We've just got back from a wonderful break in a very snowy uk. We were back for my father in law's 80th. We had some wonderful family time, but also some very precious time for just the three of us. It snowed whilst we were staying at my parents' house, which we had to ourselves as they were away on holiday for some of our stay. We loved it, sitting by the fire in a beautiful country house surrounded by snowy hills and lakes. Taking our little boy sledging for the first time was such a joyful experience. We will never forget it.
While we were home, I did something I've been meaning to do for a while. I went into one of mum and dad's sheds (where most of our belongings from our previous lives are stored) and retrieved the cutlery we were given as a wedding present. We were given so many beautiful things that we decided to leave behind because they were too heavy, too precious or too fragile to ship to the middle east. We also had no idea whether we'd be staying, and we knew we'd have to ship everything back that we decided to take with us. Consequently, we parted with a lot of our belongings, and it's got to the point where we've forgotten we owned most of it. I realised this was ridiculous, so this trip, I decided to bring something back. Crockery and saucepans are too large, but we managed to bring the whole cutlery set back with us in our suitcases.
It's a small thing, but I'm so happy to have it here. We've well and truly settled here, and it makes sense to have our lovely things here, rather than just 'managing' with cheap stuff we bought in a hurry 3 years ago. This is our home now, after all.
Showing posts with label living the expat life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label living the expat life. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Home
Recently, I've been pondering what "home" really means to me. Facebook has a section for "home town", and I haven't put one, because I honestly don't know where my home town is. Is it where I grew up (but left when I was 17?) Is it London, where I lived for 10 years after that? Is it the town in Surrey where we bought our first house together? Or is it, in fact, the city in the Gulf which I now call home?
I've realised I have lots of "homes". Sure, the UK will always be our home country, the place our families are, and there are certainly places there that make us feel "at home." But still - driving back to our villa the other night as the huge, orange sun was just setting, I felt very at home here, too. We've been here nearly three years. We have a great house which is getting ever lovelier as we gradually furnish it, some great friends (amongst some not so great ones - such is life) and our son was born here. My career is really taking off here, too.
In the last couple of weeks, there was a small chance we might have been able to move back to the UK. I surprised myself by feeling very mixed about the chance to move "home." The UK, as you all know, is in a very bad way financially at the moment. Many of my old colleagues' jobs are at risk. The aviation industry is unstable, and salaries there are low. Tax is 40% (if you're lucky.) Fuelling a car is a frightening experience. Food prices are on the rise. And crucially, I'd have to go back to work full time if we were going to be able to afford a nice house and childcare for our son.
So, as sad as I was when the opportunity was taken away, I was a little relieved, too. This way, I get to work part-time and bring up our boy, pay no tax (not a bean!) on anything I earn, and live in a house we'd have to be millionaires to afford in the UK. And we get home to the UK around four times a year, so it's not as if I never see my family.
I do miss my old friends, though. I crave an evening over wine and crisps with girls who've known me for years. I've had a few depressing short-term friendships here (a fact of expat life) and it's so shallow. Sometimes, only old friends will do.
Still, one of them told me last night that she's planning a trip out to see me very soon. I'm thrilled.
I've realised I have lots of "homes". Sure, the UK will always be our home country, the place our families are, and there are certainly places there that make us feel "at home." But still - driving back to our villa the other night as the huge, orange sun was just setting, I felt very at home here, too. We've been here nearly three years. We have a great house which is getting ever lovelier as we gradually furnish it, some great friends (amongst some not so great ones - such is life) and our son was born here. My career is really taking off here, too.
In the last couple of weeks, there was a small chance we might have been able to move back to the UK. I surprised myself by feeling very mixed about the chance to move "home." The UK, as you all know, is in a very bad way financially at the moment. Many of my old colleagues' jobs are at risk. The aviation industry is unstable, and salaries there are low. Tax is 40% (if you're lucky.) Fuelling a car is a frightening experience. Food prices are on the rise. And crucially, I'd have to go back to work full time if we were going to be able to afford a nice house and childcare for our son.
So, as sad as I was when the opportunity was taken away, I was a little relieved, too. This way, I get to work part-time and bring up our boy, pay no tax (not a bean!) on anything I earn, and live in a house we'd have to be millionaires to afford in the UK. And we get home to the UK around four times a year, so it's not as if I never see my family.
I do miss my old friends, though. I crave an evening over wine and crisps with girls who've known me for years. I've had a few depressing short-term friendships here (a fact of expat life) and it's so shallow. Sometimes, only old friends will do.
Still, one of them told me last night that she's planning a trip out to see me very soon. I'm thrilled.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
More goodbyes
We're now back in the sandpit after three glorious weeks of holiday. We spent the first one in the UK visiting family (never as relaxing as we hope it will be) followed by two weeks in a cabin on the south-west coast of France.
We've been there for a week at a time before, but our decision to opt for two weeks this time was the right one. It allowed us to completely relax, a rare commodity in our usually busy, packed normal lives. We spent most days sitting outside in the sun with a book, going to the pool and sitting on the beach, watching our now 16 month old son (who's just learned to walk) discover the joys of playing with sand. In the evenings, we put our son to bed and had lovely meals out on the deck, lit by candle light and the setting sun.
Anyhow, we're back now, after a marathon drive from the south of France to Charles de Gaulle in Paris (7 hours, and our son was great for the whole journey) followed by a 6 hour flight (when he was less tolerant.) It's great to be back in our villa - no matter how great a holiday is, coming home to your own things, own bed, own kitchen etc is always a pleasure.
A couple of days ago, I went round to see a neighbour of mine, a fellow pilot's wife who arrived pretty much when we did. She had big news; she's leaving. Her husband has got a job flying for SAS, and they are leaving in October. In fact, he husband told me that a lot of the pilots we know are going, and I'm not surprised. Which means, of course, that there will be many more goodbyes over the next few months.
I'm not very good at change. In fact, I'm rubbish at it. And if there's a universal truth about expat life, it's that it's constantly changing. People come, and people go. I just don't like it, that's all. To cope with it, you have to be good at making new friends (which luckily, I am) but also accepting of the loss of old ones all the time. And there's always that nagging feeling that somehow you're being left behind.
All I can do, though, is get on with life as normal, busy myself with work (which I'm getting a lot more of these days) and wait for the announcements to come.
We've been there for a week at a time before, but our decision to opt for two weeks this time was the right one. It allowed us to completely relax, a rare commodity in our usually busy, packed normal lives. We spent most days sitting outside in the sun with a book, going to the pool and sitting on the beach, watching our now 16 month old son (who's just learned to walk) discover the joys of playing with sand. In the evenings, we put our son to bed and had lovely meals out on the deck, lit by candle light and the setting sun.
Anyhow, we're back now, after a marathon drive from the south of France to Charles de Gaulle in Paris (7 hours, and our son was great for the whole journey) followed by a 6 hour flight (when he was less tolerant.) It's great to be back in our villa - no matter how great a holiday is, coming home to your own things, own bed, own kitchen etc is always a pleasure.
A couple of days ago, I went round to see a neighbour of mine, a fellow pilot's wife who arrived pretty much when we did. She had big news; she's leaving. Her husband has got a job flying for SAS, and they are leaving in October. In fact, he husband told me that a lot of the pilots we know are going, and I'm not surprised. Which means, of course, that there will be many more goodbyes over the next few months.
I'm not very good at change. In fact, I'm rubbish at it. And if there's a universal truth about expat life, it's that it's constantly changing. People come, and people go. I just don't like it, that's all. To cope with it, you have to be good at making new friends (which luckily, I am) but also accepting of the loss of old ones all the time. And there's always that nagging feeling that somehow you're being left behind.
All I can do, though, is get on with life as normal, busy myself with work (which I'm getting a lot more of these days) and wait for the announcements to come.
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Pilots and divorce: It's not pretty
Whilst idly reading Pprune's (Professional Pilots' Rumour Network) Middle East forum this morning, I came across this.
In a thread entitled "ex-wife", an Emirates pilot asks his Middle Eastern pilot colleagues:
"I'm getting divorced, and I don't want my ex-wife to be able to access any of the money I've made while I've been out in Dubai. Granted, she moved over here with our children, gave up her career and friends at home, and spent years living in a hot desert while I flew all over the world, but sod it, I hate her now, so I don't want her getting any of the money she thought I was making for all of us."
To be honest, the question alone shocked me enough, but as I read further down the thread, some of the comments made my blood pressure shoot up even more.
For example:
"Sell all you have and go into cash, physically hold the money. Keep this burried in the garden not safety dep box (no annonimity in dxb anymore)
Have no money in any account anywhere in world. Hold the cash.
Run up as much dept and personal loans as possible. All goes into the pot + and -.
When the lawyers ask about the dissapearing assets, say you where scammed when you tried to buy gold bars in BKK/JNB/Deira. The rest you lost gambling.....sorry."
