On being an emotional wreck at the end of term!

I can’t believe it’s nearly the end of the school year. Just a week to go here in the UAE. I find it such an emotional time. Friends leaving, switching schools. A forced move coming up. Time passing too quickly.

I had a mini meltdown today. Overwhelmed by it all, tears crept out the corners of my eyes and I wiped them away briskly before I turned into a huge puddle. They were triggered by a goodbye email from Son#1’s teacher, an incredible lady who has nurtured so much creativity in the class. I’m so grateful to this teacher for steering the children through such a wonderful year (Son#1’s last at this particular school due to our forced relocation).

Barack Obama

Guess who? Thank God he didn’t do Trump

It does seem that the end-of-the-school year is a period of heightened emotion for many people in the UAE. Not only are most of us leaving on extended summer leave to escape the climate, but this year a greater number of families are exiting the country permanently. The past few months have seen quite a shake-up, with some big and difficult decisions to make. Good luck to all of you spreading your wings and know that you’ll be sorely missed.

Before this post sets me off again, here’s some light relief – my 10-year-old’s wish list, which came home today as part of his portfolio of work. Amid all the change in the air, this really made me smile – as did the artwork pictured. Son#1 hasn’t been the easiest child, but his left-handed creativity blows me away!

A 10-year-old boy’s wish list

No homework
Free laptop
Lamborghini (spelling corrected – only in Dubai!)
Xbox 360
A real lightsaber
No brother (I’m sure he doesn’t mean it, haha!)
Nerf gun
iPad 5

Max's art

Love how the tree has money, iPads and Xb0x controllers as fruit. Who says these things don’t grow on trees?!

Overheard in the car

For the past two years, we’ve been car-pooling with a French family to get Son2 home from school. Our son, and their son – let’s call him M – quickly became firm friends, and despite not being in the same class anymore, the boys’ friendship remains as strong as ever.

This makes for some loud banter in the car – which I tune in and out of, depending on what the subject matter is, like you would when listening to incessant chatter on the radio. Today, the boys were discussing their dads, who both fly the same aircraft (the A380 superjumbo), and I noticed some rather competitive one-upmanship going on.

Son2 picks up a toy plane lying on the back seat. “My daddy flies a big airplane, “ he says, proudly.

“My daddy’s airplane’s bigger,” counters M, raising the stakes considerably.

“Well, my daddy flies a double-decker airplane, that goes fast. Like this….WHOOOOOOSH,” says Son2, whizzing the toy jet through the air.

The monster-plane – overweight but fast!

The monster-plane – overweight but fast!

“My daddy’s airplane is super-big, and it goes super-fast!” replies M, injecting as much ‘wow’ factor into his voice as possible. “Faster than your daddy’s.”

Remember, they’re talking about the same aircraft here.

I glance in the mirror and see that Son2’s face is a study in not-to-be-outdone affrontedness. It isn’t one of his normal faces; it’s like he’s picked it up from somewhere and is trying it on for size.

Son2’s hand then turns into a blur of motion as he illustrates high speed, and out of his sweet mouth comes an effortless – and blatant – lie. “Well, my daddy flies the Blackbird.”

“WHOOOOOOSH,” he adds, for effect.

Little boys – always comparing!

A very special flight

I can’t let our homecoming pass without saying a few words about our flight back: DH was ‘driving’, and while I’ve been his passenger a few times now, it was the first time he’s flown our fledglings in a commercial airliner.

And, yes, it was a great flight, not least because the bribe potential in telling the children that if they didn’t behave, Daddy would ‘land this plane right now’ or put them ‘outside on the wing’ was HUGE. (Sipping celebratory Champagne and nibbling on Godiva chocolates helped too, of course.)

But, if the truth be told, the boys were as good as gold. At the gate, they squished their noses against the terminal window, trying to see through the darkened glass of the cockpit. They (and about 10 other little boys also lined up) were rewarded when DH stuck a sun-tanned arm out his window to wave.

You could tell each awe-struck boy thought the wave was directed at him and when I got talking to an Australia-bound Dad on the full flight later on, we agreed not to burst his son’s bubble. Pilots should wave more, they really should. It makes people so happy.

DH in his office

Airbus A380: DH in his office

On board, we waited patiently for DH to make an announcement (it sounded nothing like him!), and, while I’d instructed Son1 not to go telling everyone, his excitement bubbled over every now and then. “My Daddy’s flying this plane,” he told a flight attendant, *beaming with pride*.

We arrived in Dubai (nice landing, DH!) and were invited to come forward to see what to me looks like the Starship Enterprise. “Just don’t touch anything,” I urged them, as we climbed the stairs to the flight deck. “If you feel like you want to press something, JUST DON’T,” I pleaded, paranoid that they’d set off the emergency slides or a million-dollar fire-hydrant system.

I needn’t have worried; they were awed into silence by the countless screens and switches, and could barely breathe they were so impressed. (Too bad my work doesn’t have the same effect; I swear they think my sole purpose in life is to fetch them things from the supermarket.)

All too soon, it was time to deplane and make our way into Dubai’s cavernous, gleaming airport, where taking the new train triggered fresh excitement. It was well past midnight when the children and I joined the taxi queue. “We don’t want a pink taxi. We want a red one,” they chanted, in unison, demonstrating to me once again that, while my boys will never be interested in any of the girlie things that make me tick, I adore their transport-mad ways.