Goodbye Sandpit…

So I owe everyone an explanation. I said end of June and here I am a month later. Would hate to be one of those bloggers that had just upped and left and hadn’t bothered with the telling.

Be warned… this could be a long one.

So… You’re a smart lot and you’ve probably worked it out from the title. Yes, I’m leaving Dubai. Very, very long story short, we’ve been idly contemplating change for a while; happened to have a Canadian residency lying around that needed deciding on; and of course happen to have an 11 month old that could do with a home since neither of us really wants to go live where we were born at this point… and things lined up. So we’re making one of the quickest moves in the history of the world… to Toronto. Why quick? Because it gets cold quite soon (well not according to them, but def to long term desert dwellers). And apparently there’s no quicker way to get depressed than to move somewhere when its cold and grey. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we? So we’re off in under 3 months from when we decided.

The past months have been a varying mix of absolute elation and sheer terror. And as the day dawns – literally, we leave in the morning – I find all that giving way to sadness. I didn’t actually think it would be so hard to say goodbye to the sandpit to be honest. Probably shouldn’t be surprised though. That’s what happens when a wandering soul finds a place very close to home I guess.

Oh, let the snobs criticize… to me its been home.

I came here 8 years ago with very little money and a ton of confidence that I could make it on my own in ‘shariah compliant sin city’. Didn’t tell anyone that I was taking a chance; just came here and took it. And guess what? It worked out. I’d say every one of my materialistic dreams came true (except that Range Rover Sport I was lusting after at one point. But hey we need to leave something up there right? I’m only 30- errr 20-something ;)). But more importantly, this is where I grew up! Found my future in more ways than one… properly found a sig other, grew into someone just shy of semi-important on the work front, had that baby! And met some of what I hope will stay the best friends of my life… Learned to drink loads (yes, its odd in an Islamic country, I know), put on make up (including while diving ;)), walk in heels, wheel and deal and many other significant life skills I don’t remember ever living without. All in truly flamboyant Dubai style. Loved every minute! Ok I lie, loved 6 out of every 10 minutes maybe. Seriously, that’s pretty good!

So today, its time to take my head out of the sandpit and go play in the real world. I’m pretty sure I’ll like it. Or who knows maybe I’ll be back here as soon as I possibly can. All I know is that as I say goodbye to the steady trickle of awesome people that came by and called today, I don’t think I’ll ever quite be done with this place! So for the moment, lets just say… till we meet again Dubai.

On sabbatical...

So I'm taking a few weeks off to go discover myself. Figure out a new life etc... Or maybe I lie ;) maybe I'm just goofing off for a bit. Anyone's guess!


But seriously... Lots going on. Atleast its the kinds of things that will make for good stories in the future.


Be back at the end of June folks, with loads more.


Till then, dare I say 'enjoy the summer'? No of course not, we live in the desert, that would mean nothing right? Keep your head down, enjoy the malls and try not to buy too much.


Laterssss.

Bad planning…

You know how some people manage to get everything they set out to get done, done? Those people who manage to look like they’re doing nothing but having fun but still stay right at the very bloody top of everything? All. The. Bloody. Time. The kind that make us normal folk look hopelessly inadequate?

Yeah those. My mum is one of those.

I'm  guessing as someone in the know, you know that American Idol is kinda top of discussions right now with most people.  Well, I’ve noticed mum knows an insane amount about the goings on with those kids. It figures. The papers here are full of all manner of detail right down to the colour of their socks .

So I say to her after a few conversations about them (as well as how Guiliana is having a surrogate, and, in case you think she’s a frivolous airhead, what was in the latest of Sheikh Mo’s plans)… ‘Mum… you’re clearly not doing enough babysitting.  Because if you were, how on earth do you have the time to read so much. I’ve had the same issue of ‘Aquarius’ on my bedside table for a couple of months and barely got past page 3.’ And we all know that thats the ultimate in intellectual reading and takes time! *rolling eyes*

‘Its all in the planning’, she said smugly, ‘I read the papers when baby has her first nap.’ Hmmmmm... maybe... she manages to spend a lot of time with baby, do loads for her, cook for her and the rest of us fab food, AND read all about that boy with the same name twice and how his father owns some kind of store.