The fact that this sort of view is the majority not the minority on this thread is really a huge cause for concern. What sort of people are these men? I'm amazed at all the bitterness and vitriol.
I do think aviation is an easy route to divorce if a marriage is weak anyhow. It's a tough job for any family to deal with, with frequent absences, moving away from a home country, tiredness and financial instability all coming in to play. My husband often jokes that he's amazed if a Captain he flies with is still on his first wife. And it's not really a joke; it's true, they're definitely in the minority.
And the fact that divorce proceedings often get nasty is not an excuse to refuse to offer financial support to your wife and children, particularly if it was you who opted out of the marriage.
Girls (and boys!) I suggest you have your say on that thread. They deserve to have a bit of a reality check, I think!
In a thread entitled "ex-wife", an Emirates pilot asks his Middle Eastern pilot colleagues:
"Does anyone know how successful an ex-wife would be at obtaining all your EK pay and contract benefit history, including provident funds for the time you worked at EK if her lawyer served a a court order for the information? "Which translates as:
"I'm getting divorced, and I don't want my ex-wife to be able to access any of the money I've made while I've been out in Dubai. Granted, she moved over here with our children, gave up her career and friends at home, and spent years living in a hot desert while I flew all over the world, but sod it, I hate her now, so I don't want her getting any of the money she thought I was making for all of us."
To be honest, the question alone shocked me enough, but as I read further down the thread, some of the comments made my blood pressure shoot up even more.
For example:
"Sell all you have and go into cash, physically hold the money. Keep this burried in the garden not safety dep box (no annonimity in dxb anymore)
Have no money in any account anywhere in world. Hold the cash.
Run up as much dept and personal loans as possible. All goes into the pot + and -.
When the lawyers ask about the dissapearing assets, say you where scammed when you tried to buy gold bars in BKK/JNB/Deira. The rest you lost gambling.....sorry."
"I think perhaps that my present First Officer has the right idea...'Why get married when all this free skirt is around, it's a bit like taking a ham sandwich to a banquet.' "
"Anybody know what happen if you don't pay the full child support amount?
Is it anyway that they could impound your salary from a European country? "
Is it anyway that they could impound your salary from a European country? "
The fact that this sort of view is the majority not the minority on this thread is really a huge cause for concern. What sort of people are these men? I'm amazed at all the bitterness and vitriol.
I do think aviation is an easy route to divorce if a marriage is weak anyhow. It's a tough job for any family to deal with, with frequent absences, moving away from a home country, tiredness and financial instability all coming in to play. My husband often jokes that he's amazed if a Captain he flies with is still on his first wife. And it's not really a joke; it's true, they're definitely in the minority.
And the fact that divorce proceedings often get nasty is not an excuse to refuse to offer financial support to your wife and children, particularly if it was you who opted out of the marriage.
Girls (and boys!) I suggest you have your say on that thread. They deserve to have a bit of a reality check, I think!
Friday, 1 July 2011
Back to the future
I'm home in the UK at the moment. I flew over last weekend without my hubbie, who can't get leave until next week. This isn't something I'd usually do - I had a special reason. On Tuesday, I went with Mum and one of my best mates to see the glorious Take That live at Birmingham Villa Park. It was an incredible night. As ever, they put on a brilliant show, full of theatrics and energy. And seeing all five of them together again was stella. But, I digress.
Yes, I'm at home with my parents now, with our little boy, but without my husband. It's not great.
Firstly, they have taken my son over. This is great for a couple of days while I get all the sleep I need and enjoy the novelty of being able to read the newspaper, but after that, it rankles. Yesterday, we went to a wildlife centre, and I always seemed to be 10 steps behind them, looking like the older daughter, not the mother of the little boy in the buggy. I know I sound ungrateful, but I AM a grown up, and I DO look after my son day in day out, often alone, when I'm at home!
Secondly, I'm regressing. Going to Take That hasn't improved matters, of course (I feel like a teenager again whenever I see them) but I do feel like I've somehow been transported back to 1994. Suddenly, I'm a hormonally challenged bean-pole once again, sans driving licence and dreaming of something more interesting than a daily routine of hanging the washing out, emptying the dishwasher and going for lengthy walks in the countryside for the rest of the day to avoid having to do any more housework. Back then, I dreamed of the bright lights of London (where I eventually went to University, and lived there for more than 10 years). Cripes, I'd have thought my life now was exotic and thrilling. Which it is, really. Unbelievably, sitting here looking out at my parents' gorgeous English garden alive with all things summer, I'm pining for our villa, which is caked in dust and baking in 45c. After all, that's our home, mine, our boy's, my husband's. Our family's place. Not here.
Which makes me think of the women I know who've decided to move back to the UK, leaving their husbands to live alone in the sandpit. This short spell home has proved to me I couldn't do it. Staying here doesn't feel like a positive step forward - it feels like a step back. Living with or near my parents, as many of these women are choosing to do, for childcare reasons, would drive me (and my parents) bonkers. We love each other, but living that close would drive us crazy. We all need our space. I need to be independent.
And that feeling that all I've fought for over the years - my career, travel, living somewhere that challenges me daily - I'd lose it the minute I moved back.
Nope, moving back to the UK without my hubbie is a complete no-go. I'm staying put, thanks very much. Plus, it's apparently summer here in the UK, but I'm freezing! Brrrrrrr! Take me back to where the sun shines brightly, take to where the sea is blue...
Yes, I'm at home with my parents now, with our little boy, but without my husband. It's not great.
Firstly, they have taken my son over. This is great for a couple of days while I get all the sleep I need and enjoy the novelty of being able to read the newspaper, but after that, it rankles. Yesterday, we went to a wildlife centre, and I always seemed to be 10 steps behind them, looking like the older daughter, not the mother of the little boy in the buggy. I know I sound ungrateful, but I AM a grown up, and I DO look after my son day in day out, often alone, when I'm at home!
Secondly, I'm regressing. Going to Take That hasn't improved matters, of course (I feel like a teenager again whenever I see them) but I do feel like I've somehow been transported back to 1994. Suddenly, I'm a hormonally challenged bean-pole once again, sans driving licence and dreaming of something more interesting than a daily routine of hanging the washing out, emptying the dishwasher and going for lengthy walks in the countryside for the rest of the day to avoid having to do any more housework. Back then, I dreamed of the bright lights of London (where I eventually went to University, and lived there for more than 10 years). Cripes, I'd have thought my life now was exotic and thrilling. Which it is, really. Unbelievably, sitting here looking out at my parents' gorgeous English garden alive with all things summer, I'm pining for our villa, which is caked in dust and baking in 45c. After all, that's our home, mine, our boy's, my husband's. Our family's place. Not here.
Which makes me think of the women I know who've decided to move back to the UK, leaving their husbands to live alone in the sandpit. This short spell home has proved to me I couldn't do it. Staying here doesn't feel like a positive step forward - it feels like a step back. Living with or near my parents, as many of these women are choosing to do, for childcare reasons, would drive me (and my parents) bonkers. We love each other, but living that close would drive us crazy. We all need our space. I need to be independent.
And that feeling that all I've fought for over the years - my career, travel, living somewhere that challenges me daily - I'd lose it the minute I moved back.
Nope, moving back to the UK without my hubbie is a complete no-go. I'm staying put, thanks very much. Plus, it's apparently summer here in the UK, but I'm freezing! Brrrrrrr! Take me back to where the sun shines brightly, take to where the sea is blue...
Monday, 6 June 2011
All change, please
It seems like it's leaving season here in the sandpit. It's the end of the school year, of course, and the beginning of a long hot summer in the Gulf. So many people who have been here for much less time than we have are packing up and heading home.
There's a container sitting outside our neighbour's villa as I write this - his wife is leaving with the kids, despite the fact he has no other job to go to in the UK yet (although there is one in the pipeline, next year, probably). Once his family's gone, he's going to be lodging with a friend in his spare room.
I've just met another pilot's wife in a coffee shop who suddenly announced she's leaving in 3 weeks with her two kids, again leaving her husband behind. He has at least another year to do here before his bond is up. I asked why, and she just said "I hate it here". Nothing like positivity, eh.
Yet another pilot's wife I know has decided to move home so she can work. Despite company subsidy, school fees here have eaten in the family's budget and reality has dawned. This is not the gold-plated emirate they had anticipated. Money doesn't grow on palm trees. So, another family is separated.
Call me a cynic, but I think these stories didn't have to end this way. When I first came out here I was homesick, disorientated and depressed. I wanted to take the first plane home - but I didn't. Yes, I've had bad times (PND as an expat is no joke) but at no point have I considered going back to the UK and leaving my husband here by himself.
