7 things I’ve smiled about this week

🙂 The fact that today (Tuesday) is ‘hump day’ in this part of the world – actually nothing to do with camels, but the middle of the week, after which it’s a downhill slide all the way to the weekend.

🙂 The cooler temps when I leave work at 5.30pm. I looked lovingly at my boots in the cupboard this morning (soon!) and grabbed a jacket to wear at the office (air-conditioning set in the Arctic zone).

🙂 The nod my website received in The National newspaper today! The ol’ blog was mentioned in an article on social media – as was my 6YO’s choice of future ‘wife’ (so glad it was anonymous, he’ll kill me when he’s 18 and realises I divulged that in the national press). Click here to read the article, on whether parents are guilty of oversharing their children’s lives.

🙂 The gift DH brought me from London. Nothing fancy, nothing sparkly, just something I really felt like: a Pret a Manger sandwich. Sometimes it’s the small things that you just can’t get here.

🙂 A search I noticed in my blog stats. Somebody had misguidedly, and very funnily in my opinion, googled: ‘How many wives can an expat have in Dubai?’

🙂 The words that tumbled out of my 4YO’s mouth this evening: “Mummy, I’ve eaten too many carb-o-hi-dwates today…”

🙂 The origami my oldest son did at bedtime tonight. He asked me to make a boat, which I managed to do after several attempts. Then he elaborated, with some sellotape, a few folds and a scrunch. And, wouldn’t you know, it suddenly had four funnels and was heading straight for an iceberg.

The obsession continues…

Silent Sunday: Pumpkin price shocker

At £21/$34 for a medium-sized pumpkin, I think we’ll borrow my friend B’s brilliant idea of carving watermelons instead – much more fun, anyway, thanks to their red glow!

Possibly the most expensive vegetable ever, this is on sale at our local supermarket. If you carved it, you’d have to make pie too. The good news for those of us in Dubai is I hear pumpkins are much cheaper at Park ‘n’ Shop, Union Co-op and, of course, the fruit & veg market

The Gruffalo: He’s behind you!

I’m always looking for something a little different to do on a Friday – a day that, I’ll admit, is my least favourite of the week.

Today, I had tickets for the children and myself to see The Gruffalo at the Madinat Theatre. I’d booked the show weeks ago, and just as well – it was a complete sell-out and crammed to the rafters with children under 8 wanting to catch a glimpse of a man-in-a-feathery-padded-suit with purple prickles on his back and a wart on his face.

A friendly beast, if ever there was one

Despite their protestations that they’d happily eat popcorn for lunch, we fed the boys at the nearby Noodle House first, where I’ve quite honestly never seen so many little uns, some dressed really nicely, dining on roasted duck with hoisin sauce and wok-fried noodles before going to the theatre.

“Kids in Dubai – they don’t know they’re born,” I chuckled to myself, and quite possibly murmured to DH under my breath.

After taking our seats, the excitement mounted as the lights dimmed and the story of the quick-witted mouse who encounters a string of predators began.

“Where’s the Gruffalo?” LB immediately asked.

“He’ll come on last,” I explained, multiple times – exhaling with relief when he did finally appear half an hour in (which, let’s face it, feels like a year to a four-year-old).

There were belly laughs and roars, the actors leapt all over the stage and the Gruffalo – to everyone’s delight – romped around the audience. Parents chortled, too, no doubt grateful they were being given the chance to sit down on a Friday.

Playing skillfully on children’s fears (without, thank goodness, giving them nightmares about upturned toes for weeks), it was really very funny – but, six-year-old kids, they’re not easily fooled.

“What did you think of the hungry fox?” I asked the boys afterwards.

“Oh, him,” replied BB, casually. “He was just a man with an orange T-shirt and a fake tail attached to his belt.

“Why, didn’t you know?

Fog season in Dubai

When we woke up this morning, Dubai was draped in a silky mist – which might sound romantic, but in fact makes for a craaaazy, almost heart-stopping start to the day.