I’m pretty sure she’s lying! I’m going to stalk her the next few days and find out how she’s adding hours to the day.

Because as someone who’s given up planning when she’s given up her job, I’m on a quest to figure this out. There’s got to be a way to have it all? Hasn’t there? I mean Supermum has been doing it for years :)!

Focusing hard…

Ever noticed how getting someone’s attention in full is practically an impossibility? There was a time, not so long ago, when you had to make intelligent conversation for the most part (not withstanding the occasional drunken ramble – and aren’t those awesome? I’ve been told about everything from the sizes of people underclothes to clandestine affair details to secret religious beliefs over the years. Deliciously juicy… but I’m rambling ;)). Because, back then, people listened to you. And judged you wholeheartedly if you were a. boring b. stupid or god forbid c. a windbag. Oh the tags were endless if you look back and recall a little.

Today though, thanks to the modern miracle of technology, we’ve been set free haven’t we? We’re always got half an eye on a screen and most of a ear out for a beguiling ‘ping’ telling us someone out there loves us more that the people we’re with. Gosh, what if I miss that inane comment someone made about someone else on still someone else’s status update. Or worse still, missed actual direct contact with my fourteenth cousin eight times removed on my mum’s side as she sends me an IM saying she’s rolled out of bed and plans to brush her teeth in a few minutes. I mean what would I do without that info?

People can actually live quite happily without talking to anyone today. Whole decision making convos are typed out in something vaguely resembling English. Where letters god never intended to be put next to each other are forced to coexist in harmony. And are so excited about it, they pull out industrial quantities of punctuation to accompany them!!! I mean I even saw a chick miss The Hulk manhandle a lesser god, while she checked out a text which probably told her about how she’d win a bar of peanut brittle if she was the thirty second gazzilionth person to walk into XYZ uber-fashion on the third Sunday after World-lets-all-own-a-smart-phone-day.

Sarcasm aside, I think its super liberating. Now we get to be as unfocussed as we like on things. The commitment to commitment can die a peaceful death and we can just flit around being the masters of halfhearted multitasking. Awesome!!

Thumbs up…

Nostalgia comes in many forms I’ve discovered. And the latest ‘avatar’ of my nostalgia is a fizzy, brown beverage!

Last week, I was doing a grocery run. Only this time, it was a social occasion because I had gone with - in addition to buggy, baby et al – my folks as well, who are visiting. Once we’d plodded through the aisles making things more of an event than anything else really! Stopping every so often to discuss the merits and demerits of a biscuit or a jellybean (we went with gourmet berry BTW, which I’d recommend). And getting some scary stares from efficient looking lunch time shoppers because we were verging on blocking the aisles during some particularly intense huddles… Overall, we got done without major incident and got to check out. In front of us was an Indian couple with the Indian Cola – Thums Up!

I shamelessly accosted the lady and asked her where she found it. The question, of course created an immediate bonding situation. She beamed at high voltage and pointed me surreptitiously to the place she found it. I ran towards it with arms outstretched and fetched not one but two six-packs. *sigh* so good! And you don’t easily find it in Dubai

Now to understand the fuss, I think you need to be brown or a strong brown-o-phile. A friend of mine who’s not brown said he suspects the manufacturers add ‘masala’ (that’s curry powder to the rest of you) to the mix and that’s why quite so many of us buzz around it like bees :P.

No clue what they put in it… all I know is that to me it tastes of home. And days when you didn’t get to have a ‘soft-drink’ that often and when you did it was usually a celebration, small or big. When you had to buy one, pay a deposit almost as much as the drink for the bottle, and then return it to get your money back. Memories of school canteens where if you had hit jackpot on the day for some reason, you could traipse up to the seller and ask for either a Thums Up or a Gold Spot (that’s the orange drink). They would get it for you from the refrigerator in the back and open the cap before handing it over. None of this twist to open stuff from self-serve coolers on those special days!