The sandpit is not perfect, and it's a long way from London (both in distance and lifestyle) but it has great things about it, too. We have lovely friends here, a great place to live, tax free salaries and a great lifestyle. We won't be here forever, and I don't see it as some sort of prison sentence (as some certainly do). My career has actually taken off in a totally different but really fun direction, and most importantly, we're together as a family. That matters to us more than anything.
I do think that your happiness out here is a state of mind. If you want to be happy, you will. I believe the women who are heading home have never tried to enjoy themselves here, have lived insular lives and have spent a great deal of their time complaining.
So, actually, I think them going is a good thing. It's not healthy to have so much negativity around. At least the people who are left behind actually want to be here.
All change, please...
There's a container sitting outside our neighbour's villa as I write this - his wife is leaving with the kids, despite the fact he has no other job to go to in the UK yet (although there is one in the pipeline, next year, probably). Once his family's gone, he's going to be lodging with a friend in his spare room.
I've just met another pilot's wife in a coffee shop who suddenly announced she's leaving in 3 weeks with her two kids, again leaving her husband behind. He has at least another year to do here before his bond is up. I asked why, and she just said "I hate it here". Nothing like positivity, eh.
Yet another pilot's wife I know has decided to move home so she can work. Despite company subsidy, school fees here have eaten in the family's budget and reality has dawned. This is not the gold-plated emirate they had anticipated. Money doesn't grow on palm trees. So, another family is separated.
Call me a cynic, but I think these stories didn't have to end this way. When I first came out here I was homesick, disorientated and depressed. I wanted to take the first plane home - but I didn't. Yes, I've had bad times (PND as an expat is no joke) but at no point have I considered going back to the UK and leaving my husband here by himself.
The sandpit is not perfect, and it's a long way from London (both in distance and lifestyle) but it has great things about it, too. We have lovely friends here, a great place to live, tax free salaries and a great lifestyle. We won't be here forever, and I don't see it as some sort of prison sentence (as some certainly do). My career has actually taken off in a totally different but really fun direction, and most importantly, we're together as a family. That matters to us more than anything.
I do think that your happiness out here is a state of mind. If you want to be happy, you will. I believe the women who are heading home have never tried to enjoy themselves here, have lived insular lives and have spent a great deal of their time complaining.
So, actually, I think them going is a good thing. It's not healthy to have so much negativity around. At least the people who are left behind actually want to be here.
All change, please...
Monday, 16 May 2011
(Expat) mean girls
Lately, I've just about had my fill of some of the women I know out here. I've missed my old friends in the UK hugely.
It's not that I don't have many friends - I do. In fact, I have lots and lots of "friends", people who invite me to coffee and lunch, children's birthday parties and trips to the pool. I just don't have many of the sort of friends you need when you have, say, post-natal depression. Yes, those sorts of friends - the ones you can REALLY rely on. The ones who don't mind when you invite them over and talk about nothing but your own worries the whole evening.
And it's not just this that gets me down. Having lots of superficial friendships doesn't bother me overly - but quite frankly, I just can't bear two-faced people, and there are more than a fair smattering of those out here, I can tell you. I just feel I can't trust many of the aforementioned "friends".
Really, I think this is an almost inevitable result of the expat way of life, particularly in aviation. I mean, most of the pilots at my husband's airline live in the same compound, right next door to each other. This means their wives, who spend a great deal of time without their husbands (and a great many of whom don't work and don't drive) have only each other for company. Cue a lot of trips to the pool and coffee shop, and guess what they talk about between themselves? Well, here's a clue - it's not the stock market or the latest terror attack in Pakistan. Nope, it's the people they know in common.
Some people thrive on this sort of behaviour. They love to be in groups, and this allows them to bond together by bitching (or excluding) other people - a bit like gangs do in schools. In fact, a lot of behaviour here resembles the school playground. It's almost like these women have regressed. There's also a great deal of negativity. Get these women together, and all they do is moan about being here, their husband's jobs and command prospects, the cost of living, blah blah blah.
I really can't be doing with this. It reminds me of the bullying I experienced at boarding school - not pleasant memories, I can tell you. And all the negativity makes me want to top myself.
So, what to do? I've realised finally that all of this is tremendously unhealthy. Thus far I've tried to remain "friends" with said people, in order to avoid any further unpleasantness. But having spoken to a few other people who feel the same about it all, I've decided I need to cut ties. The time has come to focus on my genuine friends here (and they're really lovely people, thankfully).
Our family is going to be here for some years to come I think, and what we need is to surround ourselves with people who are glass half full sorts, people who are determined to make the most of life.
Because, blimey - life's too short for this crap....
It's not that I don't have many friends - I do. In fact, I have lots and lots of "friends", people who invite me to coffee and lunch, children's birthday parties and trips to the pool. I just don't have many of the sort of friends you need when you have, say, post-natal depression. Yes, those sorts of friends - the ones you can REALLY rely on. The ones who don't mind when you invite them over and talk about nothing but your own worries the whole evening.
And it's not just this that gets me down. Having lots of superficial friendships doesn't bother me overly - but quite frankly, I just can't bear two-faced people, and there are more than a fair smattering of those out here, I can tell you. I just feel I can't trust many of the aforementioned "friends".
Really, I think this is an almost inevitable result of the expat way of life, particularly in aviation. I mean, most of the pilots at my husband's airline live in the same compound, right next door to each other. This means their wives, who spend a great deal of time without their husbands (and a great many of whom don't work and don't drive) have only each other for company. Cue a lot of trips to the pool and coffee shop, and guess what they talk about between themselves? Well, here's a clue - it's not the stock market or the latest terror attack in Pakistan. Nope, it's the people they know in common.
Some people thrive on this sort of behaviour. They love to be in groups, and this allows them to bond together by bitching (or excluding) other people - a bit like gangs do in schools. In fact, a lot of behaviour here resembles the school playground. It's almost like these women have regressed. There's also a great deal of negativity. Get these women together, and all they do is moan about being here, their husband's jobs and command prospects, the cost of living, blah blah blah.
I really can't be doing with this. It reminds me of the bullying I experienced at boarding school - not pleasant memories, I can tell you. And all the negativity makes me want to top myself.
So, what to do? I've realised finally that all of this is tremendously unhealthy. Thus far I've tried to remain "friends" with said people, in order to avoid any further unpleasantness. But having spoken to a few other people who feel the same about it all, I've decided I need to cut ties. The time has come to focus on my genuine friends here (and they're really lovely people, thankfully).
Our family is going to be here for some years to come I think, and what we need is to surround ourselves with people who are glass half full sorts, people who are determined to make the most of life.
Because, blimey - life's too short for this crap....
Saturday, 30 April 2011
The Royal Wedding, and homesickness...
Yesterday, my husband, son and I gathered round our TV and were glued to the Royal Wedding. It felt oddly like Christmas in our house. Waving a Union flag, we indulged in a bottle of bubbly before lunch, ate celebratory choccies and felt part of something; something very historic and moving.
Afterwards, we went for a walk together (another Christmas Day tradition.) It felt so odd emerging from our front door into bright sunlight and a temperature heading upwards of 35c. There are other British families on our street, but in the main they're not, and instead of a raucous street party, we were greeted with the sound of the call to prayer, the street sweeper working his way down the road, and the bark of the dogs in one of our neighbour's houses.
Both my husband and I felt a little down last night, and we realise it's homesickness. For a few hours we were mentally on the Mall, glimpsing William and Catherine's first kisses over the crowds and anticipating the first glimpse of the bride as she journeyed to Westminster Abbey. It was an event that caused a huge swell of national pride, and it felt extremely odd not to be there. Still, I've put the Union flag on display outside our house. It now lives in our plant pot - there's nothing wrong with a bit of patriotism!
I watched a few highlights of the day online this morning and the memories are extremely rich. It was a beautiful wedding. I hope that William and Catherine (or the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, as they're now known!) have a brilliantly happy marriage. Lord knows, the Royal family could do with a success story....
Sunday, 3 April 2011
Working Mum vs stay at home working Mum - the eternal dilemma
I've been thinking more about the whole returning to work after a baby issue, trying to figure out why I'm so deeply affected by it all - feeling absolutely that I NEED to get back to work, but also feeling horribly guilty and sad that soon, a large part of my son's care will be done by someone other than me.
The other day, when I was having a bit of a crisis about whether I could find decent childcare to fit around my new job, my husband said, as he has done several times before "Well, we could always swap. You work full time, and I'll look after our boy." He and I both know this is not an option. Firstly, he earns a lot more than me, and secondly, if he took time off work, he'd run out of currency and struggle to ever get a flying job again. When he says this sort of thing I always feel somehow belittled, because it's like he's saying to me - there's no option, there really isn't a choice. This is how it is. You're a woman, I'm a man. You look after the boy, I provide.