Eerie: Dubai shrouded in early-morning mist. Thanks to @Linda_FB’s hubby for this great photo, taken this morning

If you could stay in bed and just look at all the photos going round Twitter it might actually feel cozy, but for most of us, the early-morning fog that blankets the emirate at this time of year is greeted with an inward groan.

I peered out the window and could just see the main road, but knew immediately what the fog meant: numpties forgetting to put their headlights on, despite two-metre visibility; drivers going too fast; and turning their hazards on (creating more confusion).

The school bus got lost in our compound, flights were diverted to Saudi and mums were tweeting to say they’d got to school, but couldn’t see it. The fog was so dense just outside our compound, it was like driving in a blizzard, in the desert (weird!).

Since it was patchy, there were long clear stretches on the way to school, but then I’d hit another wall of fog and feel my grip on the steering wheel tighten. As it lifted and the sky came into view, I felt like I was in a blue movie with the sunshine filtering through the wispy mist.

On the upside, fog like this signals a change in season – that cooler weather is on the way, for which we’ll all be grateful. Early yesterday morning, I found myself taking a second glance at the temperature reading on the car: 24 degrees, it beamed. Well below 30. Hurray!

The pre-party panic

On Saturday morning, my four-year-old dragged me from a blissful state of slumber even earlier than normal.

I heard the pitter-patter of his feet getting louder as he crossed the landing, then within seconds he was standing by my side of the bed, squealing:

“Mummee, is it my birthday today?”

“No, it isn’t,” I mumbled, half-asleep. “That was last week.”

Then, as my brain began to muster, “Oh yes! Oh God. It’s your party!”

Everything came flooding back as I woke more fully. The venue, the cake, the number of guests expected (23, plus parents), the food. Everything had been outsourced, but I hadn’t heard from the organiser in several days, despite my attempts to wrestle the answers to a couple of questions from her.

Here are some snippets of conversation from the next few anxiety-filled hours:

They’re smiling NOW, but my face wasn’t a happy one three hours before!

LB: “Is it my party now?”

Me: “No darling, it’s after lunch.”

“She still hasn’t replied to my email.”

LB: “Is it lunchtime now?”

Me: “Six hours to go [counting the hours out on my fingers]. First breakfast, then lunch, then it’s time for your party.”

“She’s not answering her phone. WHY is she not getting back to me?” [remembering glumly how the booking was messed up to begin with)

“It’s the first party of the new school year – I blanket-invited the whole class and nearly everyone said yes!”

“What if we get there and it’s all locked up?” [cringes with the predicted embarrassment]

LB: “Can we have lunch now?”

Me: “We haven’t had breakfast yet, love.”

“Her phone is OFF. We should never have given this party a Titanic theme.”

“It’s a sinking ship” [tries to think of an escape plan and fails]

LB: “CAN.WE.GO.TO.MY.PARTY.NOW?”

After a couple of hours, DH gets in the car and drives there to put me out of my misery! “Don’t worry!’ he texts 30 minutes later. “They’re ready.”

PHEW! “And the cake?” I texted back at lightening speed.

“It’s here – pink with a princess on.” [very funny, DH!]

To be fair, the party was great – apart from the gift bags, which they forgot; the song played during Musical Chairs (Sexy and I Know It!); and the miscalculated bill. The best bit was this cake, complete with chocolate frosting waves. Thank goodness that’s over.

Silent Sunday: 50 Shades Freed

There was a stunning sunset behind us on the way home this evening – a big golden ball was hovering on the horizon, lighting up the sky as if lit by fire. I snapped this photo before the sun slipped out of sight and am posting it here as the final installment in my 50 Shades of Yellow series. Below, there’s a much better photo with colours that aren’t so vanilla! (Gasps!)

Midas touch: Love the way our blue car has turned gold. I was crawling along, almost at a standstill, while taking this, so I’m not developing slap-wrist habits on the road, I promise!

Thank you again to ace editor and photographer Elin Boyd for this picture

Look here and here for parts one and two of the trilogy.

