Lost children, parenting for idiots and the nightmare of sleepovers....

I walked out of a shop the other day leaving the baby asleep in his buggy behind me.  As I strolled through the mall with four year old boy running ahead, a distressed shop assistant yelled from behind ‘but ma’am, you left your baby!’

Blushing, I retraced my steps to the store and retrieved the abandoned buggy before leaving, head held high, as if I knew exactly what I was doing.  The next time I went into the same shop the assistant amusingly reminded me ‘Ha-ha! Remember ma’am, when you forgot your baby!  Ha-ha, very funny!’

Quite.

But if that's bad, my sister is worse: she left her baby son asleep in the car in the car park of a shopping centre and it wasn’t until she was in a shoe shop trying shoes on her eldest son that she remembered him.  

Dashing out, leaving her son behind in the shop, she retrieved the baby from the car, explaining on her return that somebody else had been looking after him.

We all have our moments.

We met some new acquaintances for coffee in a mall in Dubai the other day.  After a huge production seating all the children before ordering juices for them, we suddenly realised there were only four of them.  Retracing my steps to the car park there was no sign of nine year old girl – what on earth would these new acquaintances think of us?  Luckily it turned out that she had decided to go to the toilet but hadn’t bothered to tell anyone.

It can be hard to keep track of everybody all the time and I’m obliged to do a regular head count.  Some kind of tracking device might be a better idea though....

Un-asked for advice

Luckily I’m not so bad that I'm in need of the unwelcome advice of www.babycentre.com who email me a weekly bulletin with pointless advice such as ‘how to tell which end is the baby’s head’ and ‘why you shouldn't make formula with straight vodka’ (well, almost that idiotic), so I was amused to receive an update entitled ‘seven signs of a bad babysitter’.  Oh this should be good I thought, let’s read seven points on the bleedin’ obvious.  

Apparently some people need to be told that if their child hides, cries and becomes distressed at the sight of the babysitter, it probably means this is not a successful relationship.  Also, unexplained bruises or one too many accidents probably indicate that she doesn't have your child's best interests at heart.  Turning up late regularly is bad too, as is being unkempt and dirty.  Seriously, who really needs this advice?

I reckon I could write these; here a couple of my own: coming home from a night out to find that your children have in fact disappeared and the babysitter is passed-out on the sofa with her boyfriend.  That’s definitely bad.  

Worse, arriving home to find 40 teenagers have raided your fridge and drinks cabinet while your child wanders around outside in the dark wearing just a nappy: that’s definitely a really good indication that the babysitter isn’t that suitable.

But perhaps I'm too judgemental; some first time parents genuinely don’t know what to do with a baby.  I remember sitting in a ‘parenting class’ on the maternity ward after the birth of nine year old girl.  The nurse was demonstrating how to bathe a baby (advice I never needed – all my babies bathed with me, much easier).  Then the nurse, with the aid of a baby doll, demonstrated how to dress a baby without strangling it or pulling its head off.  

One woman in the group nervously raised her hand ‘err..How do I know when to change the baby’s clothes?’  The nurse looked perplexed but many of the other mothers looked genuinely interested in the answer - 'err, well that's completely up to you my dear' she replied to a dissatisfied audience.  I made my excuses and left – this isn’t Leaving Cert maths for god-sake! (something I could never get to grips with and in fact still have nightmares about)

Mum!  Can I have a sleepover?

Am I the only parent that hates it when their kids have friends over for sleepovers?  In theory it’s a nice idea – for the first few times it happened I truly believed it would be rather wonderful for the house to be ringing with children's happiness and laughter.  In fact I always deluded myself that I would be the sort of parent who would be considered 'cool' among my kids friends and our home would become an open house where all their friends would want to hang out.

The reality though is very different.  As soon as they arrive it becomes clear that I’m now in charge of even more children than usual, and that means feeding them and watering them regularly.  With my own children we have a tacit agreement that they help themselves to drinks in the fridge and get fed when I can be bothered to throw something into a pan (or dial a take out), but with other people’s kids you’re suddenly obliged to act as if you care about meal times.

And they’re so noisy!  My children know to keep the noise levels down and to amuse each other without causing me too much grief .  As soon as an ‘extra’ child crosses the threshold,  the whole house is suddenly vibrating from the screaming, slamming doors and thundering feet up and down the stairs, like a herd of stampeding elephants racing through the house.

And the mess!  The last time we had children to stay they brought cake with them -- the only cakes permitted in my house are donuts since they don’t tend to leave crumbs.  Suddenly I had children wandering around wielding large slices of unwelcome cake, trailing crumbs as they went, while the next child walked through them.  I was instantaneously transformed into my OCD mother, down on hands and knees, dustpan and brush in hand, like some maniacal cleaning lady.

And getting my own children to bed on any given night is a endurance test as it is -- with extras in the house it's virtually impossible.

Four year old boy is usually the last to fall asleep

The following morning, as the offending mother comes to collect her child, I’m transformed, rictus-grin in place, into mother of the year ‘oh it was nothing – welcome anytime’ I insist, hoping sincerely that they won’t take me at my word.

Yes, keeping track of all five is hard enough as it is without extras, however charming they might be.   And perhaps next week my babycentre bulletin will be entitled 'seven signs that you've lost your child' - now that might actually be worth reading!

Glitz and glamour in the UAE and why the hijab is the same as a bikini...

There is an article in this months‘She’ magazine describing the expat lifestyle in Dubai.  It serves up the usual profusion of adjectives such as ‘luxurious’, ‘opulent’ and ‘lavish’ to describe the lives of those of us living in the UAE.  

