Let Me Tell You About My New Favorite Things ...

Disclaimer:  I am not getting paid to promote views, items or brands on this website. 

I sincerely hope I won't offend my faithful readership of three by expressing my personal views on small findings that bring me pleasure, discontent or misgivings, whether in Canada, the ME, or anywhere else. 

Unfortunately, I realize my new favorite things will bely my age and the blasé ​attitude to high-end items that has crept over me since arriving in the ME over six years ago.

It's sadly true that in a country where it's raining designer brands, I don't quite get as flushed and excited as I used to upon seeing storefront signs displaying Versaci, Ralph Lauren, Baby Dior (I kid you not), Fengali, BVLGARI, Prada (and the list goes on ...) at the local mall.  

Hard to believe one could become desensitized to the allure of the bling?  Well, let's stop and consider the local lady I met whose baby chomped on a diamond encrusted pacifier and was potty trained on a Swarovski diamond-studded potty.  If the idea of regurgitating on a Dior dummy doesn't seem entirely ludicrous, then surely the idea of pooping on diamonds is enough to restore sanity?  

Manalo Blahniks start to seem blah, and Christian Louboutins seem old hat when you witness a literal bevy of red soles treading in unison across the shop floor, the only thing visible within a congregation of loosely flowing abayas, hijabs and niqabs.

My former boss (who was a well-to-do local) was admiring my 200 QAR (about 55$ CA) Aldo tote bag last year.  She asked me if it was a "Longchamps" (I actually had to Google that ... I'm really not that brand savvy and ​bag mad).  Reality check: if those in the know can't tell the difference, is it really worth shelling out extra bucks on something that's going to get thrown on the car floor, chewed on by the cat, tripped on by Kiddo and stuffed 'til overflowing with receipts, tissues, perfumes, brushes, breath mints, crayons and snack bars?

I'm not entirely ​jaded.  I still have an occasional shopping spree left in me.

Case in point, I happened upon a sale last week at A.B.S. by Allen Schwartz.  I walked away with 12 items of clothing priced to sell at 10% of their original sales price.  Of course I was excited about my loot, but not quite in the same way I might have been a decade ago.  I got home and simply swapped one closet item for each new item of clothing I hung up (that's the O.C.D. in me ... allows me to get rid of the lovely size '0' skirt I will never, ever, ever, ever fit into again, donate it or bin it, and keep my closet manageable). 

No laying my bounty on the bed, no fashion show for Smilin' Vic and Kiddo.  Just extreme satisfaction at having found some really decent, stylish and properly fitting designer clothing ​at a near-bargain basement price.

And yet, every once in a while, I do manage to rediscover the "rush" of a really great find.  I happen upon a product or an item that I just know will be life-altering.  I've included a few of these most recent finds below for your viewing entertainment.  Warning, these images may prove disturbing to some.  In fact, please pass me a tissue, the pictures are a harsh reminder that forty has come and gone.

​Disney Gummy Vitamins.  What GENIUS thought these up?  I always thought Flinstones vitamins were the bees knees, but you will have to keep the jar hidden to keep the kids out (maximum 2 per day).

​Disney Gummy Vitamins.  What GENIUS thought these up?  I always thought Flinstones vitamins were the bees knees, but you will have to keep the jar hidden to keep the kids out (maximum 2 per day).

Wedge Crocs Sandals.  I SWORE I would die before EVER wearing a pair of Crocs.  But these little sandals are just perfect for our upcoming 2-week camping trip during which Smilin' Vic, aka The Packing Nazi, has declared we must limit ourse…

Wedge Crocs Sandals.  I SWORE I would die before EVER wearing a pair of Crocs.  But these little sandals are just perfect for our upcoming 2-week camping trip during which Smilin' Vic, aka The Packing Nazi, has declared we must limit ourselves to a pair of sneakers, flip flops and ONE pair of shoes each.  Seriously?

​Moulinex handmixer.  I only discovered the joy of a handmixer last year ... I don't know how I ever survived a day in the kitchen before then.

