning at the same time!), twisting, and springing my knees up to 90 degrees……Feeling like Mary Lou Retton (#again#showingmyage), I felt exhilarated. I felt my calves working. I was beginning to build up a sweat and my breath became rapid. Even moderate bouncing was proving to be a workout without feeling like a workout.

5 minutes in, I felt a a little pressure, a little strain. If I were jogging, this would have been in the knees or the hips. On the trampoline it was more of a ‘nether’ region pressure……the kind one dreads after childbirth has done a number on those nether ‘regional’ muscles…..As I slowed my bouncing on the taut, black rubber sheet, I had one thought……’could I blame it on the 4 year old who was there before me????’

#Mortified

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Dubai, the Departure Lounge

Posted on June 27, 2014 by Dubai Mum

When we moved to Dubai, I was adamant that we would only do a visa term of 3 years. ‘Why would anyone want to spend more than that in all year round searing, sizzling heat?’ Almost 7 years and 3 ‘visa runs’ later, we can think of nowhere better to call home. On the other hand, I am sure there are plenty of expats who thought they were embarking on a time unlimited adventure, only to be leaving a lot sooner than planned/anticipated/expected/hoped for.

Expats accept Dubai is a transitory place; people come, people go. Some have waved goodbye to many a friend; for others this is virgin territory.

Until this summer, I belonged to the latter of these groups. Like most good things in life, I knew it couldn’t last forever. Now for the first time, I am standing by watching two good friends as they prepare to depart Dubai this summer for pastures new; one for home (although not pastures new exactly, but after 8 years + 2 children later it is in a way) and one for a new adventure in another Middle Eastern country.

The Middle East mover is a friend I met when we were both relatively new to Dubai and our kids were starting out at nursery for the first time. When I cast my mind back almost 7 years, I see me, a mum of 3 kids 2 years and under. I was exhausted, and nervous about the decision DH and I had made to uproot our young family for a country we had never lived in, let alone visited before. Looking to tire out the ‘perpetual motion’ Twins and give them something different to look at, I signed them up for a new nursery that had opened up in the area in which we lived. My friend, N, was in a similar position. N and I unknowingly bonded in the reception area of the nursery as we tried (and failed) to sever the umbilical cord with our first borns. The rest, as they say, is history.

We bonded. Our kids bonded. N’s daughter was my kids’ first real friend in Dubai. To this day, they share a bond. No matter how long they go without seeing each other, they still reunite like best buddies and every playdate is like a party of kids tanked up on fizzy drinks and frosted fairy cakes!

As for N, she became like one of my best friends from home; a sister I never had. That is what made our friendship special. Even though I had only known N for a short period of time, I felt like we connected. Hailing from different countries, we shared similar values with regard to our kids and life in general. I think it is a question of ‘Expat Time’ mixed with a pinch of ‘experience’ and a nub of ‘wisdom’.

As an expat of 20 years (eeek….I so wish that read ‘As a 20 year old expat’!!!) in various countries, I have always felt that making a good friend in each posting was a life lesson and meant to be. My Dubai ‘soul mate’ is someone I can talk to, someone in whom I confide, someone who will tell me the truth, be honest with me, be real with me……and with whom I can be the same. No judgment. No ‘right’ or ‘wrong’. A ‘safe’ place; like home. A recipe for best friends. I will miss her so much. No words necessary. Tears are being shed in private.

S, my ‘school’ friend is heading home. \Home for her is quite different to when she left. She now returns with two amazing boys to a place in which she has never lived; to a country in which her UK passport holding boys have never lived. The ‘Holy Grail’ beckons. It entices. It tempts. Alas the practicalities of Daddy’s job is the decider. I will miss S’ candid views, her enviable Dubai GPS skills and her incisive insight into cultures with which I am not familiar…..

As we say in Ireland…..’May the road rise to meet you and may the sun be always at your back’. An Irish blessing. N and S – you will always be in my heart and my prayers.

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Simple Summer Saving Graces

Posted on June 17, 2014 by Dubai Mum

As the desert temperatures creep relentlessly towards the sky, as mums on the afternoon leg of school runs accept that ‘sweating’ is now an unpalatable part of Dubai life, as heat absorbing black becomes the only reliable colour that doesn’t show just how much one sweats, as the countdown to departing the desert dunes for the cooler climes of home filters into every conversation, there are certain things that I have come to appreciate during my time in the sandpit:

– Power steering…..how else could I drive a 4 x 4 tank using just 4 fingertips?? 50 degrees celsius outside – 90 degrees celsius inside the car!
– Shade – of any kind….for the kids and I as we dart from AC to the car. For the car itself!
– Towels – now I know why people put towels on their car seats….try sitting on a leather car seat of a car that has been sitting in the sun for more than 30 mins!! Not even Shaolin monks would be able to block out thatpain!
– A chilled swimming pool within 2 minutes walking distance of our house – the perfect antidote for ‘bouncing off the summer walls’ kids.
– Petrol pump attendants – If I had to do it myself, I would be a puddle on the ground next to my car!
– The wide and varied choice of salons. Having a perfect pedi is a small but appreciated contribution to style in temperatures that make hair frizz, faces red, joints swell and every pore drip with sweat.
– Drive thru McDonalds – a staple of my kids’ summer diet is a one dirham ice cream from Micky Ds. Thankfully there is a drive thru not far from the school. With my boys stripped down to their boxers in the back of the car, the precious ice cream cools the most heated tempers of three overtired, overheating kiddos on the ride home!
– Keratin – Humidity is so unkind to most of us; in fact all of us. However, humidity is particularly brutal to those of us with curly, wavy, non-poker straight hair. Frizz bomb, poodle…call it what you like but no amount of gel or frizz eeze can match the results keratin treatments offer to make hair manageable and non harassed looking!
– Gardeners – even with artificial grass gracing the back yard, there are still borders which need raking and watering. Left to my own devices, it would resemble an overgrown jungle because for the next 3 months I would, as previously indicated, resemble a useless, frizzy puddle of sweat pooled in my fancy artificial grass.

Shukran Dubai for helping me survive the desert summer!

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