Gold vending machine Abu Dhabi

As I type, I’m sitting in my lavish, diamond-encrusted study, on a platinum chair imported from Brunei, typing on my gold-plated keyboard.  And while we’re in the realm of fantasy, the plumbing in my luxurious villa on the beach actually works, the kitchen sink in my designer kitchen doesn’t leak onto all the products underneath it and it’s possible to lock my back door.   

While undoubtedly Dubai is the poster-child for all that is glitzy, expensive and just plain gauche; the champagne brunches, glittering malls and luxurious villas certainly do exist here-  this is not the lifestyle that I or any of my friends experience.

In fact, Christmas day was the first time we’d experienced the legendary boozy hotel buffet: there were the obligatory ice -sculptures and chocolate-fountains, and I must admit that we hopped onto a little golf trolley down to the beach for after-dinner drinks, but this was quite a novelty for us.  We’re more likely to be found eating from the Rupee Room in the local mall or a cheap and cheerful pizza restaurant at the marina (which tragically suffers from a lack of wine license). 

Ras al Khaimah is about an hour north of Dubai and is very much it’s shabbier, less affluent, younger sibling.  It’s also a lot more down to earth than its more prosperous sister.  There are a couple of four star hotels as well as the ongoing construction of a preposterous seven star hotel (badly needed in the community) but really, most people I know prefer to drink in a shabby shack on a stretch of beach on the outskirts of RAK called the Sailing Club.  

The atmosphere in this expat outpost is unpretentious and the booze is cheap (a glass of wine is 10 dirham’s as opposed to almost 40 in the hotels) and the children play in the sand or paddle in the sea while the adults drink, chat and sometimes take to the mike for a song.

And most people we know, rather than the luxurious trips to Beirut or Goa described in ‘She’, tend to go camping on the beach in Oman, which is just up the road.

Obviously I don’t do camping – 3 weeks in a tent bumming from Bordeaux to Biarritz as a 22 year old was enough to quell that particular avenue of interest (both for me and DH) -but certainly this sort of trip is more realistic for us than staying in 5 star hotels quaffing champagne (not that I am repulsed by the idea you understand).

UAE in the papers

The UAE does suffer from pretty negative international press: deservedly so some would say.  The juxtaposition of the footballers wives glitz and glamour, with the attention-grabbing, fear-inducing headlines (bikini lady/kissing couple/sex on the beach idiots) means that any desire to visit the place is quickly negated by the risks involved.

Personally I think it’s a country suffering from an identity crisis.  It at once covets a reputation as an international tourist destination, offering shops and hotels which can (arguably) rival those of London, Paris and New York, while conversely and periodically stamping its conservative foot to reassert its status as an Islamic country and demanding to be respected as such.  

While most people I know wear what they want and drink when they want with little interference, there will be the occasional scape-goat trotted out before the courts and the press as an example of what can happen should you flout the rules regarding respect and decency. 

Much as I despise the idea of Saudi Arabia, at least it’s not pretending to be anything other than it is; I know I will never set foot in the place because it has held its colours aloft and declared itself unfriendly to women and indeed anyone who values liberty.

But the UAE is a country of ambivalence.  Is it not perverse on the one hand to have an abundance of exotic underwear stores (which make Anne Summers look like the undies section of Marks and Sparks) much beloved by the local population, and on the other insist that shoulders and knees should be hidden from view?

The hijab

I have on occasion been asked to cover up in order to not offend, but who exactly am I offending? The women? The men? Neither option seems sensible to me.  Women here may insist that it is a choice to cover from head to toe in thick black swathes of fabric, often with black gloves and tights, but to my western eye it just doesn't seem to be the case, particularly during the height of summer where temperatures can reach 50 degrees; there are surely easier ways to cover.

Woman wearing hijab with niqab covering the face.

In fact, the first time I saw a woman fully covered I got such a fright my heart almost leaped into my mouth.  To me she seemed barely human, a spectre, walking towards me in the middle of the day but completely hidden from view: like a non-person. That religion could do that to a person put the final nail in the coffin in favour of atheism for me. Two and a half years later I still find the sight of a woman so controlled (whether she sees it that way or not) upsetting (and I'm  not talking about the veil in general, I'm referring to the practice of concealing the entire body).

Human interaction relies on facial expression - the covering of the face (or in some cases wearing the niqab which exposes the eyes) - ultimately silences any relations between Western women and local Muslim women, particularly here in RAK where the population are much more traditional.  While relations between Westerners and locals are strained at the best of times, this helps to ensure that this remains the status quo.

And saying that wearing the hijab is a choice is like saying a woman suffering from Stockholm syndrome, who chooses to marry her kidnapper, is rational.  What choice has a woman who comes from a tradition where every woman covers? While there is no doubt that the uncovered female body is overly objectified and sexualised in Western society, it is no less so in Muslim society where it is covered in order that it not be looked at.  In both cases it is seen as little more than a sexual object with women being the loser on both sides of the cultural divide.

Phew...how did I get to the objectification of women from jewel-encrusted appliances?

And finally......... 'House' has been replaced by 'Dexter'.  Having watched 6 and half seasons of the former I finally got up to speed and the ensuing withdrawal symptoms saw me scrambling for a replacement.  Having worked my way through Season 1 of 'Dexter' within a couple of weeks (alone), DH finally sat down with me last night to start Season 2 - he was appalled at my latest obsession, declaring me unbalanced for watching such perversity on a nightly basis.  I tried to point out that my 'House' obsession didn't result in my becoming an MD in New Jersey, so watching Dexter was unlikely to result in my becoming a serial killer in Miami - he remains unconvinced.

Disclaimer- Any opinions expressed here, however misguided or misinformed, are entirely my own.  Opinions (on culture, feminism and American prime-time TV shows) are not the preserve of academics or TV critics only and I don't claim to speak for all expats, women or Irish people.  Just thought I'd add that before people get on their high horse!