mothers on the verge

The worst is over. I've now managed to locate all the items necessary for a civilized life - underwear, make-up, vodka and a hairbrush - so I'm feeling quite smug. Half my clothes (the nice ones, naturally) seem to have disappeared but I've discovered four pairs of very nice heels I thought I'd lost in the last move so, on balance, I guess it's not all that bad. Who knows what else I'll find once the last box is unpacked? Could be exciting... Firstborn and the Small(er) One are both delighted to be a mere four minute (I timed it!) drive from school, not to mention having their own en-suite bathrooms (the thrill!). The promise of a short walk down to the beach this weekend practically made them explode with excitement. BB is fairly chilled about the whole thing, not entirely sure she's even noticed that her surroundings have changed except for the fact that she can now open the kitchen cupboards, empty the contents and put them all back again (an absorbi

Back on the blog as soon as boxes are unpacked, furniture is in place and sanity restored...

Fall hits like a vengeance and the Holidays are suddenly in full force. In New York, that means Halloween -- taken quite seriously here. Parades, parties and even presents. (Yes, we've co-opted that tradition from Christmas and Hanukkah). In truth, I adore Halloween. I love any holiday that gives permission to transform. I love the idea of make believe and using your imagination to crack open a door you may normally shut. I also love the innocence of it. Over here at Mothers, I usually try to avoid hitting the stores for a costume for The Kid. Not because I like to take the harder route (although I have been known to take that tactic.) But because I love having H take some ownership of her costume. It becomes a week-long+ project -- an art studio in out living room. This year she's going as a robot: we've employed a packing box, spray paint, a used slinky, some bolts from her father's tool box, a broken computer keyboard and lots of Super Glue. The result? Fantastic.

Here's a link to the rather saucily-named Bedroom Athletics ; don't get too excited though, it's an online boutique selling all kinds of comfy things for sleeping and snuggling up in front of the telly in. Would probably work for exercise too for the more athletic types amongst you. In fact, they do such nice jammies that I've had the rather brilliant idea that I could just leap out of bed and straight into the car for the school run. I reckon I'd save all of fifteen minutes every morning which of course means an extra fifteen minutes to snooze - something really not to be sniffed at when you're as knackered as I am. Nice, huh?

The sun is shining and, thankfully (at the very least, for the sake of my hair) humidity levels are low. I had croissants for breakfast. One of my favorite songs is playing on the radio. I've completed most of my homework for college. The house move is going full steam ahead, despite a series of no-shows from carpenters and welders. I met a fantastic woman this morning who I hope is going to become a very amusing friend. PLUS one of my best mates is in town and we're all going out to The Agency tomorrow night (college first, but the sacrifice is well worth it). Oh yes, the sun is indeed shining today. :-) Happy, happy, happy.

Eccentric. Weird. Strange. A bit wacky. Unusual. Unique. Different... All these words (and more) have been used to describe me. Which isn't to say that I look especially different. In fact, I would hazard that I look pretty much like a regular person (no purple hair or multiple piercings, clothes fairly normal too) except for the fact that I'm 5ft 2in small, which makes me three or four inches shorter than your average Western woman. Oh, and there's also one small and extremely discreet tattoo. But apart from these minor details, I would hazard that I look like most 38 year old mothers - slightly harassed, my eyes a bit bruised-looking due to never getting the idyllic-sounding eight hours of blissfully uninterrupted sleep, and sporting an inevitable Weetabix smear somewhere on my person, landed on me by one or more of my perpetually grimy children. So why the constant references by other people to the fact that they think I'm somewhat unusual? To be honest, I'm not

After a couple of emotional yo-yo days - mainly due to the playing of annoying and ultimately pointless games by the owner - I am pleased to announce that we will not be homeless in two short weeks. Yes, after a lot of nail-biting tension, we will indeed be moving into an acceptable villa close to school AND (most pleasingly) a short walk from the beach. Moving day - end of next week! Oh yes, my step has had a proper skip in it today. :-)

A good, productive day today. Which is, of course, the best kind. I made an offer on one of the villas I was agonizing about: a friend gave me some very good advice and made me realize that the boring option isn't all that boring after all, plus sketched out the many advantages of living close to school and my friends (one being that said friend lives a short staggering distance away, a persuasive argument since she hosts great parties). So now I just have to wait to see if the negotiations come off. Insh'allah, fingers crossed etc. Next up - a chilled out evening to recuperate from a hectic week; my first night in this week, so it's a major treat. A big pot of Boeuf Bourguignon simmering away on the stove, a bottle of Beaujolais waiting to be poured into my glass, children in front of the TV and quiet for once, good music on the stereo... and Richard Ashcroft's acoustic set at Nasimi Beach to look forward to tomorrow night! *happy sigh*

So, what's better... A small but perfectly formed villa on the wrong side of the tracks (an oasis of calm in a swathe of urban grit) or a somewhat boring, slightly grubby but larger house in an area considered to be quite swanky? The latter also being more expensive? After a day of sweating and swearing, mainly because 95% of the estate agents (realtors) in Dubai are inconsiderate morons who think nothing of being half an hour or more late - if they show up at all. Then, when they finally do deign to appear, proceed to show you something that would work really well as a crack den, all the while insisting that it's really desirable and they have loads of other clients literally gagging to move in. So I'm left with two options: do I go for the unconventional choice that may prove to be slightly more inconvenient - but I love it - or the sensible choice that leaves me slightly cold? Or do I just forget both of them and keep looking for the ideal house that may or may not exist