A couple of months ago, I’d gone home and on one of the smaller streets, we saw a tiny little grocer. We pulled over and asked for a Gold Spot. He just looked at us really oddly and gave us a Mirinda. Clearly no one sent us the memo on the fact that they’d stopped production years ago! Is it the same? Nope! I remember the ad for Gold Spot – it had a baseline ‘the zing thing’.  Now I don’t know whether its because I’m in the field or not, but I trust ads. When someone tells me something is ‘the zing thing’, I believe them! And now apparently ‘the zing thing’ is dead.

So, before the death of more nostalgia-drivers, I’m hitting the Thums Up. And remembering the taste of home. Because though I keep going further and further from home, you can never take the ‘brown’ out of the girl. No sir!

Damn right…

So, for a vegetarian, I put a ridiculous amount of effort into making sure the meat eaters in the family get the works. I’ve done some pretty adventurous stuff. Pounded out meat, massaged marinade into things; cut, chopped and kneaded; fried, broiled, baked, sautéed and curried…. Stuck three quarters of my arms up a turkey’s behind… And my personal best: peeled and deveined a shrimp (not just the one BTW, kilos of the stuff).

Why? Hmmmm… good question. No one makes me. My family for the most part are super supportive about my choice. Now. Oh don’t get me wrong; they’ve tried to mock the vegetarianism out of me over the years. I’ve been told everything from ‘you’re not saving any animals by going meat-free, we’re just eating your share’; to ‘you’re a shame upon the family name’. All in jest of course; don’t worry I wasn’t ill-treated at a kid or anything. Well, not EXACTTTTLLY ;).

I think one of my biggest mistakes was letting people convince me not to pursue a career in food. For a large part of my career, I enjoyed what I did instead though, I really did, so I forgot what a big deal food was to me. Of course on said career path you come upon some shyte jobs now and again. And you need something you love to get you through. I mean besides booze ;).

So I started to cook. I mean really cook. Not just the cook-because-you-have-to, everyday b*ll*cks. Although to be perfectly honest, I enjoy that too. And then I discovered that people’ll eat anything when they’re hungry; and I had a whole ton of single and foodless friends. So I experimented. Then I had some ‘good cook’ friends. So I competed. And pretty soon the only person I competed with was myself (no I’m not bragging, I just find that no one can push me as hard as I can push myself). And people liked my food as I may have mentioned *blushing bashfully like you brought that up and not me*. And what’s not to like about someone liking something about you :)? Approval has always motivated me, lets be honest.

So today I’ve raised that to a level I don’t want to step away from. I don’t taste any of the stuff of course, so I look closely at people while they taste my food. We’ve discussed previously how most people in my immediate family are much too polite to tell you things like ‘this sucks’. But involuntary expressions don’t lie! So I stalk those. And when I yell at them, they sometimes volunteer some constructive criticism. So overall, I’ve progressed on my experimentation. Because its fun, and it makes me happy, and I’ve learned stuff. And it puts food on the table. Literally.

Am I pleased with myself? Helllzzz yeah. Do I plan to continue it? For sure. And yes of course I do all this on the veggie food as well. Its a particular challenge to me to make veggie mains that rival their meaty counterparts. But lets face it, when you want large-scale approval; you get it for the meat. Expanding the target audience you ask? Damn right!!

Pooper scooper…

Two days late and a title like that? Really, I don’t even need to finish this blog… but I’m going to :p! Tch tch. How else would I get my self-indulgent moments of the week?

Yeah… so today is day 14 of baby with upset stomach. And of course that means the adults in my house (and there’s loads of us now because my folks are visiting) have, well… had a fair bit of cleaning to do. For Princess Poo Poo (and this is a different version than the Pooh Pooh-ing at my food one we talked about last week. Which by the way I’m trying hard not to connect to the upset tummy. Wouldn’t want to be the one that poisoned my kid. Thankfully, since she won’t have anything to do with my food, we can quite happily blame the jars ;). Just kidding, it’s a virus.)