​Moulinex handmixer.  I only discovered the joy of a handmixer last year ... I don't know how I ever survived a day in the kitchen before then.

Seductive Me ... (An Ode to Mothers, Part 2)

Prologue ...

I had initially intended for the title of this post to read "Sexy Me ...".  Partly out of my intrigue at how loosely the term is flung about here in the ME, and partly just to reflect on my own past and present perception of the word.

However, since I cannot successfully Google the word "sexy" from where I live, since I cannot even retrieve a ​definition off of Wikipedia ... I figured it might be best to temper the title.  

Otherwise, no manner of engine search combination would lead my 3 faithful bloggers back to this post.  

It's ironic, because I imagine that I have heard the word "sexy" used more times and more casually in my 6 + years in the ME than in my entire 36 years previous.  

So the whole title change thingy has kind of thrown me for a loop, ​and I've kind of forgotten the initial flow this silly tale was supposed to follow.

No worries; that happens a lot.  ​

​I think I wanted to write about how every Mom out there deserves to feel sexy.  Not all of the time, but at least some of the time.  

Sexy in a good sense, not in a lewd and submissive way.  More in the sense of recognizing something worth desiring, celebrating and enjoying in yourself.  

Since I can't get writing this post out of my head, I'll wing it.  

Here's wishing you a "Happy Mother's Day ... From Seductive Me to Seductive You".

So what in the world led me to this post ...

Well, I was just sitting here, checking out my nails on Mother's Day, and I was reminded of the Seinfeld episode where George discovers a potential career as a hand model.  

I will never be a hand model; my fingers are far too crooked, my veins far too prominent, my skin far too aged.  But I could be a nail model.  Of that I am certain.  I just don't know if there is a market for natural nails anymore.​

I said to Smilin' Vic and Kiddo "Check out these nails, are they not gorgeous?"​

Kiddo thought I was being vain.  Smilin' Vic told her that Maman does have gorgeous nails and she never brags, so if she's vocalizing satisfaction about her nails, they must really be amazing.  

He said every Maman should have something she truly finds desirable about herself.  I liked him ... a lot ... when he said that.

Finding "sexy" in the oddest things and moments ...​

Finding "sexy" in the oddest things and moments ...​

I have always had good nails.  I'm proud to show them.  I don't have to work at them.  I think they're appealing and neat and, in all frankness, just plain sexy.​

In fairness, my hair can be sexy if I try hard enough, as can my eyes and my mouth, but these require a lot more work.  I have to style, and drape, and paint and purse.  It doesn't just come naturally.  But my nails just are what they are, and that makes me feel sexy.

I don't think I ever felt sexy before the age of thirty.  I tried to be sexy, I dressed sexy, but I never "felt" sexy.​

The right clothes could make me feel sexy, but that's dependent on the right frame of mind.  The same dress worn seductively one evening might feel frumpy the next, depending on whether I'm ​feeling carefree or bloated or stressed.

As I've gotten older, I've discovered a new sexy; the kind that comes from "being" and not from "trying to be".​  

You might think it's one thing and aspire to that, then ​realize that you got it all wrong.  Through the years, I've realized that sexy is usually found in those things that come naturally to me, not the things I work at.  It's the things I enjoy, not the things I aspire to.

Cooking makes me feel sexy.  Not the actual "cooking" part, but the conceptualizing, creating, serving.  Tasting.​  Pleasing.

Using my brain makes me feel sexy.  Nothing is quite as sexy as a heated debate, perhaps aided by a potent glass of red.  Breath ​comes quicker, pulse races, body tenses.  There is something very sexy about contemplation and persuasion and strategy in discussion.

In my thirties, I started to run.  Running definitely made me feel sexy.  Sweating, struggling, overcoming, achieving = sexy.

