mothers on the verge

In a flurry of 'can do' spirit this morning, I decided to take on the Frenchies at their own game. OK, so I am probably a little too fleshy to properly pass myself off as ze glorious French Maman , plus my hair is far too frizzy, but I can do the whole floaty leetle trapeze dress with witty lace detailing with the best of them. A slicked-back ponytail hides a multitude of bouffy sins. A touch of powder to simulate the non-shiny visage . Have a bit of a tan already so tick on that one. Finish off with one pair of round-toed ballet shoes and I was there, ready to 'zut alors' with the glamorous Gallic hordes at the school gate. Sadly, it failed miserably. Not one French mother gave me an appoving smile or even flicked their dark sultry glance over my outfit. It was as if I was invisible. Which is all very well when I am dressed in my scumbag Rosbif style rags, but not when I've gone to the considerable effort of tricking myself out in the French femme's nat...

If Dubai was a person, it would be the Infantile Boyfriend. You know the kind, we've all had one - he's that bloke who was always late, never remembered your birthday, took the seat at the cinema with the clear view leaving you sitting behind the giant with the huge bouffy head, never gave you the last most chocolately bit of his Cornetto and never, ever apologised. But however irritated and heartbroken you became at his shoddy treatment, you put up with it because he was, frankly, totally gorgeous -so hot that he left a trail of open-mouthed drooling women in his wake, all of them giving you the evil-eye because they wanted your arm-candy. And when you were with him, despite the fact that he was a major sh*t, you had a whole heap of fun. Infantile Boyfriend, like all self-obsessed juvenile delinquents, can always be relied on to ramp up the excitement factor. If it suits them , of course. Dubai is most certainly infantile by nature - half-finished, ...

Having worked bloody hard for the past thirteen years, I am now spending most of my time thanking my lucky stars. You see, since we moved to Dubai in January to follow the ex-pat dream, I have not lifted a finger in exchange for financial reward. And boy, do I like it this way. Before we moved, my main concern wasn't finding somewhere to live, schools for the kids or even how the hell we were going to manage to transport all our years of accumulated rubbish. No, it was all about how I was going to manage to set up a Dubai-based branch of the PR company I had started with three ex-colleagues in London last year. Selfish, perhaps, but then you have to be obsessed to have a reasonably successful career in the super-competitive world of PR. One of Alpha's main complaints when we were in London and I was working was that he wished I could put an ounce of the same effort into family life as I did with my job. But I couldn't, because working 60+ hours a week ate me up from the i...

Some of the choice quotes I've heard in the past week: "I have to rush or I'll be late for my personal trainer." "I was so upset last night when I heard that you'd been saying that my daughter was being mean to your child that I couldn't make my husband his dinner." "You just won't believe the trouble I've been through with my maid recently. I am beyond annoyed." "You're flying Economy? Really? I told Colin that if he books me and the kids into anything less than Business Class for our trip home this summer then I'd rather stay here in Dubai. I just can't bear it otherwise." "And I said to her, Honey, if you're going to do it then you'll have to go to the Lebanon. The doctors there do the best breasts in the world. It's not something you want to take a chance on, is it?" MAD!

It's getting very hot here now. I have to drive around with the air con jets arranged so they blow directly into my armpits. Otherwise there is serious danger of combustion (not to mention severe deodorant failure). I'm a far cry from the more seasoned Dubai-ites who swank around in their Swarovski-encrusted jeans in the 40C heat. Personally, I'm all over baggy cotton and elasticated waistbands right now as anything else makes me feel like a sausage about to burst out of its too-tight skin. Who ever said Dubai is glamorous? I've been doing a lot of people watching lately, mainly while sweating in the shade waiting for the school bell to ring, which has been a fascinating exercise in socio-cultural something or other. Basically, Dubai mothers can be loosely split into the following categories: THE HUMMER MOM - Hummer Mom's heroine is Angelina in her Tomb Raider days. Gym honed and super-toned, she pours herself into tight black outfits and fixes a 'don'...

Hi Lauren, We've been here for nearly a month now and it still freaks me out every time I allow myself to think properly about it. Thankfully these moments are few and far between as I've been spending a minimum of 5 hours per day (in between the rather arduous school run) looking at villas to rent. Then it's the usual malarky, you know, the 'lost' hours between the end of the school day and kids bedtime. Then I collapse into a heap and brain shuts down. Firstborn is now in school, which was a bit of a nightmare to find but we triumphed eventually. She's been recently diagnosed as being dyslexic so it made it all the more difficult to find her a place - one school turned her down after looking at her school reports, saying that her grades weren't good enough... at the age of 6! Rubbish. Think we had a lucky escape on that one. The Small(er) One is still school-less, which means that she has hang out with me all day (much to her disgust as my playing skills a...

So here we are in Dubai. Still in a bit of a daze. Still keep thinking it's a holiday until I remember it's not a holiday at all. Still not sure what I think of that. Alpha went to work today, which seemed to be fine (he's one of those strong silent types who refuses to chit-chat unless 100% necessary, sigh, sort of manly though so can be forgiven) while kids and I went to look at schools and figure out all the boring mundane stuff you get used to when you've lived in a place for more than five minutes... which immediately stops being mundane when you go somewhere new and realise that you haven't a clue about anything anymore. Culture shock is an understatement. Funny/odd things I've seen/experienced in the past couple of days: Waitrose's 'Pork Room' in Dubai Mall - a room full of pork products separated from the rest of the supermarket with a door made out of those thick plastic sheet things - huge sign at the entrance shouts 'Non-Muslims Only...

A better day today, mainly brought on my mentally sorting out my wardrobe for what to pack for Dubai (leaving NEXT week - aggghhh). The realisation struck me that I'll be able to wear sandals EVERY DAY - no more horrid socks or saggy-crotched tights to wrestle my winter-white flaky-skinned legs into every morning (while hopping about to try to get my circulation going since our flat lets in Siberian gusts through all external windows and doors). The latter deserves a resounding cheer in it's own right. I can also put all my winter coats into storage. In fact, anything more hefty than a lightweight summer blazer won't get an airing until I venture back to Blighty on holiday. Hurray! Scarves, hats, gloves, boots, vests and thermal underwear - all gone. Double hurray! OK. I think I'm starting to get into this crazy Dubai idea.

Here's my big news. Alpha, rugrats and I are upping sticks and heading off to Dubai on 29th January. Yes, that's right, the 29th January. Less than two weeks away. And just in case you're jumping to any conclusions, it's not a holiday - we're going for a full three years. We've known since before Christmas but I couldn't put it out there until now as there were so many offline people who had to be told first. After all, it wouldn't have been kind for non-virtual friends/ clients/ etc to hear about such a big life change on the blog (some of them claim to read Mothers), would it? I gave you all a wee clue, though, with my New Year's Resolutions, in my plan to learn Arabic. So Yummy London Mummy and clan are about to undergo a new incarnation. Watch this space.