Now I know why we spent a long afternoon at Dubai International airport the other day – I think I was meant to be part of this Flash Mob! How did I miss this? It’s brilliant!
Travel advisory: Don’t fly stand-by at Eid
We all know that traipsing through airports and travelling on planes with small children is rarely a joyous experience (unless you’re my husband who takes the kids to eat at Dubai International on his days off).
But if there’s one thing that’s guaranteed to add a whole new dimension to your journey, it’s the traffic light system in staff check-in that tells you if you’re actually on the plane or not.
Staff check-in at Eid - as far as we got!
Staff travel is, of course, the most wonderful perk and allows us to go round the world at minimal cost – IF you plan it right. Get it wrong – and by that I mean try to travel on stand-by at busy times such as Eid, Christmas or peak summer season – and you might as well just join my DH and the kids for lunch at the airport then head home.
My last-minute plan was good in theory: to fly back to London for the weekend to be surprise guests at my mother’s birthday party, see my whole family gathered under one roof (a rare event!) and watch some fireworks and effigy burning on Bonfire Night. It was our timing that sucked.
When we pitched up at staff check-in just before lunchtime, it looked promisingly quiet. But by 1.50pm, about 40 minutes before take-off, every employee and his wife had appeared out of the woodwork, all hoping to travel to London for the five-day Eid holidays.
People were craning their necks to get a look at the stand-by board, their luggage haphazardly filling the floor and other hopeful passengers trying to find a path through to the queue. The boarding pass fairy smiled on no-one which meant the crowd’s focus changed to the next flight – to Gatwick – a little while later.
“When will we get on the airplane,” a raring-to-go BB asked a hundred times, as his little brother busied himself trying to unzip random suitcases before darting out the door.
Gatwick was also a no-go because the throngs of people meant we couldn’t even get close to the check-in desk. LB was, by now, starfished on the floor in front of oncoming trolleys.
“Daddy, just pay!” pleaded BB, his patience tested to the limit and his rounds of rapid-fire questions hitting me full pelt.
The next option was a late-afternoon flight to Heathrow, so off we trooped to waste some more time, while trying to head off the ear-bending disappointment we were guessing was just round the corner and which only kids know how to express.
But, by now, the thought of enduring a seven-and-half hour flight with a small child (LB was staying in Dubai with DH) after waiting around with the boys for so long was making the sofa look appealing.
So when the traffic light turned from amber to red – and the check-in girl announced “London Heathrow, no chance!” – I was of course sad I wouldn’t get home to England for Mum’s birthday, but also relieved the waiting game was over. You would have been too, if you were as knackered as I was.
EID PART II: Just when I thought it could only get better…coming soon!
On falling in love with the bus nanny
The most wonderful thing came into our lives recently. Yellow and long, with chunky wheels, squeaky brakes and snotty noses pressed against the window.
It is, of course, the school bus and it saves us two hours a day through no longer trotting backwards and forwards on the school run.
We were on the waiting list for a year and, even now, BB’s ride home is only on ‘stand-by’, but so far there’s been space every day.
With a hop and a skip, he greets the bus nanny on board!
The doors clap shut and that’s it, he’s gone – his toast left half eaten on the sofa and cartoons still blaring from the TV. The first day I felt quite bereft.
Until I realised I could actually go back to bed for a bit.
Of course, I’ve worried about the ‘what ifs?’ – what mother wouldn’t? – especially as Dubai drivers tend to behave as though they’re riding the dodgems at the fairground and the highways here have at least eight lanes.
But he’s so excited by the bus buddies he’s made – and has fallen in love.
Buses in Dubai for primary school children have bus nannies on board. Ours is a sweet-natured lady from India with a kind smile and beautiful eyes. Her name is Shabina and, most likely, she has kids of her own back home, living with grandparents so she can earn money for their keep in Dubai.
Her days are dedicated to riding EK1 to school, waiting while the children are in lessons, then travelling back to our compound in the afternoon.