I know this isn't what he means. I think he's just trying to point out how keen he would be to trade places with me. I know I'm lucky to be able to spend so much time with our son. He's tremendously precious.
Still, though, I can't imagine a future where the only job I have in life is as a Mum. Before having my son last year, I worked in an admittedly rather stressful job that I'd spent years working towards. My career was very important to me, in fact to some extent it defined me. Coming out to the Middle East and leaving my previous job behind was a bit of a wrench, but then having my son made my realise my ability to pursue my career was severely compromised, and I believe now that played a large part in my post-natal depression.
So, back to my working dilemma. For now, I've decided to pursue more part-time jobs that I can fit around my husband's schedule until our son goes to nursery in September. After all, this time of his life is precious, and I know I'll regret it if I don't spend as much time as I can with him now. Part-time will at least mean I'm contributing to the family finances, something I really want to do. As much as I know we share money as a family, I still can't quite get used to spending money on, say, some shoes, when I didn't earn it myself. It's a pride thing. And I know a bit more money in the family pot would take the pressure off my husband, too.
Oh, Mummy guilt. I'm told it never ends...
The other day, when I was having a bit of a crisis about whether I could find decent childcare to fit around my new job, my husband said, as he has done several times before "Well, we could always swap. You work full time, and I'll look after our boy." He and I both know this is not an option. Firstly, he earns a lot more than me, and secondly, if he took time off work, he'd run out of currency and struggle to ever get a flying job again. When he says this sort of thing I always feel somehow belittled, because it's like he's saying to me - there's no option, there really isn't a choice. This is how it is. You're a woman, I'm a man. You look after the boy, I provide.
I know this isn't what he means. I think he's just trying to point out how keen he would be to trade places with me. I know I'm lucky to be able to spend so much time with our son. He's tremendously precious.
Still, though, I can't imagine a future where the only job I have in life is as a Mum. Before having my son last year, I worked in an admittedly rather stressful job that I'd spent years working towards. My career was very important to me, in fact to some extent it defined me. Coming out to the Middle East and leaving my previous job behind was a bit of a wrench, but then having my son made my realise my ability to pursue my career was severely compromised, and I believe now that played a large part in my post-natal depression.
So, back to my working dilemma. For now, I've decided to pursue more part-time jobs that I can fit around my husband's schedule until our son goes to nursery in September. After all, this time of his life is precious, and I know I'll regret it if I don't spend as much time as I can with him now. Part-time will at least mean I'm contributing to the family finances, something I really want to do. As much as I know we share money as a family, I still can't quite get used to spending money on, say, some shoes, when I didn't earn it myself. It's a pride thing. And I know a bit more money in the family pot would take the pressure off my husband, too.
Oh, Mummy guilt. I'm told it never ends...
Tuesday, 15 March 2011
Two years and counting
Today is the second anniversary of my departure from the UK, and the beginning of our new life. Then, I'd just packed my job in, packed away our belongings and put our house on the rental market, and was being driven to Heathrow by my parents for a tearful farewell. I'd never visited the country I was moving to, and had no idea what to expect. All I knew was that my missed my husband like crazy - he'd moved out two months ahead of me to begin his training.
Two years on, we're very happy here. We have our beautiful son, who we both believe wouldn't be here if I hadn't downshifted so much and removed all career-related stress from my life. My husband has a stable job that pays very well and has good prospects, and I have loads of friends, I'm back working (very) part-time, and we have a lovely place to live.
If I'd seen this coming two years ago, I'd have been ecstatic.
Two years on, we're very happy here. We have our beautiful son, who we both believe wouldn't be here if I hadn't downshifted so much and removed all career-related stress from my life. My husband has a stable job that pays very well and has good prospects, and I have loads of friends, I'm back working (very) part-time, and we have a lovely place to live.
If I'd seen this coming two years ago, I'd have been ecstatic.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Settling in
It seems a bit ridiculous to write "settling in" as the title of a post written two years after we moved to the Middle East, but there you are. In many respects, it really has taken this long to feel "at home" here.
Recently, for example, my husband and I finally cancelled our mobile phone contracts in the UK. We'd been hanging on to them, saying they were useful when we went home for holidays - but really, it was because we both thought, in the back of our minds, that we might not last out our time out here, and might need them if we moved home. Finally, though, we have severed those ties.
Moving into our villa has helped massively, too. We've just come back from a week's holiday in the Seychelles, which was paradise on earth. But when we arrived back at the airport yesterday morning, we both said to each other, "it's good to be home". Finally, we feel that our house and our city are the place where we belong. Getting back to our own bed, our kitchen, our comfy lounge and growing collection of garden plants, felt right.
It's not been an easy road, by any measure. And many other families I know out here are still struggling with it. There's an inevitable cultural shock, and things are done very differently. You're miles away from your families and old friends. And it's very, very hot here during the summer. Some of the people we know out here are desperate to return to their home countries. It's very easy to get sucked into negativity about the country and the company. There's a lot of bitching about terms and conditions, and I think moving away from company accommodation has removed me from that, which has helped hugely. Living so close to all my husband's colleagues and their families reminded me so much of boarding school, in so many respects - and they're not good memories!
Still, I feel very comfortable here now. Partly, that's because I know my way around, know how things work, and have a base. I've always been rubbish at change, and it takes me quite a while to adjust to new things. And it's also because I really do like where we live. It's not perfect, by any means, but neither is the UK, which is very financially depressed at the moment (and that's an understatement.) Here, the sun shines every day, we don't pay tax, we have a great house, we're 20 minutes from the beach, and we have some lovely new friends.
We won't be here forever, but - it's home for now. And that's a great feeling.
Recently, for example, my husband and I finally cancelled our mobile phone contracts in the UK. We'd been hanging on to them, saying they were useful when we went home for holidays - but really, it was because we both thought, in the back of our minds, that we might not last out our time out here, and might need them if we moved home. Finally, though, we have severed those ties.
Moving into our villa has helped massively, too. We've just come back from a week's holiday in the Seychelles, which was paradise on earth. But when we arrived back at the airport yesterday morning, we both said to each other, "it's good to be home". Finally, we feel that our house and our city are the place where we belong. Getting back to our own bed, our kitchen, our comfy lounge and growing collection of garden plants, felt right.
It's not been an easy road, by any measure. And many other families I know out here are still struggling with it. There's an inevitable cultural shock, and things are done very differently. You're miles away from your families and old friends. And it's very, very hot here during the summer. Some of the people we know out here are desperate to return to their home countries. It's very easy to get sucked into negativity about the country and the company. There's a lot of bitching about terms and conditions, and I think moving away from company accommodation has removed me from that, which has helped hugely. Living so close to all my husband's colleagues and their families reminded me so much of boarding school, in so many respects - and they're not good memories!
Still, I feel very comfortable here now. Partly, that's because I know my way around, know how things work, and have a base. I've always been rubbish at change, and it takes me quite a while to adjust to new things. And it's also because I really do like where we live. It's not perfect, by any means, but neither is the UK, which is very financially depressed at the moment (and that's an understatement.) Here, the sun shines every day, we don't pay tax, we have a great house, we're 20 minutes from the beach, and we have some lovely new friends.
We won't be here forever, but - it's home for now. And that's a great feeling.
Wednesday, 9 February 2011
A window on their world
A few days ago, I had another appointment with my doctor to talk about my post-natal depression. There's good news on that score: I'm feeling much better and I'm coming off the tablets in a month's time.
My doctor is a lovely Muslim woman from the Lebanon. She wears brightly coloured clothes that always reach to her wrists and ankles, and a head scarf, quite often in a pretty fabric. On this particular visit we had time to chat as her assistant was making a meal out of sorting out my insurance eligibility.
I can't remember how it started, but we got to talking about women wearing the abaya (black full body gown) and veil here. My doctor told me about dress rules in her home country. She says that many Muslim women there don't wear any kind of head covering at all. My doctor actually didn't cover her head until she had her children. She apparently took the head scarf into hospital with her when she was in labour, and put it on as she left. For her, it was an important sign to the outside world about how things had changed for her, and how seriously she was taking her faith.
It was interesting to hear her views on women wearing the veil. Where we live, many local women do. My doctor's view is that this is a cultural decision, rather than a religious one. Their families and friends all do it, and so it continues. Interestingly, my doctor said it often unnerved her. She said she found standing next to a fully veiled woman in public toilets made her think that there could possibly be a man underneath the outfit! I'd never thought of it that way. Luckily, most women unveil in toilets, as far as I've seen.
For me, it's more an issue of not being able to see a person's whole face when they're speaking to me. It's odd not being able to read someone's expression. My son was at the doctors' the other day and a lovely lady in a veil was making clucking noises at him, and, I think, smiling. However, he started to cry - all he could see was a black veil and couldn't understand where the sound was coming from. I guess he'll learn, growing up here!