In my mid-thirties, when Kiddo was a baby/toddler, nothing made me feel sexier than cradling a child on my hip.  It was 'mom sexy'.  ​

  • Listening to good music ... feels sexy.
  • Standing with tummy pulled in and back straight ... feels sexy.
  • Waking up in the morning and taking the time to really stretch in bed ... sexy.
  • Taking the time to use body scrub in the bath ... sexy.
  • Fresh breath ... sexy.
  • Caprese salad ... sexy.​
  • Sweat pants that have actually made it to the gym ... sexy.​
  • ___________________________________     (this is YOUR bullet, left blank for YOU to fill in)​.

Epilogue

Without meaning to generalize (though obviously that's what I'm leading up to), there seems to be a tendency in Asian females in the ME to use the word 'sexy' a lot.  It's used as a compliment, much in the way my North American friends would say "Looking good!" or "That dress looks great on you."  

It always strikes me as so odd that I hear the term used several times daily in a part of the world that discourages the very suggestiveness conjured up by the word.  

In fact, our maid often tells me I look 'sexy' (yeah, freaked me out a bit too the first time she said it in front of my then 4-year-old) if I'm going out and made up, dressed up and pumped up. ​

I appreciate the thought, but that's not sexy to me.  I find 'sexy' at the weirdest moments, usually at those moments when I'm feeling totally comfortable with what I am and what I'm doing.  ​It's not about the makeup or the clothes ... it's not about someone else's outside view of me ... it's really about a state of mind.​

So I guess there's no point to this post really, other than rumination on a term that means different things to different people ... it's one of those things like 'love' ... really hard to define, really hard to put into words.  But overall nice once you figure out what it means to you.  

"Happy Mother's Day ... From Sexy Me to Sexy You".

​P.S. The video below was added post-script.  But it just goes to show ... listen to "Gangnam Style, Sexy Lady", minus the 'Sexy'!

Flashmob today at dubai mall gangnam style!!

Take Me With You .... !

Not many words; the image says it all.​

There was J. from daycare, L. from Grade 1, M. her neighbor.  And now T.  

T. is special.  She's one of the BFF's.  

So many tears were cried tonight.

We often don't realize how much the first hello means until the last goodbye has been said.

The life of an expat child .... a thousand goodbyes.​

The life of an expat child.  Goodbye from a 7-year-old ...​

The life of an expat child.  Goodbye from a 7-year-old ...​

Subject: Sad News to Share

This is a post about beginnings.  It is about a cafeteria man.  This post is about endings.

Beginnings ...​

First off, this is my first "Me"-less/"ME"-less post title.  

It's why I started to blog.  Deep down, I knew the day would come when I would have that "Aha!" moment, that moment where I would just know that what I wanted to write about had so much more to do with everything else than with 'me' or the 'ME'.  And yet it has everything to do with both.  

In reality, I cannot entirely detach myself from the events around me, nor from the land around me ... to do so would make me disinterested.  But the time has come where me and the ME are just necessary background noise for this blog really.

In that sense, this post is the beginning of a new chapter.  One that has been a long time coming.  It is new, and yet it is a return to the old.  

It is the complete and utter realization that some things that would seem to have NOTHING to do with you can touch you at your core.  

Thank you <Naji>, aka 'Cafeteria Man>.  I dedicate this post to you.

The Cafeteria Man ...

This post was born after receiving an e-mail from kiddo's school.  The subject was simply:  "Sad News to Share".

It read something (very much) ​like this:

It is with great sadness that we inform you of the death of one our <school name> cafeteria workers, <we'll call him 'Naji'>, of Sri Lanka.  <He> was involved in an accident riding his bike to school early Sunday morning, April <...>.   

We can only imagine how proud <Naji's> family must have been of him.  He supported his mother, brother, and four sisters while he worked with <employer> the past seven years.  Our cafeteria manager, <name>, said <Naji> was a model employee and one of the hardest workers on <employer's> kitchen staff.  He was responsible for pasta preparation and service in the elementary school for many years and had just moved to the MS/HS cafeteria where he provided counter service as well as preparation for the chicken shawarmas we eat every day.  

