Last day before we leave!

So it's the afternoon before we leave, and I wanted to share with you my last minute checklist.  Why?  Why ask why?!  In no particular order (some of these I will be doing at 4:45am just before we leave but most are already done now):

• Check in and print out boarding passes--this will be easier since I randomly checked on our flights yesterday to make sure I had selected the kids' meals...and found out our flights had been CANCELED! Umm, what now?  Fortunately, after a 45 minute calm phone call, I was able to get our tickets reissued, so now I should be able to check in online with no problems...right??
• Pack the snacks in my carry-on.  A 15 hour flight to Dallas with another flight to SLC, about 25 hours of traveling total, requires many and varied snacks, not all of which can be candy because I don't want to be trapped in the not-big-enough metal tube with sugar fiends.  So we have candy but also dried fruit, nuts, chips, gum, granola bars, cereal bars, and crackers.  Half my bag, actually.  I hope it's enough!
• Charge and pack all electronic devices and their cords and chargers.  I've got a nice little pouch that carries all of the cords and plugs, as well as my secret weapon, the back-up battery pack--life saver!!
• Make photocopies of the boys' birth certificates, my marriage license, and the letter from the husband giving me permission to travel alone with the boys--because we live in the Middle East, and you can't be too careful!
• Pack my travel docs folder, which carries all reservations, itineraries, etc. as well as lots of summer stuff like the kids' registration for swimming lessons and the documents above.
• Place my last online order that I want to get there before/near when I do.  This one is from Amazon, and it will join its many brothers and sisters from Land's End, Old Navy, LDS.org, Uniqlo, and Macy's.  We are equal opportunity shoppers!  
• Cart all our luggage downstairs from the upstairs guest room staging area.  This time around, we have three carry-ons, one large purse (really another carry-on: shhh!), and three large suitcases (two rolling duffels and one large North Face duffel).  Each is packed to the gills, but our clothes and necessities fill less than half of one suitcase plus my carry-on.  The rest are things we want to leave in bins in my long-suffering parents' garage.  The duffels also include three additional duffels packed inside: we have to put all those packages we ordered somewhere!  The husband will bring two additional suitcases when he comes, one of which will also be empty, ready to fill for the trip back.
• Try to stay hydrated.  I woke up yesterday with some sort of stomach bug/distress/flare up, and I have not been feeling too hot.  So I am sipping ginger ale and willing myself to feel better by the time I wake up tomorrow morning at 4:30am so we can attack this travel day like a boss!  (Do you think the bravado helps?  I sure hope so!)

That's it!  Just a few last minute things and then we are off.  We get up at 4:30, head out at 5am, and our long flight leaves at 8:10am.  We are not leaving with the biggest expat exodus of the summer, but I expect the airport will be pretty packed anyway, so we will give ourselves lots of time.  Fortunately, if by some miracle we get through interminable customs quickly, there are several play areas in the new airport that the kids like quite a lot, so we can always kill time and expend energy there before we head to our gate.  Wish us luck!

This is how I hope the boys look while we fly tomorrow:
happily, cooperatively engrossed in their devices!

Houses and heat

I was listening to an interview on a podcast recently with a guy named Kaiser Kuo, a Chinese-American long-term expat in China, and he mentioned something that has become my new favorite idea.  He was talking about the constant negotiations and mental revisions a Westerner has to do throughout daily life while living in a place like China and how sometimes, even though you see injustice and inequity and just plain illogic all around you that rankles, you can't live your life there in the "house of indignation."

I love that idea, because it seems to me that sometimes the house of indignation is where many expats can choose to live.  I'll admit: there are many hard days when the illogical insanity of it all boggles the mind, when the injustices are thrown in your face, and when it can seem as if everything going on around you is simply wrong, on so many, many levels.  But I know some expats who simply camp out there in the house of indignation, always unhappy in their new home, never letting it become a "home" at all.  And that way lies madness!

It reminds me of when my Western-raised, Southern-transplanted parents moved us all to Hawaii when I was 10.  My parents made a concerted, concentrated effort to get to know our neighbors, mainly those folks in our church congregation because there were very few neighbors (any?) who didn't go to church.  They went visiting to everyone and later said, in some cases, they were the first "haoles" to enter into some folks' homes.  Because of that, they were beloved, we were accepted, and our time in Hawaii was pretty much idyllic most of the time.  In contrast, there were some other people in our town who felt like they had been exiled to this faraway place away from the mainland, some of whom maintained that feeling of disconnection for their entire time in the islands and ended up having a very different experience there.