And don’t worry I’m not going into gross detail. I know we’re close and everything, and although I’m happy to talk about colour and texture, I’m pretty sure you’re totally NOT keen. What’s on my mind is more the mood side of things. Most times when an adult has a tummy bug, ‘it’ is like a complete b*tch on wheels all the livelong day. Children apparently have a different modus operandi.  They are FAR too interested in the world and what goes on. Unless they’re severely dehydrated, they keep going!

For the most part of the last 2 weeks therefore people have looked at me oddly when I said the baby was sick. She looked well firstly. And secondly she is an extremely social baby (*clutching wood and refusing to let go*). This means that when she’s around people, she forgets what ails her. They say adrenalin fuels people on. In her case, its curiosity! So with the exception of a couple of the worst days, I took her out and risked even messy public clean ups in an effort to keep her entertained. So daytimes were taken care of largely. THE NIGHTS WERE A DIFFERENT STORY!

*Sigh* long story short, after days and days of it, I pretty much had a meltdown. Thank god for mommies. Mine took over, told me to go to sleep and that she’ll man the monitor and the night wake ups to whatever extent she could and wake me up immediately if there was an issue. Of course the little traitor was on her best behavior these past couple. Just woke up for a feed and an ‘undercarriage change’, as my husband calls it, as necessary! The worst is clearly reserved for me. The screaming for ages and not going back to sleep for 3 hours at night have my name written on them clearly. Too bloody bad she’s already old enough to recognize me ;).

So when I go back on duty, I’m waiting to see how it goes. Hopefully she really is better. And then I can finally spot gold on the crusade for STTN. Don’t know what that is? Rookie… its only the Holy Grail of parenthood! Sleep Through The (Goddamn) Night. Wish me luck people, we could use it!

What’s cooking…

Food is a big deal to me. Love the stuff. Adore cooking. Giant foodie. The works. In the early days of mommy-hood, I actually would cook. People assumed that was because I was trying to kill myself being a good host to the tons of people who visited. Nope. Not in the least. Cooking is just my idea of down time. God knows you need that in the beginning.

More often than not, when you put that much of your soul into something, it tends to be good. And people tend to like ‘good’.

Well normal people.

Not 8 month old, have a mind of their own people!

*Sigh* where do I start?

I’ve had my fair share of compliments (And they make me happy). I might even be slightly complacent about my cooking on occasion. I’ve dreamt about making a living doing that for ages. And I will one day. So when my baby girl was approaching the 5-month mark I got quite excited about the fact that in about a month from then I’d get to give her real food. Not just this nasty smelling formula cr*p (BTW what's with that? Smells awful. Like unpleasant seaweed. I remember when we were young, the formula our younger cousins drank was so yum you could eat it straight out of the can).

Thought up all the yummy, baby friendly things I could cook up. Did loads of research about balancing things. Bought Annabel Karmel (kiddie food guru to you novices). I’d give her tastes from around the world, I said. She’d be a global kiddie foodie I also said; many flavours, just like the city she’s born in.

Yeah… No! She had a different plan apparently. The plan is called spitting. Which, she does with remarkable finesse. Opens her mouth on occasion, takes a spoonful, scrunches her face, puffs up her cheeks and… there it is! All over my shirtfront. All my carefully chosen, lovingly prepared ingredients. This has gone on for months. I’ve tried offering regularly. I’ve tried cutting off for a week and reintroducing. I’ve tried feeding her hungry. I’ve tried feeding her full. Nope. Same drill. Eat a few bites. Then spit!

To add further insult to injury, on occasion, she’ll slurp up a ton of jarred cr*p. Oh well.

I’ve done it all. Various combos. Sweetening things up with fruit. Exotic. Bland. Basic. Carefully carved batons of little finger food for her to hold and try. None of it for Princess Pooh Pooh.