<Naji's> unselfish commitment to his family serves as a model for all of us as he truly lived <school name's> values.  As a recognition of <Naji's> extended service to the <school> community, The Booster Club is directing the proceeds from the next hotdog sale on May <...> to <Naji's> family in Sri Lanka.  If you would like your child <...> to participate, please fill out the order form that will be sent home with your child this week. 

In addition to the Booster Club Hot Dog sale, <school> staff members have been making monetary contributions for <Naji's> family.  If you would like to make a contribution, please send it with your child in a sealed envelope or see any of our staff in the elementary school office.  Thank you for your thoughts and prayers for <Naji> and his family at this time.

Intermission ...

I can't ​quite find the words to express what I felt when I read the e-mail the first time.  This e-mail sent to our school community; this e-mail that conveyed such a soft-spoken profound sense of loss.  What did I feel?  Sadness?  Regret?  Shame?  Guilt?  Remorse?  Anger?

All of the above?​

Sadness

at such a young, promising life lost?  at so many others in similar circumstances toiling every day in this country to provide a better life for their loved ones back home?

Regret

that I'd never met him?​  that I've never met so many of these workers who come to work every day with the weight of the world on their shoulders and a smile as bright as the sun?

Shame

that I'd never really thought about the people who prepare Kiddo's pasta every ​Wednesday, those really special people who give her an exciting and much anticipated break from her regular everyday humdrum boxed lunch?  that I'd slip 50 QAR to the teaboy at work, but never think to pass it on to the guy who serves my daughter her lunch?

Guilt

​that I'd never taken the time to send in a thank you note to this employee and to the others who work silently, unseen, in the shadows?  that I'd never actually asked Kiddo about them?

Remorse

that I'd never again have the chance to say thank you to <Naji>?​  that there are so many others I may have missed along the way?

Anger

that a young man who managed to make my daughter's day ("yeahhhhh, Maman, it's ordering day" is Wednesday's wake-up call) was mowed down thoughtlessly, another casualty to road insanity in the ME?  that I can't do a darned thing other than shake my fist to stop it?

  • To one man, the 'boy' was a hit-and-run casualty.
  • To kiddo, the 'Cafeteria Man' was a weekly source of joy.
  • To his mother, <Naji> was a son ... I imagine he was her life.  
  • To his sisters, <Naji> was a brother ... I imagine he was a hero.  
  • To community - his community, our school community - he was an inspiration, an example.  Of values.  Of promise.  Of hope.

​I do know that when I re-read the e-mail to Smilin' Vic and Kiddo, I cried.  I'm not sure why.  I didn't know <Naji>.  I didn't really have the right to cry for him and his family, did I?  

But I couldn't control the lump that suddenly formed in my chest.  I couldn't contain the tears, and had to stop and take a few breaths between every few words.  But I wanted to get through that message, I wanted Kiddo to hear what an amazing, inspirational, admirable young man <Naji> was.

I really wanted to get to know 'The Cafeteria Man' through the re-reading of that e-mail.  Too late ... I wanted to get to know him.  I wanted to know <Naji>.

I am not alone.  I spoke to other moms.  They were shaken to the core.  It was just so sad.  Some knew 'The Cafeteria Man'.  Others didn't.  Yet we will all miss him.  Somehow, he was a part of our community ... and he drew us closer to one another. That happens a lot here - you realize you are a part of something special at that moment when you lose it.  

He, like so many other expatriate workers, working tirelessly to make a better life for his family back home, was the life breath of this country.  He made a difference.  Here, back home, he made a difference.

He was the Cafeteria Man.  He was <Naji>.  He will be missed ... even by those of us who did not know him.​

Endings ...​

​<Naji's> life ended on April <...>, 2013.  We will miss him.  I have nothing else to say; this post is about him, not me.

The End

The sad fact is, it's not getting any better. &nbsp;There are so many issues to address ... but I guess road safety is a good place to start.​

The sad fact is, it's not getting any better.  There are so many issues to address ... but I guess road safety is a good place to start.​