I read an interesting comment online the other day by a Muslim woman who wears a Hijab, asking about arrangements for an all-woman dinner. She was asking whether it would be like the Muslim weddings she's been to here, where all camera phones are banned and all the waiters are women. This was because she wanted to "dress up" (i.e wear a ball gown and make-up, something I know women here love to do at special events. The shops are full of glamourous gowns!) She was worried that her photo would get taken and that a photo of her uncovered would appear online somewhere. It just seemed such an alien concern, and yet of course very real.
Just a few windows on their world. Fascinating.
My doctor is a lovely Muslim woman from the Lebanon. She wears brightly coloured clothes that always reach to her wrists and ankles, and a head scarf, quite often in a pretty fabric. On this particular visit we had time to chat as her assistant was making a meal out of sorting out my insurance eligibility.
I can't remember how it started, but we got to talking about women wearing the abaya (black full body gown) and veil here. My doctor told me about dress rules in her home country. She says that many Muslim women there don't wear any kind of head covering at all. My doctor actually didn't cover her head until she had her children. She apparently took the head scarf into hospital with her when she was in labour, and put it on as she left. For her, it was an important sign to the outside world about how things had changed for her, and how seriously she was taking her faith.
It was interesting to hear her views on women wearing the veil. Where we live, many local women do. My doctor's view is that this is a cultural decision, rather than a religious one. Their families and friends all do it, and so it continues. Interestingly, my doctor said it often unnerved her. She said she found standing next to a fully veiled woman in public toilets made her think that there could possibly be a man underneath the outfit! I'd never thought of it that way. Luckily, most women unveil in toilets, as far as I've seen.
For me, it's more an issue of not being able to see a person's whole face when they're speaking to me. It's odd not being able to read someone's expression. My son was at the doctors' the other day and a lovely lady in a veil was making clucking noises at him, and, I think, smiling. However, he started to cry - all he could see was a black veil and couldn't understand where the sound was coming from. I guess he'll learn, growing up here!
I read an interesting comment online the other day by a Muslim woman who wears a Hijab, asking about arrangements for an all-woman dinner. She was asking whether it would be like the Muslim weddings she's been to here, where all camera phones are banned and all the waiters are women. This was because she wanted to "dress up" (i.e wear a ball gown and make-up, something I know women here love to do at special events. The shops are full of glamourous gowns!) She was worried that her photo would get taken and that a photo of her uncovered would appear online somewhere. It just seemed such an alien concern, and yet of course very real.
Just a few windows on their world. Fascinating.
Saturday, 15 January 2011
The expat family trap
We're now back home in the sandpit after a lovely long break in the UK. It was a real tonic to see some snow, some ice, and yes, even a bit of rain (although I have to say we're rather glad to be back in the land of blue sky again - there's only so much cold weather you can enjoy!) And of course it was also very special spending Christmas with our families.
But having said that...
...It's absolutely incredible how difficult it can be staying with your family for long periods of time!
I've come to the conclusion that it's an inevitable part of the expat experience that your family becomes a thorny issue. After all, you can't just drive to see them for a weekend - the only chance you have is during either annual leave or during a visit they make to see you. Either option is very full-on - there are no half-measures. This means you spend all day, every day together, and obviously this isn't always going to work. In our case, both our families are hard to deal with for extended periods of time. Add to this our son, who is now officially everyone's favourite family member, and you get a difficult cocktail. Everyone wants to see our son for as long as possible.
For example - on our recent trip, we spent a week with my parents and a week with my husband's father. For our third week, we went to stay in a cottage in Cornwall for some very crucial time for just the three of us. Half-way through the week, my Mum rang us up and basically demanded that we should end that holiday early so that we could spend an extra night with them before we flew off from Heathrow. An extra night, that is, on top of the night we were already planning to spend with them before we left. I refused, saying that despite loving her and my Dad very much, our holiday time was precious too. She was pretty grumpy about it, but accepted it. It was just an upset we could have done without.
It's a very difficult issue from all sides. Obviously we want to see our families. We love them, and we miss them. But we also want some holidays to ourselves, and more to the point, to places other than the UK! Talking of which, we're off for a week in the sun together in March. We can't wait...
I wonder if any other expats out there are having a similar experience?
But having said that...
...It's absolutely incredible how difficult it can be staying with your family for long periods of time!
I've come to the conclusion that it's an inevitable part of the expat experience that your family becomes a thorny issue. After all, you can't just drive to see them for a weekend - the only chance you have is during either annual leave or during a visit they make to see you. Either option is very full-on - there are no half-measures. This means you spend all day, every day together, and obviously this isn't always going to work. In our case, both our families are hard to deal with for extended periods of time. Add to this our son, who is now officially everyone's favourite family member, and you get a difficult cocktail. Everyone wants to see our son for as long as possible.
For example - on our recent trip, we spent a week with my parents and a week with my husband's father. For our third week, we went to stay in a cottage in Cornwall for some very crucial time for just the three of us. Half-way through the week, my Mum rang us up and basically demanded that we should end that holiday early so that we could spend an extra night with them before we flew off from Heathrow. An extra night, that is, on top of the night we were already planning to spend with them before we left. I refused, saying that despite loving her and my Dad very much, our holiday time was precious too. She was pretty grumpy about it, but accepted it. It was just an upset we could have done without.
It's a very difficult issue from all sides. Obviously we want to see our families. We love them, and we miss them. But we also want some holidays to ourselves, and more to the point, to places other than the UK! Talking of which, we're off for a week in the sun together in March. We can't wait...
I wonder if any other expats out there are having a similar experience?
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Moving on up
Exciting times here in the Flying High household. We're in the process of moving from our company apartment to a huge villa with five - yes, count 'em, five - bedrooms! It also has a roof terrace, two balconies and crucially, a back garden, something I've been craving ever since we moved here. I can't wait to have some private outside space back, especially as our little boy grows and starts to need more space to play.
The villa is unfurnished, so we've had a huge challenge furnishing it for a reasonable price, but it's been quite fun, actually. There's a big second hand market here as lots of expats turn up, buy new furniture and leave within a couple of years, so there are bargains to be had. We've managed to find a gorgeous king size bed and matching bedside tables and dresser for £500, two lovely single beds for £100 for both, and much more besides. I can't wait to live somewhere where we've actually chosen the furniture for a change!
The move came about really as a result of my PND. We realised we were both feeling quite claustrophobic in company accommodation. We realise too that we are out here for the long haul - at least another four years in reality - and so we both feel it's time to have a HOME here, not just somewhere to live. When we walked into the villa we both knew instinctively that it was perfect, somewhere where our family could grow and be very happy.
So, we have removal day set for Sunday... Wish us luck!
The villa is unfurnished, so we've had a huge challenge furnishing it for a reasonable price, but it's been quite fun, actually. There's a big second hand market here as lots of expats turn up, buy new furniture and leave within a couple of years, so there are bargains to be had. We've managed to find a gorgeous king size bed and matching bedside tables and dresser for £500, two lovely single beds for £100 for both, and much more besides. I can't wait to live somewhere where we've actually chosen the furniture for a change!
The move came about really as a result of my PND. We realised we were both feeling quite claustrophobic in company accommodation. We realise too that we are out here for the long haul - at least another four years in reality - and so we both feel it's time to have a HOME here, not just somewhere to live. When we walked into the villa we both knew instinctively that it was perfect, somewhere where our family could grow and be very happy.
So, we have removal day set for Sunday... Wish us luck!
Sunday, 19 September 2010
The challenge of being an expat new mum
Following on from my last post about my diagnosis of PND, I thought I'd put a little more flesh on the bones about what I've been facing.
I truly thought we'd met most challenges face on and were pretty settled out here by now - it's been over a year and half, after all. However, I really didn't count on the hard reality of becoming a mother half-way across the world from my family and close friends.
Regular readers of my blog will know that I've struggled with breastfeeding. To be honest, struggled is an understatement. For the first few weeks my son refused to feed from me, so I had to pump and supplement with formula around the clock. I had an in-built guilt about using formula (think it's a middle-class British thing!) so was absolutely determined to soldier on regardless. This meant buckets of tears, and I had no support at all from the nurses in the hospital where he was born (because culturally, more Arab mums bottle feed than opt for the breast.) Luckily I found a British midwife who helped me, my husband was a trooper and stood by my decision absolutely, and my Mum came out after a couple of weeks to cheer me on, but quite frankly I feel like I've been to hell and back with it. To this day I worry constantly about whether he's getting enough milk from me, and struggle to find a comfortable position to feed him in. So, breast feeding with no proper support from health visitors, doctors, etc - challenge number one.
