Good bye! We’re leaving on a jet plane

It’s always about this time that the jitters set in. With just two days, five hours to go until our annual summer pilgrimage to the motherland – the packing yet to be tackled, my to-do list still to do, and another day at work to go – I’ve started to dread the flight. The one DH says he’d love to be on with us, but won’t be.

A wing and a prayer: Keeping fingers crossed the boys don't get so overtired they can't sleep

We’re lucky, actually, that he can even take us to the airport – the day I wanted to fly, he’s gone and so now we’re taking a flight at 2.30am just so we can avoid the whole getting to the airport by ourselves bit.

This means on Friday night, we’ll be dragging two small boys out of bed after just two hours’ sleep (if they go to bed at all, that is), bundling them into a car, and onto a plane – all the while hoping that they behave, or at least don’t tantrum too badly, and settle down on take-off for a nice long snooze. Oh, how this could backfire.

When we all fly together, the boys do pretty well, and DH wonders what it is I find so hard. But, somehow, when it’s just me and the kids, all manner of things go wrong. Here’s some examples. I think you’ll see why I get so nervous.

AIR RAGE: Flying from America to London a while ago, BB, aged two at the time, threw the most terrible tantrum because he wanted the stroller to come up the aisle with us. For some reason, having to gate check it sent him wild. He then tantrumed about putting his seat belt on and I actually feared they’d halt the take-off. The 45-minute wait on the ground at Gatwick while the plane waited for a gate unleashed one last round of toddler fury that led to a stampede-like clamour to get off the plane.

MISSING PASSENGER: More recently, I managed to lose him on a flight. They even put an announcement out, asking if anyone was missing a small boy. While getting on, I’d been so distracted with his little brother and getting our bags stowed that I failed to notice he’d legged it up the other end of the plane.

LITTLE TERRORIST: Waiting at the gate for a flight to London last year, BB came out with: “We’re going to go up, up, up and then we’re going to C.R.A.S.H,” announced loudly, repeatedly and with suitable sound effects. No amount of shushing would stop him and nearby passengers started looking really scared.

BORED BOYS: On every flight I’ve been on with my two, they race through my carefully packed bag of tricks in no time at all. Games, toys and books I’ve spent months collecting are dispensed with in minutes – and their excitement at being on an airplane lasts about the same length of time.

So they start seeking fun in mischievous ways: Tray up/Tray down. Light on/Light off. Window shutter open/ shutter closed. Call the flight attendant. Call the flight attendant again. When all the un-dinging I have to do gets too much, we go for a walk, go to the toilet, check the flight map to see exactly how many hours and minutes are left, check it again half a minute later.

VANDALISM ON BOARD: The new airbus superjumbo, I’ve discovered, makes flying with young children a little easier, as there’s more space to move around (the plane even has a flight of stairs you could use as naughty step, though the first-class passengers might not appreciate the noise).

My boys still managed to get into trouble on an A380 flight back to Dubai last year, however. I’d made a break for the loo and while gone, the boys covered the TV screen with stickers. Bad idea – an annoyed flight attendant told me the heat from the screen can turn the adhesive on the stickers into industrial-strength superglue. Imagining the entire aircraft being decommissioned while engineers scraped Lightening McQueen and his friends off 35F’s TV, I peeled away until there wasn’t a single trace of sticker left. A happy coincidence was it used up a good 20 minutes of flight time.

WEIRD THINGS: I swear this happened, though DH says it’s impossible. On a trip to the bathroom with BB, I pushed the flush button and the ‘whoooosh’ was so powerful, it even sucked up a tissue on the floor. BB thought he was going in too. OK, so there’s a chance I was just hallucinating, it was a long flight, but whatever happened, BB is now terrified of the flusher.

On the ground: Touching down and getting home makes it all worthwhile

On this flight, I’ll be armed with the new I-pad, loaded with games, and I’m hoping that flying with a two-and-three-quarters year old will be easier than flying with a one-and-three-quarters year old. The boys have packed their bags already – full of useful things I’m sure, like the empty toilet rolls and glitter sticks for drawing over the seat that I discovered they’d packed for our last trip.

I just have to get organised, get packed, and get to Tips and Toes to have my gellish nails removed (not sure if gellish has reached the UK yet?) Oh, and find our passports.

Bye, bye Dubai … the green and pleasant land, here we come!