The same is true here.  I have to be really careful not to get caught up the sessions of complaining that sometimes arise in Doha because it's so easy to do just that, complain and complain and end up feeling horrible about everything, which only makes everyday life here that much harder.  When I first arrived, I went to a few new-to-Doha moms events and almost invariably came home telling the husband I wouldn't be returning because everyone was so negative about EVERYTHING and I was pretty sure that would ruin my time here.  Because, let's face it, I am not at heart a sunshine and roses kind of person.  I already skew toward the glass is half empty side of life, but if I were to give in and settle down permanently in the house of indignation, I know I would never leave!

Instead, as we get ready for our trip back to the States (less than one week today!), let me tell you a few (minor) things I won't be missing but that have been making me shake my head and laugh lately.

You know it's hot here, right?  How hot is it?  So hot that when you raise the lid of the toilet, steam rises from the naturally hot water.  Cold, cool, even tepid water temperatures are long gone by now; every bath or shower is a sauna whether you like it our not and even our enormous compound pool that does not have a functioning chiller (yep, that's a thing here) feels like bathwater from top to bottom.

It's so hot that even though the husband put the sunshade in the window before we went into church on Friday, when we got back into the car several hours later, the steering wheel was so hot he couldn't actually hold it to drive.  Luckily, we had a solution for that situation:

Why did we have holiday hot pads in the car?  I don't remember, but look how useful!

It's so hot that we all are enjoying as many cold drinks as possible and we all look a little wilted:

J enjoying a virgin mojito on an errand run with Mommy.

I'm pretty convinced the blurriness here comes from the humidity swirling us!

The forecast for Doha says it will reach 104 today, with temperatures hitting 111 by midweek, just before we leave.  In contrast, the midweek high in Utah will be a paltry 93 degrees, which is just a shade warmer than our overnight LOWS this week.  I think we're all ready for the change!

ER drama once again

In wee hours of the morning on Wednesday, E woke me up gasping for air.  He had had croup earlier in the week, had seemed to be getting better, but came home with a fever on Tuesday afternoon and now here he was, freaked out and wheezing heavily, so I jumped up, threw on some clothes, and bundled him into the car to take a trip to the pediatric emergency clinic.

You may recall my last visit to this particular clinic, when J had Scarlet Fever.  For those of you just tuning in, I was less than impressed.  But we were in dire straits at this point, outside of regular office hours, so we had no choice.  Normally, even severe croup can be somewhat calmed by taking the child out into the cool night air--but that isn't an option when the nighttime temperature is 88 degrees! E was frantic, panicked and sleepy and crying, and we forgot his shoes (rookie mistake--I swore never to do that again after another winter ER trip when we had just moved to Cleveland!), so I carried him in to the deserted ER and was seen almost immediately, which gave me all sorts of hope.  They did not do a breathing treatment, which I thought was odd, but gave him a huge dose of oral steroids and sent us on our way.  We arrived home less than an hour after we left, which was all sorts of miraculous (I have found the time of no traffic in Doha!) and right after we got him settled back in his bed, he started a coughing fit...and threw up the steroid.  Sigh.

He was still laboring pretty hard to breathe, so we jumped into action and began texting our ER doc friends, all of whom are pediatricians because they work for the husband's hospital, and they walked us through his symptoms, told us to wait and see what happened, and then let us know we needed to go back to the ER if he worsened.  So E stayed home from school with me, much to his eternal happiness (he really likes watching movies and I believe they facilitate quiet resting when the kids are sick, so bring on the screen time!).  J was supposed to have a playdate at our house after school, but when his friend's mom texted me about the details, I told her my tale of woe and asked if J could go to her house instead, and then her family kept him for hours and gave him dinner and took him to both a bounce castle and the pool and I was forever grateful that he wasn't with us for the rest of our arduous day!  (Thanks A & K!  You are lifesavers!)