Summer in the Gulf is universally felt to be the hardest time of year out here. It's 50c some days and you're basically confined to being indoors until dusk, particularly with a new baby. Add to that the month of Ramadan, which was most of August this year. Ramadan means shops are shut for a large part of the day, and restaurants and cafes closed all day, only opening in the evening (when the baby is in bed, of course..) and you can get cabin fever very easily indeed. Imagine then being a new mum, stuck inside with a baby, with a husband who's away for about 4 days a week on average. Hmmm..... So, that's another challenge to add to the list.
I've also been feeling the distance from my old friends very keenly. Although there are, as I predicted when I pregnant, masses of mums around to be friends with, they're all NEW friends, and as such I don't feel I can open up to them and ask for help when I really need it. I'm still in that "getting to know you" stage with all of them. It's tricky. Hopefully I'll begin to feel more confident over the coming months, and as my son's need for daytime naps reduces (at the moment he's sleeping for at least 3 naps a day, and won't sleep in his pram) I'll be able to get out and about to baby classes and coffee mornings to meet more people and get a regular rhythm to life, because that's something I really feel I've been missing.
The last challenge is, quite simply, being a new mum when your husband is a pilot. I could be living back in the UK and still have this to deal with. I miss him dreadfully when he's away now, much more so than before I became a mum. I miss his help with our son, as he's a brilliant Dad and regularly looks after him while I catch up on sleep. He's the third vital member of our family, and when he's away, things just don't feel right.
Still, I'm beginning to feel a lot more confident when I'm by myself now, so that's a good sign I think. My son and I have a good routine and I'm managing to get chores done and even get some time to myself, something I've really been missing.
It seems ridiculous, doesn't it, that I wanted and ached for my baby so much, and then feel foul of depression once he'd arrived. Trust me, I feel the irony of that more than anyone. I wish wholeheartedly that his first few months of life had been so much easier than they were, but hey, you can't change what's in the past, you can only look forward and make changes in the future, and that's what I intend to do. I love my son and my husband more than anything, and together, we'll get through this.
I truly thought we'd met most challenges face on and were pretty settled out here by now - it's been over a year and half, after all. However, I really didn't count on the hard reality of becoming a mother half-way across the world from my family and close friends.
Regular readers of my blog will know that I've struggled with breastfeeding. To be honest, struggled is an understatement. For the first few weeks my son refused to feed from me, so I had to pump and supplement with formula around the clock. I had an in-built guilt about using formula (think it's a middle-class British thing!) so was absolutely determined to soldier on regardless. This meant buckets of tears, and I had no support at all from the nurses in the hospital where he was born (because culturally, more Arab mums bottle feed than opt for the breast.) Luckily I found a British midwife who helped me, my husband was a trooper and stood by my decision absolutely, and my Mum came out after a couple of weeks to cheer me on, but quite frankly I feel like I've been to hell and back with it. To this day I worry constantly about whether he's getting enough milk from me, and struggle to find a comfortable position to feed him in. So, breast feeding with no proper support from health visitors, doctors, etc - challenge number one.
Summer in the Gulf is universally felt to be the hardest time of year out here. It's 50c some days and you're basically confined to being indoors until dusk, particularly with a new baby. Add to that the month of Ramadan, which was most of August this year. Ramadan means shops are shut for a large part of the day, and restaurants and cafes closed all day, only opening in the evening (when the baby is in bed, of course..) and you can get cabin fever very easily indeed. Imagine then being a new mum, stuck inside with a baby, with a husband who's away for about 4 days a week on average. Hmmm..... So, that's another challenge to add to the list.
I've also been feeling the distance from my old friends very keenly. Although there are, as I predicted when I pregnant, masses of mums around to be friends with, they're all NEW friends, and as such I don't feel I can open up to them and ask for help when I really need it. I'm still in that "getting to know you" stage with all of them. It's tricky. Hopefully I'll begin to feel more confident over the coming months, and as my son's need for daytime naps reduces (at the moment he's sleeping for at least 3 naps a day, and won't sleep in his pram) I'll be able to get out and about to baby classes and coffee mornings to meet more people and get a regular rhythm to life, because that's something I really feel I've been missing.
The last challenge is, quite simply, being a new mum when your husband is a pilot. I could be living back in the UK and still have this to deal with. I miss him dreadfully when he's away now, much more so than before I became a mum. I miss his help with our son, as he's a brilliant Dad and regularly looks after him while I catch up on sleep. He's the third vital member of our family, and when he's away, things just don't feel right.
Still, I'm beginning to feel a lot more confident when I'm by myself now, so that's a good sign I think. My son and I have a good routine and I'm managing to get chores done and even get some time to myself, something I've really been missing.
It seems ridiculous, doesn't it, that I wanted and ached for my baby so much, and then feel foul of depression once he'd arrived. Trust me, I feel the irony of that more than anyone. I wish wholeheartedly that his first few months of life had been so much easier than they were, but hey, you can't change what's in the past, you can only look forward and make changes in the future, and that's what I intend to do. I love my son and my husband more than anything, and together, we'll get through this.
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Homesick
We've just got back from a lovely long break to the UK. It was the first time my Dad and my husband's Dad had met our son, and it was so wonderful to see them fall in love with him, just as we have. He's really growing up now, starting to make new noises every day, is reaching our for toys, and has learned to stick his tongue out when we do, and his smile is the most beautiful and captivating thing I've ever seen.
It was brilliant to be back in the UK, and we made the most of the wonderful summer weather (we always seem to get the best British summer weather when we visit - it's raining there now!), ample supplies of bacon and sausages, and lots and lots, (and lots) of booze. Naughty Mummy and Daddy, eh! We're now several pounds heavier, but we had a wonderful time.
We loved seeing our families again, although my husband found my parents rather grating after a week staying in their house (which I think is par for the course with in-laws. My parents are also particularly demanding and full of beans, which can be quite exhausting when you're trying to have a holiday!) Going home when you're an expat, you see, is a difficult thing to do; whilst YOU want to have a holiday, your family wants to make the most of it being such a rare chance to see you, hence an inevitable conflict over visits, activities, and my father's favourite, "the schedule". Hmmm, it tires me out just thinking of it.... The plus side of their enthusiasm was that mum and dad took care of our son for us so that we could have dinner out together sans baby for the first time, which was lovely, and we also went for a long hill walk together too, knowing that he was in safe hands. It's something we can't do back here in the Gulf, so we really appreciated it.
At the end of our couple of weeks, despite a few annoyances along the way, and a lot of fairly stressful miles on the hire car (our families live miles apart in the UK) we felt we'd had a lovely time, and were not looking forward to leaving.
Saying goodbye at the airport was harder than usual. My parents came to see us off, and I felt so guilty taking their new Grandson away from them, just when they'd got to know him. For me, I realised I was going to miss the gorgeous green fields and hills, the relaxed atmosphere where you can drink beer in a pub garden and buy a bottle of fizz from a supermarket, eating bacon sandwiches for breakfast and sitting out in the garden until 10pm because it's still light. In short, all the things you take for granted when you live in the UK, and only realise are fantastic when you don't live there anymore. And, most of all of course, we miss our families, who we love hugely and miss very much indeed. We very nearly turned around at the aircraft door - it was that heartwrenching to leave.
I can't say I'm back here with joy in my heart. We've lived here a year and half now, and are very settled, have lots of friends, a good future and great financial security. This is the best place in the world to be right now, aviation wise, and I've carved out a great career niche here which I will be able to continue to exploit when our son is older.
But, as the saying goes - there's no place like home....
It was brilliant to be back in the UK, and we made the most of the wonderful summer weather (we always seem to get the best British summer weather when we visit - it's raining there now!), ample supplies of bacon and sausages, and lots and lots, (and lots) of booze. Naughty Mummy and Daddy, eh! We're now several pounds heavier, but we had a wonderful time.
We loved seeing our families again, although my husband found my parents rather grating after a week staying in their house (which I think is par for the course with in-laws. My parents are also particularly demanding and full of beans, which can be quite exhausting when you're trying to have a holiday!) Going home when you're an expat, you see, is a difficult thing to do; whilst YOU want to have a holiday, your family wants to make the most of it being such a rare chance to see you, hence an inevitable conflict over visits, activities, and my father's favourite, "the schedule". Hmmm, it tires me out just thinking of it.... The plus side of their enthusiasm was that mum and dad took care of our son for us so that we could have dinner out together sans baby for the first time, which was lovely, and we also went for a long hill walk together too, knowing that he was in safe hands. It's something we can't do back here in the Gulf, so we really appreciated it.
At the end of our couple of weeks, despite a few annoyances along the way, and a lot of fairly stressful miles on the hire car (our families live miles apart in the UK) we felt we'd had a lovely time, and were not looking forward to leaving.