How to be a ROADHOG: 8 driving tips

We are now the owners of a new car with the required acceleration for Dubai: 0-100k in three seconds flat. I have to say I love it. Having spent the past three years sharing the 4×4 (a.k.a. gas guzzler) with DH – and all the complicated arrangements this entailed, ie, taking taxis to pick up the car when parked elsewhere, squabbling over whose errands were the most important – being a two-car family is wonderful.

Newcomers to Dubai often find the roads here chaotic. I’ve since learnt that they’re not as bad as many other countries in the Gulf and Asia, but nevertheless, compared to back home, Dubai drivers do some REALLY STUPID things that scare the hell out of me!

Last year, a wannabe stuntman in a 4×4 was caught driving on two wheels down the emirate’s busiest road, while his pal in a pick-up truck performed handbrake turns (click here to watch – wheelie bit starts half way through, it’s truly shocking). On the road from Abu Dhabi earlier this year, there was a 127-car pile-up due to drivers going too fast in foggy conditions.

Thankfully, these are extreme examples. But we do encounter motoring menaces on a daily basis here. Crazy manoeuvres we see include reversing down a slip road because a driver took the wrong exit, weaving in and out of lanes and extreme tailgating, where motorists, usually with tinted windows, drive right up behind you in the fast lane and flash their lights until you’re intimidated enough to move over.

And you have to be really careful not to let road rage get the better of you: Rude hand gestures can land you in court or even jail.

I’ve made good progress: when I was a newbie to Dubai, with my newly acquired UAE licence in my purse (no test required, but I did need a letter from DH giving me permission to drive!), I honestly thought I’d never be able to go anywhere. It took me four months to leave Mirdiff (the area our first villa was in).

If someone had offered me a secondhand tank to drive around in, I’d have snapped it up no questions asked. Now, I can get to work, get BB to school, and drive to most of the places I frequent, as long as I’m on one of my ‘established routes’. *

While I may never be the most confident driver, I am conscientious. I rarely talk on my mobile while driving (way too much multi-tasking and the noise from the kids in the back makes it futile anyway). I’ll indicate even if no one is behind me, unlike some people here who seem to think flashing indicators are only for Christmas. And I never, ever go in the fast lane on the six-lane highways.

All this led me to hunt around on the web for some driving anecdotes and I stumbled upon some great photos at Seabee’s blog Dubaithoughts.blogspot. She kindly agreed to let me repost them here. If you regularly drive around Dubai, you’ll love these UAE ‘road rules’. And if you’re planning to visit Dubai and drive on our roads, I hope you find these useful.

Rule 1. Like in the States, we drive on the right here.

However, in Dubai, if there’s a line of traffic waiting and you believe you are more important than the other drivers – that your time is more valuable than theirs – please feel free to drive on the left.

Rule 2. We have roundabouts on various roads and drive round them to the right.

This does not, of course, apply to self-important drivers, who may feel free to drive to the left through roundabouts.

Rule 3. Like other countries, we have hard shoulders for emergencies, breakdowns and so on.

Their intended use may be ignored if you are a driver of the self-important variety, in which case you may feel free to use the hard shoulder to get to the front of the queue.

Now to road signs.

Rule 4. In Dubai we use the standard international road signs with which you may be familiar.

For example, a large arrow pointing right means you MUST go right. A red circle with a white horizontal stripe means NO ENTRY.

However, in Dubai these may be ignored if you feel they inconvenience you in any way or you simply don’t notice.

Rule 5. A left pointing arrow with a red diagonal line through it means you MUST NOT turn left. Often this is used together with the ‘must turn right’ sign.

In Dubai you may ignore these if you find them in any way inconvenient.

A word of warning, though: if you do ignore these signs, you are likely to meet oncoming traffic head on.

On no account should you reverse, turn round and drive the correct way along the one-way road. The correct course of action in Dubai is to pull to the wrong side of the road and insist that the cars driving in the correct direction squeeze past you.

Oh, and parking.

Rule 6. There are clearly marked designated parking spaces, No Parking signs and so on.

However, in Dubai you may feel free to take up two parking spaces, or park at any angle in any place convenient for you.

Rule 7. And finally, the minimum age for driving in the UAE is 18.

But in Dubai, if your four-year-old would like to sit in the front on your lap, feel free to let him come forward. There’s only so much jumping around the backseat an unrestrained child can do.

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* I could also tell you about the trials and tribulations we go through navigating around Dubai! With all the construction work going on, roads change overnight and, sometimes, while you’re actually on them … but that’s a whole new blog.
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This blog is dedicated to my crazy friends who came here on holiday, hired a car and drove themselves all over the place, without incident or accident and just the one meltdown when they thought they’d never ever find their way back to our place. You know who you are, you brave ladies!