So after an impressive stint of making up batches of exciting things, I’ve given up and brought the offending jars to the party. Just in case you haven’t picked it up by now… that to me is like asking people over and ordering from…. Ummm Pizza Hut. Nothing wrong with it, but just so blah.

Oh well. Having minds of their own is a good thing right?

Yup, that’s what I’m telling myself for now. Until she’s a teen, and we have wardrobe issues I’m guessing. At which point I’ll pull out the my-roof-my-rules card that my mom played so often ;).

Fitness first...

Or is it? Well, it’s never been for me. I’ve been peer pressured into many things over the years, but somehow, never this. At least not with any degree of consistency. I was talking to my friend SM about this the other night. She and I have loads in common. We share a lot of the same tastes and feed off each other for the things that inspire us. With one very notable exception. Yup, fitness. She’s a fitness junkie… and I’m… well… just a junkie – of couch, food and all manner of other fun vice.

So, recently, what a lifetime of experiences couldn’t do, a C-section has. It all started with me taking a long hard look at myself. What I saw did NOT make me happy. I live with my husband and sister both of whom are much too polite too tell me I look like dog poo when I do (bless their little cotton socks). So I pretty much have myself to look to. I felt like everything was wrong from my hair to my feet (no, really, I hadn’t coloured or cut in months, which meant bad shape with ugly greys poking through, and severe dry skin which I cant be a*sed to slather things onto). So, I made me a project plan. I can do this shit, I said, I’ve made near impossible projects happen before. For god’s sake, I worked with a dude who wouldn’t know a decision if it bit him on the bum and I still got stuff done, so I must be good enough to quit bitching and move on.

The plan, therefore, consists of me changing the things I’m not happy with over 6 to 8 months. Do it sensibly and slowly and, most importantly, successfully. Now some of it is easy isn’t it? Sitting in a chair while someone washes your hair or popping a vitamin pill or creaming your toes is just so much easier than sweating it out or trying not to be a pig! But I did start. Stuck to yoga while I was pregnant so I’d be in good shape to create that baby, so I sure as hell can do this.

So, this time, its Pilates. When I signed up they said its probably best because of the surgery to go to a pre and postal class and ease myself in. Weeellllll…. Turned out I was the only ‘postnatal’ (which really, I shouldn’t even qualify for nearly 8 months in) amongst various degrees of bumps. All of whom seemed to be having much less of an issue with the contortions than I was I might add (can I just say that these classes made the kind of yoga I was doing look like chilling by a pool?). Nope, what was even more insulting is the fact that the class was listed on the day as just ‘prenatal’; and as I walk in people smiled indulgently at me (oh, I know that look; its the awwwwww-how-far-along-are-you, can-I-touch-your-belly look. No one said anything, though sometimes I wish they would. Its absolutely divine how you get to tell them you’re not in fact making people, you’re just fat and then watch as they die, slowly, of embarrassment. ;) Love it.)

Possible future indignity notwithstanding, wish me luck people. I even went back for a second class (I was told I could graduate to a few ‘regular people’ classes so that’s where I’m going to be spending most of my Pilates time, lets be honest). Lets hope this lasts! And that I eat less of the 231-calorie milk chocolate/orange cookies. Which in my defense my friend NP only told me about AFTER I’d scarfed nearly 2 down! So that doesn’t count. Right? Right!

Dropping naps…

Over the last few years, I’ve learned how to sleep in chunks. I think it all started when I signed up for a job with a 7:30 am start (I know!!). To most people this may not be a big deal, right? Well to me it was. Remember, I come from the big, bad, ‘glam’ world of advertising. There’s very little, if anything, that happens before a respectable 9:30 am. Talk 10:30 and you may well have a bit of success. Given that, and the fact that I was one of the ones that managed to be called a latecomer frequently in THAT scenario and you get my drift…

So when I got the 7.30 job, with a half hour commute… you do the numbers on the wake up time! I first decided I’d sleep way early. 9:30 in bed and 10:00 out cold, I said. Yeahhh... that didn’t work out so much! So after many months of various things I tried, I settled on a late afternoon nap to catch me up. An hour to an hour and a half saw me through some pretty rough days. So I fully respect ‘the nap’ and how great sleep time is.