Saying goodbye at the airport was harder than usual. My parents came to see us off, and I felt so guilty taking their new Grandson away from them, just when they'd got to know him. For me, I realised I was going to miss the gorgeous green fields and hills, the relaxed atmosphere where you can drink beer in a pub garden and buy a bottle of fizz from a supermarket, eating bacon sandwiches for breakfast and sitting out in the garden until 10pm because it's still light. In short, all the things you take for granted when you live in the UK, and only realise are fantastic when you don't live there anymore. And, most of all of course, we miss our families, who we love hugely and miss very much indeed. We very nearly turned around at the aircraft door - it was that heartwrenching to leave.
I can't say I'm back here with joy in my heart. We've lived here a year and half now, and are very settled, have lots of friends, a good future and great financial security. This is the best place in the world to be right now, aviation wise, and I've carved out a great career niche here which I will be able to continue to exploit when our son is older.
But, as the saying goes - there's no place like home....
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
A year in the Gulf
I've just passed my one year anniversary of expat life. So much has happened since I arrived here. It's been one hell of a ride on a crazy rollercoaster, lots of ups, lots of downs. I'm not sure I'd like to do it again! But I AM proud to have done it, and I'm very proud at how well my husband and I have made it work, despite all the things life has thrown at us in the last few years - redundancy, infertility, moving continents, and a terrible bereavement. I'm glad we couldn't see any of it coming, I must say. Sometimes it's just better to live day by day.
It's also sometimes the small things that make life better. Today, for example, I managed to buy Marmite at the supermarket (clumsy pregnant me managed to break my last jar!!) and then a friend came round and brought me British cakes and chocolates her pilot husband had just bought specially for us on his latest trip to Heathrow. I was so touched.
Anyhow, one year on, and we're still here, about to become a family of three. It's an amazing miracle which we will never fail to be grateful for. I had a check-up this morning, and the baby's still breech (so what's new?!) but apart from that, things are fine. I am SO grateful for that. My husband took a picture of me at eight months pregnant which I put up on Facebook, and I was amazed by how many lovely comments people have been kind enough to leave! Clearly I don't look as much like a beached whale as I think I do...
One inevitability of being pregnant is that people will come up to you with all kinds of unsolicited advice. My mum has been feeding a lot of it to me via her friends back home. Yesterday, she came up with a real cracker. Apparently, someone she knows also had a breech baby, and had such a brilliant suggestion for how she managed to get her baby to turn, that I thought I'd leave you with it.
Apparently, she played loud pop music in her pants...
It's also sometimes the small things that make life better. Today, for example, I managed to buy Marmite at the supermarket (clumsy pregnant me managed to break my last jar!!) and then a friend came round and brought me British cakes and chocolates her pilot husband had just bought specially for us on his latest trip to Heathrow. I was so touched.
Anyhow, one year on, and we're still here, about to become a family of three. It's an amazing miracle which we will never fail to be grateful for. I had a check-up this morning, and the baby's still breech (so what's new?!) but apart from that, things are fine. I am SO grateful for that. My husband took a picture of me at eight months pregnant which I put up on Facebook, and I was amazed by how many lovely comments people have been kind enough to leave! Clearly I don't look as much like a beached whale as I think I do...
One inevitability of being pregnant is that people will come up to you with all kinds of unsolicited advice. My mum has been feeding a lot of it to me via her friends back home. Yesterday, she came up with a real cracker. Apparently, someone she knows also had a breech baby, and had such a brilliant suggestion for how she managed to get her baby to turn, that I thought I'd leave you with it.
Apparently, she played loud pop music in her pants...
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Eight months
32 weeks. Wow. It's now less than 60 days until bump's due date. I'm feeling a mixture of excitement and nervousness. And I'm slightly overwhelmed by how much there is to do, both bump related and non-bump related, before then. I made a list yesterday and stuck it on the fridge. It made me feel a little bit better, a little bit more in control.
We still need to buy a buggy and a car seat, but have been waiting until we got a special cashback credit card before we make what will be fairly expensive purchases. The credit card has turned into a running joke in our house. First, the bank needed more proof of ID than they'd initially asked for (and we already have two accounts with this bank!) Then, they took over two weeks to actually print the cards, having said it would take 2 days. Then I went to try to pick them up, and the bank was closed because of an unannounced bank holiday (which happens over here quite a lot!) Then finally, I went yesterday and they were open. Hallelujah, I thought. But twas not to be. It seems I can't pick them up, despite the fact my name's on one of the cards, because I'm not my husband. His signature is required for them both, apparently. By this point I was losing my temper - I'd sat in traffic for almost an hour to get there in 30c heat, and I'm pregnant and tired. This was my second attempt at picking them up. I told the woman behind the counter that this is how I felt, but was just met by a blank, surprised stare. Hey ho, what can you do? I went outside and sat in the car with the a/c on for 10 minutes to calm myself down before doing battle with the traffic. Clearly the credit cards will have to wait until my husband can come to pick them up himself. One of the delights and general frustrations of living in the Gulf.
Bump is still breech. The doctors are telling me in one breath that there's still time, then in another they're also talking about scheduling a c-section, which I have mixed feelings about. Obviously it's surgery, and has a longer recovery time than a normal birth and I'd have to stay in hospital longer, but on the plus side, I would be able to schedule it for when my husband is definitely home. So, we shall see. I'm being realistic about it and have read up on C-sections as much as I can so I'm prepared.
We still need to buy a buggy and a car seat, but have been waiting until we got a special cashback credit card before we make what will be fairly expensive purchases. The credit card has turned into a running joke in our house. First, the bank needed more proof of ID than they'd initially asked for (and we already have two accounts with this bank!) Then, they took over two weeks to actually print the cards, having said it would take 2 days. Then I went to try to pick them up, and the bank was closed because of an unannounced bank holiday (which happens over here quite a lot!) Then finally, I went yesterday and they were open. Hallelujah, I thought. But twas not to be. It seems I can't pick them up, despite the fact my name's on one of the cards, because I'm not my husband. His signature is required for them both, apparently. By this point I was losing my temper - I'd sat in traffic for almost an hour to get there in 30c heat, and I'm pregnant and tired. This was my second attempt at picking them up. I told the woman behind the counter that this is how I felt, but was just met by a blank, surprised stare. Hey ho, what can you do? I went outside and sat in the car with the a/c on for 10 minutes to calm myself down before doing battle with the traffic. Clearly the credit cards will have to wait until my husband can come to pick them up himself. One of the delights and general frustrations of living in the Gulf.
Bump is still breech. The doctors are telling me in one breath that there's still time, then in another they're also talking about scheduling a c-section, which I have mixed feelings about. Obviously it's surgery, and has a longer recovery time than a normal birth and I'd have to stay in hospital longer, but on the plus side, I would be able to schedule it for when my husband is definitely home. So, we shall see. I'm being realistic about it and have read up on C-sections as much as I can so I'm prepared.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Things that happen here that never happen in the UK
1) You're pregnant, you've just been to the supermarket, and you're wheeling your trolley to your car. Out of nowhere a supermarket worker takes it from you and unloads everything into your car, free of charge. Oh, and takes the trolley back for you...
2) On the subject of trolleys - you leave them anywhere you like in the car park, because a) There's nowhere actually to put them and b) That's what everyone else does.
3) When you're at the doctor and they ask how long you've been married, they take that to be the length of time you've been trying for a baby.
(On a related note, I had to have an anti-D injection the other day for our rhesus incompatibility - I'm neg, my husband's positive. A British friend was telling me that a UK hospital tried to persuade her to have the same injection, despite both her and her husband being negative, on the grounds that 10% of babies born in the UK actually have a different father from the one on the birth certificate! Quite shocking. And that DEFINITELY wouldn't happen here. You'd find yourself in jail first!)
4) You have a minor traffic accident, and the police are so concerned that you're a) a woman and b) pregnant that they process everything at the speed of light so that you can go home and rest. And they spend half the time asking about your baby, whether it's a boy or a girl, etc, etc.
5) You sit at traffic lights and there's a goat on the back seat of the 4x4 parked next to you.
6) You sit at traffic lights and see that there are at least four toddlers unrestrained in the car beside you. Shocking. They do sell car seats for children here, it's just that people aren't keen to use them!
7) You never have to get out of your car at a petrol station to fill your own tank. Ever.
8) People look at you in amazement when you tell them you don't have a cleaner/maid/driver/nanny.
9) You drive to a beach, and it's completely empty... That is, until the next person arrives, and despite having the choice of the whole beach to park on, parks right next to you.
10) Your local park often has more security guards in it than people, and must consequently be the safest park in the WHOLE WORLD. I swear that there's a whole team of them who just keep an eye on the safety of the ducks and fish. (And no, that's not a joke... they keep watch at close quarters as children feed the ducks...!)
2) On the subject of trolleys - you leave them anywhere you like in the car park, because a) There's nowhere actually to put them and b) That's what everyone else does.
3) When you're at the doctor and they ask how long you've been married, they take that to be the length of time you've been trying for a baby.