It’s not as easy as it sounds – she’s tasked with maintaining order on board and making sure all the kids keep their seat belts – and clothes – on (yes, really, last year someone stripped apparently).
Early this morning, I found BB writing a love note to Shabina on a card he’d made for her. “Muuum-mee, can you help me?” he asked, somewhat sheepishly. “I want to put ‘I love you bus nanny'”
Then he wrapped up a scented candle that was sitting on our bedside table (not a car or a train, like he usually chooses, but a candle! Surprisingly thoughtful!)
He’s adamant he’d rather we didn’t pick him up from school, like we did the other day to surprise him, because he’d prefer to ride home with his beloved bus nanny, who is so sweet she apparently even gives him a good-bye kiss.
So my big boy has his first school-boy crush and thinks he’s going to marry Shabina. When he’s 18 and reading this, he’s going to kill me for spilling the beans!
And if, like many of the Indian, Sri Lankan and Filipino workers over here, she does have her own children, I really hope she gets to go home to see them as often as possible.
Halloween in the Hood
The witching hour has begun. I’ve raced home from work like a demon, the neighbourhood is aglow with orange lanterns and the boys are dressed up and on the sugar again.
It can only be Halloween – alive and kicking in Dubai, thanks to the significant number of American expats. And because we live in a compound of families, trick-or-treaters practically line up at our door.
In the Muslim world, beings called jinn - or genies - are believed to exist. Paranormal citings in the UAE are considered not to be connected to people who have passed away, but to these entirely separate beings. Citings of jinn are said to be common in Nad Al Sheba, the ‘haunted’ Jazira Al Hamrat village in Ras Al Kaimah, and Jumeirah.
This year, we know what to do – panic buy candy as though preparing for nuclear war, dole it out in rationed portions, then when it’s all gone, turn the porch light out and hide.
BB and LB are in their element, of course. Our preparations started a week ago with costume planning. The Little Boy was easy – I grabbed a spiderboy outfit from our local supermarket which he loved.
Not interested in a big reveal tonight, he’s worn it to bed every night and nearly all weekend too (his face was a picture when we walked into the Halloween bash at the Madinat to find at least six other spiderboys in exactly the same red-and-blue outfit).
The Big Boy was harder. I’ve mentioned before he likes trains – a lot – and so he decided he’d go as a ghost train. He drew me an elaborate illustrated diagram then tested me on it. “Do ghosts have teeth?” he asked, picturing in his mind some kind of monster-ghost hybrid.
Pammy the Pumpkin
We’ve even decorated: DH planted a skull in the flowerbed and dangled a one-armed skeleton in the porchway. But, I have to say, I’m rather proud of the pumpkin the boys and I carved yesterday. Just a small attempt on my part to redress the boy/girl ratio in this household. She’s rather pretty, no?
Postscript: Halloween’s over!
Now 10pm, the streets are quiet, the Halloweenies all in bed. As predicted, the doorbell didn’t stop ringing, and I practically had to retrieve the boys from the ceiling they were so high on e-numbers. Some highlights I’m still laughing about:
The boys collected enough candy to last all year - this tired mummy is about to steal some
– The teenagers who got in on the act
– Piling our candy on a tray, only to regret it when kids started grabbing the stuff. “I’ll have that one, that one and that one….”
– Hearing about last year’s egging at the Ranches (really? It’s hardly the wrong side of Dubai)
– “I don’t like these. Have you got anything else?” (Who do you think we are? The pick ‘n’ mix stall?)
– “Could we have money instead?”
Doing battle with a three-year-old
I try not to say too much about DH in my blog because he’s rather mystified by the concept of Facebook updates let alone blogging.
But I can’t resist documenting a conversation I overheard between him and the little boy this weekend.
LB wanted a carton of strawberry milk, which I’ve taken to buying so their apple juice consumption can no longer be measured by the gallon.
He was refusing to say please and DH was – for the umpteenth time – trying to teach him to remember his manners.
This went on for at least half the morning. I would probably have buckled far sooner.