And then baby came along. In the early days, all she did was nap. No day; no night. Then I slowly understood that babies needed a night sleep and some naps and that these get fewer as they grow older. Makes sense. I totally get naps, as we discovered. Now, however, the little lady is transitioning from 3 naps in a day to 2. Which is great on the one hand. Because no one said that getting the da*n baby to nap was hell warmed over.  And the less number of times we have to do it in the way, the better!

The trouble though is that we had at one stage, finally got her on something of a routine. We knew that roughly every 2 hours, she went to sleep. It might take a few minutes to get her there, and sometimes she woke, but essentially it was fairly predictable.

Now… My husband is a pretty hands-on dad (which is great, because love her as I do, I can’t see myself doing this without the now and then break). Unlike many, he actually seems to WANT to come home and hang out with her in the evenings and on the weekends so who am I to interfere ;)? But even with Mr. Great Dad, its fun to see the after effects. The other day I see him looking particularly frazzled! So I come in and ask, ‘what’s wrong?’, ‘When’s her next nap he asks,’ with a slight tinge of desperation.’ So I giggle inwardly and say innocently, ‘Not for a couple of hours yet, why?’. Of course he doesn’t answer because he’s a good guy. I then proceeded to make him feel guilty ;)… and said something like ‘Why, are you waiting till its time for her to sleep?’ And he looked shamefaced. Whaaaaat???? Why not? Its fun!!! :P

But seriously, I know where he’s coming from because I’ve been RIGHT there. Sometimes you can’t wait till its time for them to go to sleep. And then you truly appreciate how fantastic sleepy time can be! Right? Oh come on, you know you’ve been there!

Oh well...

Yesterday was the first time since I started that I didn’t post a blog on a Thursday! It was one THOSE kinds of days, I’m guessing you know the type? Oh well…

Lately though, I’ve been having a fair few of THOSE kinds of days. But usually, I manage to get the better of them. Not so much yesterday… oh well.

Oh well!

When I was little, I was brought up with a clear spiritual idea of good and evil. Whether my parents signed up for it or not, being in a school run by nuns meant that heaven and hell were introduced pretty early. You did good things, you went to heaven, and you did bad things, you went to hell they said and we respectfully believed. Well seriously… who wouldn’t? That’s pretty impressive stuff, God and the Devil… ain’t anything we were messing with. No sir!

Then as we grew older, we started to ask questions… ‘It isn’t quite that simple is it?’, we asked suspiciously. And the grey area was introduced. Bad things sometimes happen to good people they said, but its just a test. If you’re on the side of good, the other side will try to get you, they said, and the harder the troubles you overcome, the bigger the rewards. That seemed reasonable. (Over the years, the idea of paying my dues is something I’ve grown quite used to.)

And then came the beautiful concept of the guardian angel. One of the original minions of the ‘power that is’. Right there watching out for you. Making sure that what is dished out is only what you can take. The older I got, the more goose bumps that gave me. I guess that in my head then, I’d made that angel out to be this good, protective, benign force that watched out for me. With a shining cherubic face, halo and everything….

And then I went o Rome. To Castel St’Angelo. **** me! What a place. For those that don’t know, it is originally a tomb of one of the emperors and now a museum of sorts. What it has though is the most brilliant sculpture of an angel with a sword out of its sheath. Looks like he’s about to go into battle. AND WIN. Mindblowing. Call it spirituality, call it art; it is one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen! Legend has it that he is sheathing his sword but not in my head :D! There’s also a bridge with various sculptures of angels; again all intimidating. That place.... took away all bland and boring images of rosy-cheeked, smiley angels which I hadn’t realized lived in my head for like a quarter century.