(On a related note, I had to have an anti-D injection the other day for our rhesus incompatibility - I'm neg, my husband's positive. A British friend was telling me that a UK hospital tried to persuade her to have the same injection, despite both her and her husband being negative, on the grounds that 10% of babies born in the UK actually have a different father from the one on the birth certificate! Quite shocking. And that DEFINITELY wouldn't happen here. You'd find yourself in jail first!)
4) You have a minor traffic accident, and the police are so concerned that you're a) a woman and b) pregnant that they process everything at the speed of light so that you can go home and rest. And they spend half the time asking about your baby, whether it's a boy or a girl, etc, etc.
5) You sit at traffic lights and there's a goat on the back seat of the 4x4 parked next to you.
6) You sit at traffic lights and see that there are at least four toddlers unrestrained in the car beside you. Shocking. They do sell car seats for children here, it's just that people aren't keen to use them!
7) You never have to get out of your car at a petrol station to fill your own tank. Ever.
8) People look at you in amazement when you tell them you don't have a cleaner/maid/driver/nanny.
9) You drive to a beach, and it's completely empty... That is, until the next person arrives, and despite having the choice of the whole beach to park on, parks right next to you.
10) Your local park often has more security guards in it than people, and must consequently be the safest park in the WHOLE WORLD. I swear that there's a whole team of them who just keep an eye on the safety of the ducks and fish. (And no, that's not a joke... they keep watch at close quarters as children feed the ducks...!)
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
A look back at 2009
What a year.
If we'd known at the beginning of the year how this one would pan out, what would we have said?
January: Our first attempt at Clomid failed. My husband flew off to the Gulf to begin his new job, unsure of what life would be like out there. An initial planned 6 weeks apart became more than two months as we struggled to sort out my visa. In the meantime, I packed up all our belongings and resigned from my job.
February: I have an emotional leaving do from work, and the UK gets its worst snowfall in years, just as my husband is studying for his new type-rating in the unrelenting sunshine of the Gulf. Having succeeded in packing/throwing away/shipping all our things, I move out of our house and in with mum and dad until I can fly out to be with him.
March: I bid goodbye to the UK for I know not how long. I'm moving to a country I've never even visited. I'm very sad but also overjoyed to see my husband again. When I get there I'm pleasantly surprised by our new apartment, but also dreadfully homesick for the first couple of weeks.
April: I begin to settle in and see the benefits of our new lifestyle. TTC wise, however, we're still in the dark, albeit with a bit more hope as my periods seem to have restarted, despite being 45 days apart each time! I decide to wait a while before attempting Clomid again. I continue to struggle to deal with the infertility, finding each happy announcement from people I know very difficult to cope with.
May: In May I take the big step of registering with the state healthcare system out here and am advised to try Clomid again. I take it at the end of the month and begin the two week wait to see if it's worked.
June: The Clomid doesn't work, but I get a positive progesterone test result, suggesting I definitely ovulated that cycle - a real step forward. At short notice we head back to the UK for a well-deserved holiday, and catch the best two weeks of the British summer while we're there!
July: We celebrate our third wedding anniversary in style. At the end of the month, I begin my third round of Clomid.
August: I struggle with the Clomid side-effects. At the end of the month, I fly with my husband on one of his trips to the US and have an amazing time. And a few days after we get back I do a pregnancy test and.... I'm pregnant! A complete miracle. I'm thrilled and petrified in equal measure. We fly back to the UK the next day for a planned holiday and tell our parents, who are delighted.
Then, a truly horrible bolt out of the blue. My wonderful mother-in-law died from a major stroke with absolutely no warning just days after she found out she was going to be a grandma. We are all devastated.
September: We spend another fortnight in the UK supporting my father-in-law and organising the funeral. It's a horrible time. Then, when we fly back to the Gulf, we resolve to get a scan done to establish whether the pregnancy is viable (I feel sure the emotional upset of the previous few weeks can't have been very good for the baby). We go for the scan with little hope but are overjoyed when the doctor plays us the heartbeat, a moment neither of us will ever forget. I'm 8 weeks pregnant and it looks good so far.
October: I begin to realise I really am pregnant, and it's amazing! We go for the 12 week scan and are told everything looks ok, so we start to tell people, which is very exciting.
November: We head back to the UK for a trip to see our families and go on a brilliant impromptu holiday in Scotland, organised by my husband. We are immensely lucky with the weather (the north-east floods badly just after we leave!) and have a wonderful time, just the two of us.
December: I'm now five months pregnant. We travel to the UK for 10 days before Christmas and have a fabulous if hectic time visiting all our family. We're again lucky with the weather, as it snows! My husband's Christmas roster isn't brilliant, so I fly with him to the US and we spend a really romantic Christmas Eve together stateside, flying back home on Christmas Day. It was an unusual but very special thing to do, and we're both so glad we made the effort to do it.
And that brings us up to now. My husband is on a trip over New Year (our first one apart), so that will be difficult for us both.
Still, I know that we're both looking towards 2010 with hope that it's a much better year, one where we can build on our new life out here, and welcome the new life we've made together into the world healthily and happily.
I wish every one of you a healthy, fun and most importantly, happy New Year.
If we'd known at the beginning of the year how this one would pan out, what would we have said?
January: Our first attempt at Clomid failed. My husband flew off to the Gulf to begin his new job, unsure of what life would be like out there. An initial planned 6 weeks apart became more than two months as we struggled to sort out my visa. In the meantime, I packed up all our belongings and resigned from my job.
February: I have an emotional leaving do from work, and the UK gets its worst snowfall in years, just as my husband is studying for his new type-rating in the unrelenting sunshine of the Gulf. Having succeeded in packing/throwing away/shipping all our things, I move out of our house and in with mum and dad until I can fly out to be with him.
March: I bid goodbye to the UK for I know not how long. I'm moving to a country I've never even visited. I'm very sad but also overjoyed to see my husband again. When I get there I'm pleasantly surprised by our new apartment, but also dreadfully homesick for the first couple of weeks.
April: I begin to settle in and see the benefits of our new lifestyle. TTC wise, however, we're still in the dark, albeit with a bit more hope as my periods seem to have restarted, despite being 45 days apart each time! I decide to wait a while before attempting Clomid again. I continue to struggle to deal with the infertility, finding each happy announcement from people I know very difficult to cope with.
May: In May I take the big step of registering with the state healthcare system out here and am advised to try Clomid again. I take it at the end of the month and begin the two week wait to see if it's worked.
June: The Clomid doesn't work, but I get a positive progesterone test result, suggesting I definitely ovulated that cycle - a real step forward. At short notice we head back to the UK for a well-deserved holiday, and catch the best two weeks of the British summer while we're there!
July: We celebrate our third wedding anniversary in style. At the end of the month, I begin my third round of Clomid.
August: I struggle with the Clomid side-effects. At the end of the month, I fly with my husband on one of his trips to the US and have an amazing time. And a few days after we get back I do a pregnancy test and.... I'm pregnant! A complete miracle. I'm thrilled and petrified in equal measure. We fly back to the UK the next day for a planned holiday and tell our parents, who are delighted.
Then, a truly horrible bolt out of the blue. My wonderful mother-in-law died from a major stroke with absolutely no warning just days after she found out she was going to be a grandma. We are all devastated.
September: We spend another fortnight in the UK supporting my father-in-law and organising the funeral. It's a horrible time. Then, when we fly back to the Gulf, we resolve to get a scan done to establish whether the pregnancy is viable (I feel sure the emotional upset of the previous few weeks can't have been very good for the baby). We go for the scan with little hope but are overjoyed when the doctor plays us the heartbeat, a moment neither of us will ever forget. I'm 8 weeks pregnant and it looks good so far.
October: I begin to realise I really am pregnant, and it's amazing! We go for the 12 week scan and are told everything looks ok, so we start to tell people, which is very exciting.
November: We head back to the UK for a trip to see our families and go on a brilliant impromptu holiday in Scotland, organised by my husband. We are immensely lucky with the weather (the north-east floods badly just after we leave!) and have a wonderful time, just the two of us.
December: I'm now five months pregnant. We travel to the UK for 10 days before Christmas and have a fabulous if hectic time visiting all our family. We're again lucky with the weather, as it snows! My husband's Christmas roster isn't brilliant, so I fly with him to the US and we spend a really romantic Christmas Eve together stateside, flying back home on Christmas Day. It was an unusual but very special thing to do, and we're both so glad we made the effort to do it.
And that brings us up to now. My husband is on a trip over New Year (our first one apart), so that will be difficult for us both.
Still, I know that we're both looking towards 2010 with hope that it's a much better year, one where we can build on our new life out here, and welcome the new life we've made together into the world healthily and happily.
I wish every one of you a healthy, fun and most importantly, happy New Year.
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