LB managed to manoeuvre DH into the kitchen and they were both standing by the open cupboard.
“Say please,” says DH, his hand reaching up and hovering over the strawberry milks.
“THAT ONE,” LB retaliates, pointing at the cartons (“Can’t you see? They’re right there!” he’s thinking)
“What do you say?”
“At the T.O.P.” responds LB, getting more and more exasperated he’s having to give orders for something so simple.
“If you won’t say please, you can’t have it.” DH pretends to walk away.
“T.U.R.N A.R.O.U.N.D,” yells LB [angry tears].
I crept away, pretty sure DH would win (my mother-in-law used to talk about running etiquette classes, and we do try to hammer home the manners).
But, a little later, I notice LB running round with his ‘pink milk’ and DH, on the sofa, looking a little, dare I say it, beaten.
“He won’t get away with it next time,” mutters DH.
Three-year-olds, honestly. As cute as a button – but compared to life now, don’t you think our pint-size dictators make pregnancy seem like a nine-month massage?
Once we've got the please and thank yous down pat, we can move on to using napkins, knowing when to be silent and table taboos! I'd better start reading this book by etiquette expert Ava Carroll-Brown
PHOTO CREDIT: Ava Carroll-Brown
“Have a nice day – without the pay”
You might remember that a while ago Dubai was thrust into the spotlight for owing some money.
I don’t just mean a maxed-out credit card amount-of-money after too many trips to Karama to buy handbags.
I’m talking serious money – some US$80-billion-worth of debt, according to the press.
For a city used to the heady heights of economic success, it was a massive reality check.
Much of the construction work stopped and schemes such as a refrigerated beach where the sand would never get too hot underfoot and a man-made archipelago of 300 islands in the shape of a world map ground to a halt.
That wasn’t all: A theme park to dwarf Disney and an 80-storey skyscraper with revolving floors and an ever-shifting shape also never came to fruition (Dubai thinks big, you see, so a debt crisis the size of China was hardly surprising).
I really hope they pay up, because BF and I have plans to boost Dubai's economy with purchases like this
I say this because, for the first time in 15 years of freelancing, I’ve just come a cropper at the hands of the publishing company I’ve been working for recently.
They haven’t been paid themselves by advertisers (including the Abu Dhabi government!) and, as a result, their money’s dried up and they can’t make payments – for my last three months of work!
And, even worse, because I introduced one of my loveliest friends to the company, she too is owed thousands of dirhams for work she lost sleep over while doing some mummy juggling.
I knew something was wrong when they started stonewalling me every time I tried to chase our money. Then came the email, essentially saying, “Have a nice day – without the pay!” Then, finally, the phone call to tell me the sorry story.
What also bothers us is that, at some point, they maybe knew we were working for free – and when you’ve got two kids to entertain, mouths to feed, grocery shopping to do and errands to run, ‘work experience’ isn’t exactly helpful with the whole work-life balance thing. I mean, do we look like eager, just-out-of-college interns? Do we? No, I don’t think so!
If they’d looked closely, they’d have seen a few crinkles round my eyes and a child clinging to my leg.
I won’t name and shame, because I’m really hoping they’ll stick to their promise to pay us eventually, when the cash starts flowing again, but I’m not holding my breath.
Keep your fingers crossed for us! My BF is coming soon (so excited!) and we’ve got shopping to do.
The World Islands off the coast of Dubai and the Palm Jumeirah, on the left, as seen from space. When the World project was launched in 2003, it was hoped that celebrities and the super-rich would snap up the 300 islands. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt were even said to be thinking about buying Ethiopia. But now it looks like the project will never be completed.
PHOTO CREDITS: The Purse Page; Mail Online
Falling for Dubai again
While folks back home are enjoying seeing the trees turning from green to pale orange and then, in the States, all the way through to crimson red, here in the desert we’re getting rather excited about our own change of season.