The process of renting our house out is almost complete: to date the deal has been signed, sealed and will be delivered by the end of the month. Now I just need to effect all the repairs I've been busily ignoring for the past however-many-months and start sorting out our junk... (and with three kids, we sure do have a lot of junk - garage sale, anyone?) I may have found a rental house for us to live in. It's not exactly the area I considered when I started my search but it's workable with it's own unique charm. The house itself is beyond charming and, brilliantly, has just been completely refurbished with a tasteful eye (not usually the case here in Dubai where, it seems, the majority of landlords consider bathrooms with tiles the color of chopped liver to be ultra-desirable) I've been offered a job: just need to see if the terms are reasonable and the hours flexible before I decide one way or the other Off to see British singer-songwriter and ex-lead singer of

in·teg·ri·ty   [ in- teg -ri-tee ]   noun 1. adherence   to   moral   and   ethical   principles;   soundness   of  moral   character;   honesty. 2. the   state   of   being   whole,   entire,   or   undiminished. 3. a   sound ,  unimpaired,   or   perfect   condition. Origin:   1400–50;   late   Middle   English   integrite    <  Latin   integritās.   Synonyms   1.     rectitude,   probity,   virtue.   Antonyms   1.     dishonesty.  

Wow. What a week. I'm not complaining (especially as I've renounced self-pity as part of my recent emotional spring clean) but I am quite amazed at how much I've managed to pack in. This time last week I was in California saying goodbye to my family and about to set off in my asthmatic hire car for San Francisco airport (still kind of wish I'd upgraded to that oddly desirable super-flash Corvette). And yet it seems so, so much longer than five days since I set foot back in Dubai - time seems to have stretched this week, making me realize that the concept of time is very much subject to perception... Starting at University on my new postgraduate course, a serendipitous job offer that came totally out of the blue, being asked to act as the unofficial 'muse' for a new magazine set to launch in Dubai later in the year (more on this another time), finding a tenant for our house and starting the always-stressful hunt for a rental villa closer to the kid's school

So far, this week is busier than I could have anticipated. I had my first University lecture last night which I really enjoyed; the thrill of cranking up my rusty old brain again can't be underestimated. Was also very happy to see that my class is devoid of anyone displaying their rear ends or prone to puppy-like bouncing - most of my fellow postgrads are almost as ancient as I am, and a few even older. Phew. Slightly panicking about the large amount of reading I'm going to have to do though... Back on Wednesday night for a stats class, and a one-off workshop on Thursday night. Today I'm meeting our new tenant who is due to move in at the end of the month; in the spirit of the modern age we are downsizing and also want to be closer to school - the Burbs commute is becoming a bit tiresome, what with my children's active social life and my role as Mommy Taxi. Following that I'm off to view villas located closer to the girls' school as obviously we will need so

Dear Lord, I am becoming one of those super-keen mature students that my mates and I used to snigger about when we were Undergrads. And since I've only been a student for a day, the prognosis is that I'm probably only going to get more insufferable rather than less. I've already downloaded the year's reading list onto my Kindle (haven't quite started reading yet, that's tomorrow's goal), been harassing the IT department because of a technical issue with my student portal access (Panic! Panic!), am considering joining the Uni badminton team and have spent a happy few moments in the library. First time round all I cared about was the cost of a pint in the student union bar and how many hot guys there were on my course. How times change... The thing is that as a mature student you've seen a bit of life, you've probably had at least one career and you know it all kind of sucks unless you grab every good opportunity you're lucky enough to stumble acro

I really am quite weary today. Blasted jet-lag. Managed to struggle through by means of lots of caffeine and sheer bloody-mindedness, although think I offended at least two mothers on the school run by 'ignoring' them (was in fact so damn tired could barely see). Oh well. The exciting thing is that I am a student again. Yes! A student! At my age! Hurray. I received the happy news that I'd been accepted by Middlesex University in Dubai for their postgrad MSc in Applied Psychology just before I had to rush off the States. Today was the first day of term so off I trotted this morning to fill out a bewildering array of forms and wait in endless queues, all part of the official enrollment process apparently. There I was, the token old bird surrounded by hundreds of giggling teenagers literally off their faces with excitement. It all felt quite strange. Or maybe that was due to the cotton-wool jet lag head. Who knows. What was undisputedly strange were the gaggles of 18-

I thoroughly recommend the following when embarking on a 16-hour flight: - enjoy a proper meal before you board (not beige or wrapped in tin foil and preferably made from recognizable ingredients) - swallow two Xanax before take off - accept a glass of wine once the trolley comes round - pass out for ten hours - while away the remaining 5-and-a-bit hours watching world cinema classics (good for the soul plus who really wants to watch Transformers 3 anyway?) and two episodes of My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding (highly entertaining) - introduce yourself to your neighbor and engage in a friendly but lively debate on the plus/minus points of Anglo-Indian relations with a quick foray into top-line cultural differences - land 40 minutes earlier than scheduled - breeze through immigration and customs, then go to the baggage carousel to find your luggage waiting for you with no delays - come home and hug the hell out of your children (bonus points if they've made you a card and wrapped up their fa

I'm at San Francisco International Airport after a rather dull four-hour drive through the early morning rush hour traffic. Relieved only by the gorgeous road through the foothills (golden, undulating, beautiful) and the San Mateo Bridge crossing (watery, scenic, stunning), which makes the otherwise endless MacDonalds-WalMart-Stripmall-farmland vista of California's Central Valley bearable. The happy news is that I managed to get lost only once, a veritable triumph, which made the journey slightly more exciting than it otherwise would have been. After driving in Dubai for the past two-and-a-half years, the California driving style (courteous, law-abiding and s-l-o-w) takes a bit of adjustment: I have to continually remind myself that gratuitous lane-changes, driving up the a*se of the car in front of you and illegal undertaking is actually not very nice and really quite dangerous. Yawn. Next stop: check-in, getting annoyed by the very silly taking-off-of-shoes- etc security ex