Do I believe all this anymore? I don’t know. I’m confused. All I know is I’m getting tired of the shyte days and need something to remind me of the good and the beautiful (No this isn’t about my baby alone. And yes I am also aware that there are millions starving and in all manner of real trouble which makes me look like an ungrateful whinger).

All I’m saying I guess is: if I am to have a guardian angel out there fighting for me, I’ll take this one please :D!

Hot tea…

So, I haven’t had a proper hot cup of tea in 7 months. ‘The tea jinx’, shall we call it? I don’t know what it is, but each time I make myself a hot cup of tea (or better still get someone else to make me one), something baby-related comes up. And much of the time not the heartwarming kind either. Its usually a giant poo incident, or a spit up, or a massive cry over something or at best some general purpose whinging. Its like she watches out to see the steam rising off the top of a cup and then sets in motion whatever diabolical plan she’s been plotting all morning in her pretty little head (albeit with dreadful hair, but that’s another story).

The first time I noticed this was when she was a few weeks old. I mentioned the odd timing to my mum and we laughed it off saying she was itty-bitty and just needed a lot of attention, so anytime was probably going to be a bad time. Little did we know that the tiny saboteur had already started :D! Since then ‘the tea jinx’ has been going strong, to the point that I have developed a slightly less than gourmet taste for microwaved tea, because I cant bring myself to throw away every un-drunk cup.

Now why is this such a big deal you ask? Because tea is all I have left *sniff*! No other vices anymore really… I barely drink because I can’t bear the pounding headaches the next day that I seem to get from even a couple of glasses of wine. (Yes, yes I know you know I’ve done a few allnighters – of the good kind – but with those I was prepared to pay the price and did. It isn’t something I do a lot though.) And that to me is huuuuuge. Also, from my preggy days, I’ve lost the taste buds that process coffee. That’s ginormously huge! So here we are with tea.

I try everything to get around it, because lets be honest, its become a bit of a funny game now (you see what us stay at home mums do to keep ourselves entertained). I make my tea when there’s no earthly chance of an interruption; like when she’s just fallen asleep, or when my husband or nanny are keeping her entertained. But nope, it’ll still be something. You see much as I love my tea, I love my baby girl more *blush* (yes I’ve said something deeply sentimental, lets move on ;)) .

This week should be especially interesting. Now that she’s just had her shots, I prepare for a weekend of no sleep and cold tea. You see, when you’re as tired as we are when she gets the vaccine crankies, there’s nowhere to go but up… even cold tea helps ;). So that’s what I’ll be drinking by the litre. But enough about me, lets talk about you. What’s your plan this weekend? I hope you’re doing something fun for us!

Obsessive compulsive…

I’m a little obsessive compulsive. No, I lie! I’m a lot obsessive compulsive. Even back when I was little, though the actual term didn’t exist, I definitely knew I had some sort of issue when it came to neat-and-clean-ness.

I probably first realized it in the context of my family. We have these cousins who are the poster children for OCD. They would sit at the edge of their seats on public transport because they were afraid of the train-and-bus-cooties. When they came into their home, they’d actually fully wash up in an external restroom, built specifically for that purpose, so that they wouldn’t pollute anything. And that is just the tip of the OCD iceberg. The craziness ran deep :P. And needless to say, they were universally mocked for it. But even as I laughed along, some part of me, deep down, knew that I had a bit of it. As did my sister :D. So while people blamed their oddness on the ‘other side’ of the family, I figured maybe ‘this side’ wasn’t completely innocent ;).

Now that I’m married, and live with my husband, I realize that I have actually found someone who makes my OCD look tame. He’s a neat freak and I’m a clean freak (we’re talking specialties here, that’s not to say we’re not fussed about the rest). We feed off of each other. So he’d sulk and gripe if I kicked off my shoes anywhere but into the shoe cupboard. And I’d fuss and grumble if he didn’t rinse out his mugs and plates instantly, and do the cr*p out of the laundry! So essentially, until recently, if you came to ours, you’d find it almost scarily clean and in place. And I say until recently because that’s when our daughter came along! Need I say more? Probably not, but I’m going to ;).