On six years of sleep deprivation

Little boy, oh little boy!

Why won’t you sleep through the night?

There was a time eons ago when I went to sleep and stayed asleep, without being disturbed, punched, kicked, jabbed in the ribs, poked in the eye. I even kept the duvet on until morning time. That was before children, of course.

I know you’re only two and three-quarters, but having been through all of this with your older brother, it’s been nearly six years since I’ve slept properly – and I’ve accumulated quite a sleep debt (far bigger than what I owe on shoes and handbags).

I know I’ve made mistakes: Spent hours lying next to you to help you sleep, when you should have been ‘crying it out’. Let you sleep in the big bed, when I should have marched you back to your room.

Quite frankly, it’s like sleeping with an octopus when you jump into our bed. You jab me with your feet, elbows, hands and knees as you spin round the bed! By morning, I’m left with a strip of bed some 4 inches wide. For such a little person, you take up such a disproportionate amount of bed. And your sleep requirements mean you need me to face you, with my arm over you at a certain angle. It’s a little like doing yoga, without the relaxing effect.

Can’t sleep, won’t sleep
If it was as simple as taking you back to bed, giving you a quick pat and returning us both to the land of nod as quickly as possible, I’d never have let these bad habits develop. But it’s not that easy. It can take up to an hour to get you back to sleep, and in the dead of night, it’s all too easy to take the path of least resistance and let you clamber in.

The night before last, I took you back to bed twice before 2am, but caved around 4.30am, when you appeared for a third time. Just as we both fell back to sleep, there was an unmistakable sound:

“Mummmm-meeeeeeee!”

The other one. The Big Boy’s distress call able to penetrate the deepest, most hard-to-reach stage of sleep (but not if you’re a man*).

“I had a bad dream!” And with that – and the first signs of dawn giving the room an eerie glow – I acquired another bed fellow.

The morning after
Somehow we muddle through the next day. I haven’t yet done things that other mums report, like loading the dishwasher with dirty clothes (ok, Catherine the Great takes care of that anyway – and no, I’m determined not to become like a local, despite the temptation!**). It’s more of a long-term fatigue problem.

Little boy, if you let me sleep, I’d be a nicer person, honestly. Be more patient when you tantrum. Play with you more. Pay your dad more attention. Do you not realise that sleep deprivation is an essential part of the torturer’s toolkit – favoured by the Japanese in WWII and used by the KGB as an interrogation tactic? Discovered by a woman – a mother to be exact – I reckon.

During your two-and-a-half hour bender last night – your eyes wide open, your body fidgeting with restlessness – I nearly resorted to calling your dad in China. Under the pretext of support – or was it ….. sleep envy? Jealousy that DH was slumbering away peacefully and without disruption in a hotel room far away.

For sleep envy really can turn a relatively nice person into a monster.

I know. Because I am that monster when I’m sleep deprived!

* How do men sleep so well? I heard about one husband on a trip who woke up on the hotel floor. Turned out there had been an earthquake, which had caused him to roll out of bed. He’d slept through the whole thing.

** A cultural nuance in the Middle East is that it’s common for nannies to get up in the night with kids – and even sleep in the kids’ room sometimes.

UPDATE: Guess who is up with me at 1am and the reason I’m on the computer so late? The little pickle. Here we go again …

Summer holiday: Paradise found

Here in Dubai we’re lucky enough to be surrounded by beaches. And we really enjoy them, in every season apart from summer. Right now they’re too hot to go to. So off we went overseas on a family holiday – in search of a beach with seawater cooler than bath temperature, where we wouldn’t get fried and where our feet wouldn’t get burnt by the sand.

And we struck gold. The 115 islands scattered in the Indian Ocean that make up the Seychelles are lapped by topaz waters, with ribbons of white sand for beaches and lush green hills and jungle trails inland.

There’s so much I could write about: the 100-year-old giant tortoise; the vast underwater world just beneath the surface of the turquoise sea that we glimpsed while snorkelling; the perfect temperature and laid-back tempo. Paradise, indeed – with a few surprises here and there:

● Number of mountains directly in front of the airplane as coming down to land: 1 (sharp left turn required at the last minute. Special training provided)

● Taxiways at airport: 0 (planes simply make a U-turn at the end of the runway and trundle back down again)

● Hairpin bends on road over the mountain: 12 (seat belts in the back of our taxi: 0)

● A discovery I made: They rake the beach twice a day to make it look pristine

Beach cleaning crew

● Children seen on first day: 2, both ours and both loud. Seemed a bit odd. Wasn’t it meant to be a family resort? Then it dawned on me. Omg, everyone’s on their honeymoon, childless, loved up and enjoying a quiet retreat.