It’s not in the least bit colourful, the palm trees don’t shed their leaves, there’s no apple picking or hayrides (all things I really miss), and pumpkins cost an arm and a leg. But the climate does go from boiling hot to hot – and you’d be surprised how ‘hot’ can feel really quite pleasant after the searing summer temperatures.
Invigorated by being able to exercise outdoors again, Energetic Mum can be found jogging round the Ranches before the school run
Despite it still being in the low 90s, energetic mums with size 8 figures – who somehow rarely sweat – can really go into overdrive. “Hey kids, it’s Saturday! After boot camp on the beach, let’s go for a bike ride, then head to Al Ain zoo, and maybe finish up with a pony trek at the Polo Club,” I imagine them telling their astonished offspring. “C’mon kids, race you to the door! Whaddya waiting for.”
I may not be the proud owner of a pair of sequin-embellished hot pants myself, but I am trying to get more active and have been out on my bike at dusk when it’s cooler – inspired by my mother, who this week was tweeting about starting aqua-zumba classes.
But, better still, today BB had a beach party, which was lovely, even if it did involve prancing around in a swimsuit in front of the class mums (with one shaved leg because LB’s clinginess while I was trying to get ready meant things went a little off-course).
And because LB practically glued himself to me after his brother dumped him in favour of his classmates, I spent the whole afternoon carrying him while jumping waves – turning my upper body to jelly and giving me the perfect excuse to drink pain-relieving wine tonight rather than doing my evening exercise.
“Happy sigh”
Fall was my favourite season in the US, but we’re at least safe in the knowledge here that there’s no snow round the corner (can you imagine Dubai drivers skidding along in the snow?)
PICTURE CREDIT (above): Clipart Guide
School’s closed! School’s closed!
BB’s school has hit the media.
Saw it first while peering over the shoulder of someone reading 7DAYS in Costa Coffee.
Then got online and found the headline in The National newspaper: “School closed in poisonous gas alert”.
I clicked on the link to read what I already knew, that “the school has been shut down for the rest of the week because of what Civil Defence officials describe as ‘poisonous gases’ from a smouldering fire at a nearby chemical factory.”
Great. It’s all so Dubai.
And I’m feeling like the worst mother in the world because when the initial evacuation took place last week, I didn’t leap up to collect him, as I knew the bus would bring him and I had work to do, but then the kids ended up waiting on the bus (breathing in those noxious nasties?) while the ensuing chaos was sorted out.
They were also in school for the first two days this week. Apparently, it’s all a big precaution and we needn’t worry, but that still leaves us with the kids at home – unable to believe their luck that they’re off school, but bored out of their minds nevertheless.
I vaguely remember from childhood that over-the-moon feeling I got the few times school was shut due to strikes or snow – and now I understand the problem it left my working mother with.
So BB’s lolling on the sofa, stealing my iPad and at regular intervals yelling his head off about having nothing to do. There’s only so much time a child can spend watching YouTube and playing computer games before side effects like this kick in.
It feels like school holidays all over again.
Meanwhile, a wonderful friend of mine has, coincidentally, just started at the school in a PR/communications role and is having one helluva first week.
Roll on Sunday!
An enormous explosion sent a fireball hundreds of metres into the air - and there were apparently more than 70 different industrial and food chemicals stored in the warehouse
PICTURE CREDITS: The National, Gaming Bus
A note on competitive schools
You know the little boy – the one who talks like this, “Play wif mummee”, “Sit soh-fa and watch” – and who, until a couple of weeks ago, was just two years old – really quite little still.
Well, here in Dubai, he can start school next September, and while still a long way off, a school I’ve listed him for was hot on the case today.
I found out via DH, of course, who they phoned this morning (again! Why do teachers keep contacting him, not me? Could they be in cahoots with BB’s school?)
I was in trouble for failing to fill out some paperwork I hadn’t even received and was catapulted back to feeling like a naughty school girl, caught kissing boys behind the bike shed.
“The deadline for the form was yesterday,” I was told firmly, with more than a hint of irritation. “You need to let us know within the hour if you want to proceed with your application. There are a hundred children lining up for the space. And as punishment write 300 lines, ‘I will never be late turning in my son’s paperwork again,” after school pick-up.”