And everything was fine until the afternoon, when he got a lot worse quite suddenly.  I contacted our friends, who said there was one of their own at the ER right now, but she was going to leave in 30 mins, so could I get there in time?  We rushed out of the house again and made it with about one minute to spare, but then I couldn't get the nurses to let me see her even though she had been told I was coming.  After talking to many nurses and getting more and more frustrated, I was seen by another doctor who first condescendingly told me "It will take a few days for the croup cough to go away" (umm, yes, I know, but can you hear how he has almost no airway right now?), then made an unhelpful joke about E being too big of a boy to get sick (??) and then said "Oh, he is congested. It must be bacterial" and tried to give me an antibiotics (no thank you, that is not the problem) and then he said, in front of E "Well, the only other thing we can do is repeat the oral steroid or give him a shot," at which point E completely lost it because shots are his Kryptonite.  Thanks for that reassuring and sensitive bedside manner, buddy!  On top of all this, on the way in there had been fire marshals at the building, loudly telling people that they were missing fire alarms and extinguishers; there were ceiling tiles down all over the place with wires hanging in the corridors, and I watched a line of ants march across the floor of our exam room while listening to the screams of at least 4 different children in the next rooms.  Did I mention how much I hate this place?

At that point, I insisted someone find me the doctor who was waiting for us, and she finally arrived, like a breath of fresh North American air, all smiles and calm and bonding with E and she concurred that antibiotics were not necessary, that a second dose was needed and that the shhh! other method of delivery would probably be best to make sure he actually got the medicine he needed.  Our friendly doctor ordered the meds, all without ever saying the word "shot" so E was none the wiser, and gave us her home number to call her whenever we liked.  However, when the nurse came to deliver it, the nurse insisted that E had to be lying down to get the injection.  And of course, he freaked out.  In the end, it took three nurses to hold his legs still while I hugged his trunk to the bed and he screamed "PLEASE NO!!!" over and over in my ear.  Then I heard the nurse say brightly "All done!" so I loosened my hold and got up...only to see her still pushing half the injection into his leg?  E raised his head, still screaming bloody murder at the top of his lungs, although by now he had stopped screaming words and was just making some kind of animal wail, and then he watched her push it as well, much to his horror and mine.  What kind of "All done" is that, crazy lady??  But at least we were done, once the screams subsided.

On the way home, we were stuck in traffic for an hour so I stopped for ice cream as a guilt-induced reward for good behavior and then we stopped again for cheese puffs, because E asked for them plaintively and at that time I would have given him a pony if he'd asked.  Thankfully, the second dose seemed to do the trick and he improved rapidly throughout the rest of the afternoon and was even able to go with us to pick up J at long last from his epic playdate.  Whew.  Now if only both boys can stay healthy long enough to get through our 15 hour plane ride to Dallas next week--fingers, toes, arms, and legs crossed!

A much-improved E with not one but TWO kinds of cheese puffs,
visual evidence of my deep-seated maternal guilt!

I am the champion?

Well, in a landslide victory, I was elected PTO/PTA president (apparently there is now some debate about the name).  Did it hurt that I had emailed 10-15 teachers I know and 15-20 parents and sweetly guilted them asked them to come out and vote?  No, it did not, particularly considering I had a high rate of return on my emails and there were only about 50 people there total.  Score one for networking!

I managed to conquer my clothing issues with a black print tunic and white wide-leg pants (and no, of course I do not have a picture--I'm nothing if not consistent!).  I got so many very surprised comments from folks--"Oh, you look so NICE!"--that I started to think perhaps I should dress like a grown-up a bit more often!  Not that I dress like a teenager normally, but my usual uniform of maxi skirt, fitted tee, and flip flops could probably use a bit of classing up now and then, at least so it's not quite so much of a shock to people!  But you know what?  Nice adult clothes are so hot!  I like being cool, as in not hot, too much to change things up dramatically.  Plus, I think I had those white pants on for a grand total of 3 minutes before we left the house so they wouldn't get ruined and that's just not sustainable in my everyday life!

Anywho, now the real work begins.  We solicited all kinds of input from the parents and teachers who attended the elections, and now we need to sift through all that, decide what is and is not in our purview (International day?  Yes!  Fixing Arabic instruction?  Sadly, no.), and get a conditional plan in place for next year's events.  Starting a PTO/A from absolute scratch is going to be quite the challenge.  It's one thing to plan big events that are expected year after year, with all sorts of institutional history and knowledge, and quite another to produce meaningful events out of thin air.  My goals are going to be modest, I think, so we can under promise and over deliver, instead of the other way around.  Lil: Managing Expectations around the Globe!