● Beautiful 20-somethings at resort: 100 plus (including bikini models on the beach, European men in speedos and a spandex-clad couple who took photos of each other in interesting poses)

● Boat rides: 6 (alpha male and offspring did not share my interest in sunbathing. We were active, very active. Boats travelled on included a pedallo, kayak, speed boat, sail boat and jet ski, all in 3 days)

● BB’s observations: “Can I watch TV?” (on arriving); “Do they have Boomerang?” (his favourite TV channel); “It’s cold in the Shell-Shells”; “It looks like England” (poor boy, hasn’t seen much greenery recently)

● Buffet meals: 6. Most visits to the buffet at one meal: 9 – DH, not me, but mostly to get food for the kids so he’s let off!

● Cost of a taxi ride: US$50 to anywhere, it seemed. The Seychelles, as we discovered, is expensive (we only managed to pitch up there thanks to our flight benefits and a good deal on the staff website. DH nearly had a heart attack when he picked up the bill for everything we’d signed for)

● Precarious moments: BB on a jet ski (with his dad, I should add) far out at sea and going very fast; LB peering over the edge of the sail boat in rough seas

● Activities laid on I would have loved to have done if it wasn’t for the kids: Rise and shine yoga (if it was a little later); cocktail making; coconut demonstration; spa treatment (any). Activity we did do: tortoise feeding

● Tantrums: 5 plus Me 1; DH 1

● Number of honeymooners put off having kids anytime soon: 15 at least

100-year-old tortoise. His secret: lettuce

● Number of times I thought how nice it would be to just laze on the beach, with the kids being looked after at home, perhaps: Censored! (I must be so mean – DH was even really reluctant to leave them in the kids’ club for an hour)

● Magical moments: Watching the kids jumping in the waves; the sheer joy on their faces as they raced around the beach; letting them loose outdoors after being cooped up inside; seeing BB try snorkelling for the first time; marvelling at LB’s sand excavations; sunset over the Indian Ocean.

And back to the desert again!

A Friday feast Dubai-style

DH thinks my new blog is a little negative. My 2007-09 blog, he says, was far more upbeat and his pilot friends in the US could show it to their wives to persuade them to move to the Middle East.

Now, I talk about the heat (sodding summer!), freaky Fridays and how naughty the boys are. Maybe he’s right: after three years here, perhaps you do get jaded in the summer months. Life with two very active small boys in the great indoors does have its challenges, after all…

But today, Dubai well and truly spoiled us and I thought I’d do a quick ‘upbeat’ blog, just in case I have sounded a bit down in the sand dunes recently. A long weekend here, we decided to do Friday brunch before DH went away on a trip. So off we went to the Mövenpick hotel in Deira.

I usually dread eating out with the kids as I feel we’re like a travelling zoo, the kids jumping out of their seats, swinging round the table legs and food flying everywhere. But the beauty of the Dubai brunch is kids’ entertainment is usually laid on. Today, the boys ate in their own separate area, attended to by their own butler!

The tables were laden with lobsters, crabs, roasted meats and all kinds of mouth-watering foods. There was a salad station, an Asian-fusion menu, an amazing array of cheeses and, my best bit, the dessert station, with a never-ending chocolate fountain.

It was like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for adults.

The kids’ buffet offered more basic fare- nuggets, pasta, cheese toast – but all this was overshadowed by what lay on the other side of the kids area: the candy buffet. Trying to keep the boys away from this was a losing battle, of course, and you might notice that all the sweets within reaching distance of the little boy seem to have disappeared.

After gorging ourselves silly – it would have been rude not to – we waited for the car (yes, we got to valet park it!) and headed home so DH could get ready to go to Vienna. Tomorrow I’m taking the kids to see a Mister Man show, but today, I truly feel like a Dubai gal.

Dhs119-149 (adults); Dhs50 (kids aged seven to 12); free for children under six. 12.30pm-4pm. Mövenpick Deira, Abu Baker Al Siddique Road, jigsaw.deira@movenpick.com (800 33472).

Look, there's even a turtle in the bread selection

And a crocodile!

Going for a spin on the way out