Accidental insults at the beauty salon

Everyone knows there are high standards in Dubai when it comes to appearance – and the school run is no exception. Someone was just telling me the other day how her husband’s friend, visiting from the UK, accompanied her on the school pick-up with his eyes on stalks.

It helps that we live in a hot climate, of course; many women are tanned and if not, they at least look sun kissed. Over-sized sunglasses hide a multitude of cosmetic sins, nails are painted bright colours and sparkly flip flops add a flash of bling.

The fact Dubai is populated by so many nationalities means there are always exotic-looking mums from places like Lebanon, Cyprus or Jordan on the school run – their swishy hair, pretty, size-6 sundresses and lack of sweat pores creating an unmissable dash of school-gate glamour.

Nails today, Botox tomorrow

It goes without saying that Dubai is full of beauty salons, whose job it is to keep these women looking fresh and youthful. Inside the salons’ hallowed walls, you’ll find ladies being preened, threaded and waxed to perfection. Normal folk, like me, also frequent these havens for much-needed maintenance.

But, looking your best doesn’t always come easy. Aside from the expense and time needed, there are cultural differences that every woman in Dubai has a story about. By this, I mean the way beauty therapists accidentally insult their clients, rather than making them feel uplifted with good-old-fashioned flattery.

You might, for example, be offered a new wrinkle cream, or told they can’t do the massage because you’re pregnant (when you’re not). You might be having your eyebrows done and asked if you’d like your upper-lip moustache waxed too. Or offered some special whitening cream to make your skin look less black. There are loads more examples on Catboy’s Facebook page and they’re all hilarious.

Not being immune to the cosmetic pressures that exist in Dubai, and being married to a pilot who regularly visits exotic locations with 27 flight attendants (I’ll say that again, 27! And all in their 20s), I pop to the salon when time permits [whispers: I’ve heard if you don’t, it’s a little like your husband bringing a ham sandwich in a brown paper bag to brunch].

Bet HER cosmetic surgeon is a Facebook friend

Last week, I was there for some laser hair removal [lowers voice again: on my chin]. I’ve been having IPL (intense pulsed light) on some stubborn areas for years due to polycystic ovaries, it never works permanently and I must have spent a fortune on it. Usually I have the same person, who just gets on with it, but this time a new technician walked in. A talkative lady, who felt like a bit of chit-chat.

After some small talk, she popped the dark glasses on me, peered closely and, with a hint of concern in her voice, asked: “When did you last come?”

“Um, yes, it was a while ago. I was gone for the summer,” I replied, by way of explanation.

“Yes, too much,” she tutted. “Too much!” [c’mon, it’s not THAT bad!]

Then came the sound of her padding across the room to fiddle with the machine – presumably to switch it to a higher setting.

“Oh. You have hair here too. You want removed?”

“No, thank you. That’s fine.”

“Maybe next time,” she suggested, helpfully. “Where are you from?”

“The UK,” I mumbled, wondering what she could possibly ask next – whether everyone in the UK was hairy, perhaps?

Quite honestly, if I could have walked out the salon with that brown paper bag over my head, I think I would have done.

Could have been worse, I suppose. She could have recommended I take Pregnacare vitamins.

This post was written in support of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. I’ve got my pink on and urge readers to check your bumps for lumps. Early detection saves lives

Party time: Wrap the mummy

It was LB’s fourth birthday yesterday! How that went so fast, I don’t know. It honestly feels like just the other day that I was heavily pregnant in the UK and had to text my husband in Dubai at 5 in the afternoon to say:

“Can you get to London by 8am? Ghengis [yes, that was his working title!] needs to be born in the morning.”

Amazingly, DH made it! Just!

Last year, we had a very small party at home and, because BB’s birthday is the next month, we did a family day-out to Ferrari World in Abu Dhabi.

The perfect birthday outing for car-mad small boys. Surely?

“I can juggle or bend balloons – for a small fee”

They STILL haven’t forgiven me!