They had good reason for telling me they’d offer the spot to someone else, because it’s hands down (depending on who you believe, of course) one of the best schools in Dubai. Parents wait years to get their kids in and we were just lucky that we got LB on the list when he was really little.
They’re used to dealing with mothers who’d bite their hand off for a place. “We’ve had tri-lingual Felicity on the list since she was a foetus and she loves nothing more than to make words with her spaghetti at supper and do piano practice before bed. A place will mean sooo much to her,” is the kind of response they’re accustomed to.
(The problem is there’s no spot for BB, you see, and for convenience and many other reasons I’d rather have both boys at the same school).
But after speaking to some mum friends, one of whom reminded me that they wouldn’t even let her put her son’s name on THE LIST, I rushed over there this afternoon to make sure LB’s spot wasn’t given away.
And, as I walked through the hallowed corridors – marvelling at the smiling, beautifully behaved children, with project work tucked under their arm, landscaped campus, huge green field, amphitheatre and proximity to my favourite coffee shop, I saw the future for a moment. I’d give up work, spend my days doing school runs, organise bake sales and fetes, and volunteer for field trips for both schools.
Ok, so given that my only-just talking three-year-old still has to pass an assessment interview to secure the spot – and I’m clearly not a mother who would find any of the above easy – I was quite possibly getting carried away. But at least we’ve done what you gotta do when it comes to school waiting lists in Dubai – we’re hedging our bets.
PHOTO CREDIT: Time Out Dubai
A sticky story about having a housemaid (and please don’t go off me!)
It’s no secret that many of us here in Dubai have housemaids, who double up as nannies and sometimes cooks too. A very small minority even drive, meaning the school run is magically done too.
I’ve heard this wonderful perk described in various ways:
“My wife at home,” is a common one from expat mums, or “I should have married her!”
Another friend who’d just hired the sweetest lady from the Philippines told me, “She’s marvellous! She can stay at home and be me and I can go off and be somebody else!”
Introducing the efficient, gorgeous and all-round wonderful Catherine the Great (with baby LB)- can you tell how much we love her?!
The only draw-back is if you get too used to having a housemaid – dare I say it, dependent – it can be quite a shock when real-life catches up with you, ie, you have to move back to your home country (or go on a two-week holiday without her). In fact, it’s common for local families and a few expats to take their maids on vacation with them.
This summer in England, a friend asked me if our live-in nanny Catherine the Great spends her whole time tidying up after our two very messy boys.
Well, we are, in fact – and have been for some time – on a drive to get the boys to tidy their own toys, as a precaution against one of my worst fears, expat brat syndrome, which I’ve blogged about before.
But, inevitably, the rest of us, and in particular C.the.Grt who’s at home all day, still end up doing plenty of clearing up – and it drives BB bananas.
So he’s taken to using sellotape (American sp. scotch tape) to tape his trains, planes, cars, pieces of track and even lego to the floor – in the hope all his bits and pieces won’t get thrown back in the toy box.
Once he taped up the whole living room, cordoning it off like it was a crime scene that couldn’t be touched.
Double-sided, poster tape, mounting tape, he doesn't discriminate - he'll take what he can get
I’ve found myself bribing him with it: “If you’re really good today BB, I’ll get you a roll of sellotape at the supermarket tomorrow!”
This morning I had two rolls stashed away, but BB found them and got busy. The end result was this sellotape superstructure, which we’ll be unsticking for days.
So that is the reason, my dear friends, why when your children receive a present from us, it’s always wrapped in Toys R Us gift paper – because our sellotape is all over our floor and is never, ever to be found when I need it.
PS: I really recommend two superbly written blogs by Dubai writers on this facet of expat life (housemaids, not sellotape) – Housewife in Dubai: Maid wanted: Must love cleaning and hate gossip and We have it maid by SandboxMoxie, who has good reasons for resisting the lure of live-in help.