I was always one of those people who had strong opinions on how a home should look. There is no excuse in today’s world for bad design, I said. And if I ever had a child, I’d never let ‘its’ stuff creep into my space and take over, I also said. Ha! Kids stuff goes EVERYWHERE. So between the bold contrasts of our walls (they’re turquoise and brown) and the ‘rainbow threw up’ scheme of most kids toys, our house looks like the kind of thing that’d make me run screaming in the past. But, we’ve gritted our teeth, and coped.

And then there’s the feeding! Oh GOD. She’s recently started on solids and the process of feeding a child solids I think is an exercise you need to take if you’re trying to curb OCD issues! You can go one of two ways: you either feed them purees – which they spit and smear all over themselves and, if you’re not careful, stick their hands into. Or you can give them finger food and encourage them to feed themselves – which involves gumming and spitting and squashing and throwing of things. God help me! I do a mixture of the two, and shudder, even let her hold the spoon in an effort to encourage her to explore and generally not get our hang ups. Gosh, this is costing me a fortune is acidity meds to combat all that heartburn from the stress.

Oh well, all I can say is, the things you do for your kids boggles the mind. And hey, in the process we’re getting free therapy to break the habits of a lifetime, yes?

Dubai troubles…

There’s been a lot of jokes recently about ‘Dubai troubles’… You know the kind of thing we Dubaians find to be a huge issue, which, really, in the rest of the world is… ummm… life! Things like ‘oh no the maid is sick, who’ll make my tea?!!?’ or ‘my son wants his birthday party at the Burj Al Arab but the ballroom is bigger at the Emirates Palace’ or, or, or… ‘what do I do in the 5 minutes it takes for the guy to fill my tank and wash my windscreen… can’t even use my phone, damnit!’. People in Dubai have been mocked for their rich people problems quite consistently, because lets face it, a. its funny and, b. it is a bit close to the bone isn’t it?

Believe me, I’ve seen (and had ;)) my share of these troubles. I’ve met people who whine non-stop about taxi drivers and service staff not getting it (these are the people paid tiny salaries in glamsville, and trying to make it). Here’s what happened with my next door neighbor the day we moved into our current place… the windows hadn’t been fixed yet after the renovation on moving day, so we had workmen from the landlord, and moving guys and delivery people all over while I just tried to stay out of the way. Now one of the guys fixing the window decided it would be a good idea to go get the neighbour’s outdoor table and use it to cut the glass for the window. Not smart (or maybe very smart; he’s using resources available to get the job done :p). The neighbor, whom we’ve since established is mildly grouchy, storms into our open house, finds the first workman, takes him to the table and asks ‘What is this? Is this your table? Tell me, is this your table!?’ Seriously dude? This poor guy was from the depths of Bangladesh somewhere, he doesn’t get your snide remarks. He just wants to do his job well and go home. Just tell him not to use the table and move on! But you see, here, this sort of thing is quite common. Guess it happens when there are a huge number of people, from different parts of the world and different rungs on the ‘ladder’, being thrown together. In fairness though for every one of those there are atleast a few here who do loads for workers to improve their conditions of living, overpay their help out of guilt, tip everyone in the hope of making their life a tiny bit better, give huge amounts to charity, and really, think overall that spontaneous kindness is a way of life.

Now for the ‘had’ part… yes, yes, I’ll confess! This is me this week, ‘Oh no, the pram is in the other car, how will I take my daughter for a walk?’. And ‘Crap, the grocery delivery store (across the road) wont pick up the phone, and I need milk!’.

I’ll admit, under the right circumstances, life here can be pretty darn charmed. And why not, we work like hell to get what we have - well my husband does :P; what??? I did too until recently! (Don’t know a lot of people here who switch off after 5.) And we play hard. We do our bit to ease conscience when guilt strikes, and we can laugh along when you lot poke fun at us! That can’t be bad. And, things aren’t always as easy as they look, right? So maybe put that into the context of the jokes the next time you hear one :).