What they really wanted was a big playarea party – each – with all their friends, presents, cake, games, entertainment, a party host bellowing into a microphone, balloons and chaos. The kind of event that causes mummy to lose sleep and requires daddy to sell a kidney to pay for it.

So this week I’ve been busy organising LB’s out-sourced party – it won’t be anything lavish, and certainly nowhere near the scale of a birthday his brother attended earlier this year at the Atlantis hotel, with valet parking, the aquarium and Apple Mac computer room at guests’ disposal.

But, even so, it seems the tab for throwing a children’s party these days is always going to be more than you bargained for.

So far:

Use of playarea for 2 hours CHECK

Party host CHECK

Kid’s meal for 20-plus children CHECK

Cake (with Titanic picture) CHECK

Party bags CHECK

Catering for adult guests (so they’re not sent home needing to lie down in a darkened room and/or apply wine) CHECK

Balloons (blue and silver) CHECK

But, wait, there’s more. You can fork out extra for a theme, or a magician. Provide a helium balloon for each child to take home. Book a sideshow, such as face painting. Or pick a couple of games for the children to play, charged per head.

And, the trouble is – such is the money-grabbing nature of the party industry – you can never be quite sure what you’ll actually get for all this expense.

“Could we have musical chairs please,” I decided when going over the details this week.

“And what’s this?” I asked, pointing at the Wrap the Mummy option, there in black-and-white on the booking form.

“Wrap the Mummy? Hmmm. I don’t actually know – we got it off the Internet,” was the reply.

“But would you like a 250 dirham piñata?”

Where have all the dinner ladies gone?

I’m yet to meet a mum who enjoys packing her children’s lunchboxes. Whether you tackle this task at night, or first thing in the morning, it always feels like a chore, doesn’t it?

I can’t put my finger on exactly why I dislike this aspect of child-rearing, but I think it’s got something to do with all the rules: no nuts, no crisps, no chocolate, cakes or sweets and, because the UAE is a Muslim country, no pork products such as ham or sausage rolls.

So, five days a week, mums are expected to put together a shoebox of food which is not forbidden, is healthy yet enticing to a fussy, small child, and varies from day to day.

I’m all for eating well, but this is actually quite a tall-order, no? When I got told off by the school censors for sending in Hula Hoops, it dawned on me that I’d have to get a lot more creative in my food choices (five Hula Hoops in a Tupperware pot is okay, apparently, but not the whole packet – silly me).

Remember the semolina-ladling dinner ladies of days gone by? Several at my school enforced the clean-plate policy so strictly we used to hide the vegetables in our pockets

The news that BB’s school had started providing some hot meals was, needless to say, music to my ears and led to this conversation yesterday:

In the morning:

Me: “BB, how about I give you some money for a hot dinner today?”

BB: “Yay!” nodding his head a little too eagerly.

Me: “Can you remember how much it is? 12 dirhams?”

BB: “How about you give me 100 and that should cover it?”

Me: “Erm, no. I’ll give you 12.” [cheeky!]

Then after school:

Me: “So, what did you have for dinner?” hoping to be regaled with tales of platefuls of pasta, chicken curry and fresh-cut tropical fruit.

BB, grinning: “I had crisps! Red crisps. Healthy ones. They cost 5 dirhams so I got some money back for tomorrow,” the delight etched on his face.

Me [dismayed a teacher hadn’t intervened]: “For dinner? That’s all?”

BB nods.

It was back to packing a gourmet lunch box this morning. Sigh!

Tooth Fairy Trouble: How MUCH?

My oldest son appears to be hanging on to his milk teeth for dear life, but I hear from friends that when a child loses his or her first tooth, the question crops up: How much does the tooth fairy pay these days?

I’m also told that the amount you slip under the pillow soon becomes public knowledge, with every child (and mother) in your little un’s class finding out the exact denomination the wee pixie stumped up the next day.