I have to be careful, as usual, about how much I say about our school.  Just last month, a couple here (from another school) were jailed and charged with a crime for ranting about their school administration on Facebook, so there will be no ranting of any kind.  And, in reality, I think my current administration is doing mostly a good job, given the bureaucratic restraints at play above them.  But there is always room for improvement, and hopefully our newly energized group of parents can help with those improvements (she says with a wry, knowing smile).

Suddenly, my plate for the fall is pretty full, what with this and working with the young women at church and becoming the membership coordinator for the library where I volunteer.  But I do a lot better when I'm busy, and not being busy enough this past year has been disastrous for me, so it's time to try something new!  

Faux Qatari

Last week, I got the following note from J's Arabic teacher:

Greetings xxxxxxxx Parents,

On Thursday, June 4th your child will be participating in the Qatar Heritage celebration.  Your child will need to wear his or her traditional clothes.  Thank you for your support.

As usual when I get something from the Arabic teachers, I had a few questions.  Did she mean traditional Qatari clothes or clothes from J's own heritage--not that I knew what those would be--pioneer togs?  cowboys?  And was he to wear these clothes to school or change into them later (they have done both)?  I consulted with J, who was no help except to say that he thought he might need to wear the white Qatari clothes but he really, REALLY didn't want to because he wasn't Qatari (a valid point).  So I emailed the teacher, who confirmed that yes, she meant Qatari clothes.

And then I took a deep breath.

Let me just insert here that although many folks around me are wearing traditional thobes (for the men) and abayas (for the women), I haven't the slightest idea where to purchase something like this, but I had the sinking suspicion the souq or outdoor market was going to be involved and I was very leery of trying to find something at the souq.  Don't get me wrong, I love the souq, but I have not had that much luck finding specific things there.  I like to wander about, but I always seem to wander the same way, and I have yet to find all sorts of hidden nooks and crannies everyone is always telling me about.  I feel like there are hidden parts of the souq I have yet to uncover and I was pretty sure the thobes for little boys were going to be found in one of those parts.

But first I sent out a call for information to my favorite local Facebook group, When, Where, and How in Doha, a veritable treasure trove of helpful people willing to share invaluable information.  After many people suggested the souq, of course, I asked for more specifics, and got lots of more detailed directions than I had received before, which was great.  However, I also got some suggestions for brick and mortar places where I could buy a thobe that were not at the souq, which made me very happy, since I am much more confident in my ability to find buildings here, as opposed to random stalls in the warren of hallways that is the souq.

My plan was to try out a few of these locations first and then head to the souq if I struck out.  And since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to start with the Thursday and Friday Market, since I had been meaning to go there anyway. This is another souq but smaller, with actual store fronts and doors.  I walked into the first one I saw that had the headdresses in the window and asked for a thobe for a seven year old, much to the surprise of the 8 men who at first just sat there and stared at me  And then began the comedy of errors of their guessing sizes (badly) and me asking for all the pieces (since I have no idea what the entire outfit entails) and then their quoting me all sorts of prices and then knocking them down "for you, madame," and all of this happening with only a few words in common--one spoke Arabic, several spoke Bengali, and I, of course, spoke English and the international language of pointing and shaking my head yes or no.  In the end, the cost for the whole outfit was less than I thought it was going to be just for the outer garment, and they were very solicitous as I asked to see multiple sizes, so I was happy to pay whatever price they decided on.

A full length shot: he is wearing a thobe, white pants underneath,
a white skull cap on his head, with the long white ghutra on top of that,
 the black coiled iqal on top of that, with the corners of the
ghutra thrown back over the iqal as they do here.

J was VERY pleased with the effect.  He had been giving me a
hard time about wearing these clothes for a few days before and after
 he tried them on, he told me he had been worried they would be uncomfortable,
but they felt so nice!  He is definitely his mother's son in that regard!

In the end, J was sick on Thursday when he was supposed to perform, so he stayed home with me until just before the celebration and then we went, he changed, and he did his part, which was to sit at the feet of a girl pretending to be a grandmother who was telling the children, including J, a fairy tale in Arabic that may or may not have been something like Cinderella.  J was less than impressed in his sick state and we left shortly after his part, but now we have the full regalia and I am sure we will have use for it in the future!