The following story happened to a friend of mine and I’m retelling it here because I think it’ll resonate with anyone who’s ever wondered if they’ve paid too much, or too little, for a tooth….

Did I mention the dolphins?

“Although few and far between, opportunities to get away from it all for a day or two pop up for most families. Time being of the essence, I started to consider a ‘staycation’ – a holiday at home – and what better place than the Atlantis?

Built on The Palm – land reclaimed from the sea and shaped into a colossal palm tree – guests not only stay in the most beautiful rooms and play around elegant pools and beach huts, they can also get up close and personal with dolphins. And to top it all, The Atlantis hosts Aquaventure, a magnificent aquatic theme park filled with so many different types of water slides and play areas it’s hard to cover them all in one day.

Sounds fabulous, doesn’t it? Of course, there’s something for everyone; of course, we all want to go; but of course, once a few enquiries have been made the shout comes up as “….HOW MUCH?” However, after more than four years in Dubai, eventually along came the opportunity to justify a visit – and how can we possibly not go just once?

Leap of Faith: Daredevil riders are catapulted through a shark-filled lagoon

The room was indeed splendid and thanks to some clever sliding door/wall trickery the children could even watch TV in the bath. The food was top class; again, “…how much…?” we cried weakly as we melted into some of the best Italian food we have ever had.

The highpoint, however, was indeed Aquaventure; two whole days of sliding and splashing, screaming and laughing, floating and gliding, at the end of which the children (and me!) crawled back to our room to sit, motionless, in the bath and roll straight into bed without a single protest.

This was especially so for one little boy, who, after weeks of wobbling, finally lost another tooth during our stay. The minor incident of only realising it was gone over a sumptuous breakfast resulted in DH making a break-neck dash to get back to the room before housekeeping to pluck this little tooth from between the sheets. Because of course, wherever you are, the Tooth Fairy will always come…. (phew!)

“Will the Tooth Fairy definitely know we’re at the Atlantis?” asked a tired DS that night, his head and body folding up into the sheets like an envelope. “Of course darling,” I crooned, “She knows exactly where you are,” and with that he fell fast asleep.

I was quick to follow; falling face down into those pristine white sheets, only vaguely aware that DH was leaving to go downstairs to meet up with some friends we’d bumped into that day.

On returning to our room, DH had the wherewithal to remember to remove the precious tooth and pop a note down in its place. In the UAE, even small amounts are represented in note form, 5dhs (approximately 85p or $1.35) being the smallest.

“How much did you get?” Even children newly informed about the Tooth Fairy are already in no doubt about the true relevance of her visit

But where could he find this ‘change’? He didn’t appear to be carrying any himself. Aren’t I always the person to be relied upon to supply just the very small amount he always seems to be without? Aren’t I always the one with that extra dirham required for the parking meter? After fumbling around for my bag in a very dark… (boy, those blackout curtains were good!)…. and did I say, glorious, room, DH finds my purse and wrestles a note from within.

Morning arrives, and the children wake up first, of course. As DH and I are dragging ourselves into consciousness, the squeals of delight start. I’m instantaneously horrified that I forgot all about Tooth Fairy Duty and equally grateful that DH had not.

“Mummy! Daddy!” shouts DS. “The Tooth Fairy! She found me!” We manage all the right noises as we struggle to remain horizontal with two excited children now bouncing up and down on our bed. “How much did you get?” asks DD.

“TWO HUNDRED DIRHAMS!!!!!!” DS exclaims! ……. Both of us bolt upright in bed, “HOW MUCH……?”

We were powerless. Utterly powerless, just about managing, “Yes darling, THAT.IS.A.LOT of money. Yes, it must have been because she was The Atlantis Tooth Fairy. And…..er, yes ….. she’s very generous……”

The incident left us with two problems: How to not give a small boy nearly £34/$55 for one tooth; but worse, how to keep him quiet? We did manage to prise the precious note out of DS’s clutches – with the promise of an ice cream. But great were my blushes at the school gate as mothers cast those oh-so critical looks…”