''Oh, a Very Merry Un-birthday to me, to me ...'

Birthday breakfast mini-cake.

I remember desperately wishing my birthday would fall in the summer months.  Summer is definitely the best season for birthdays in Canada.  The very luckiest June/July/August-born Canuck kids get to have pool parties, splash around all afternoon, cool off with cherry and banana popsicles, and finish it off with barbecued hot dogs, ice cream cake and gift openings around a picnic table or under a beach parasol.  

When Kiddo was born in July, I was like ''YES!  I can now live vicariously through my daughter, re-inventing a childhood of dreary-month-of-March birthdays as luau parties!''  (Insert fist pump here!)

Unfortunately, Kiddo only got to enjoy one Canadian summer birthday, because when she was fourteen months we packed up and headed for the ME.  

And so my one chance at redeeming those pool party dreams got quashed because, quite frankly, July birthdays in Qatar suck.  The reasoning behind my disenchantment:

1. It's 300 C in Doha in July.  It is the hottest month of the year on average.  People have successfully fried an egg on pavement.  (Bacon would probably work too, but public pork roastings would be frowned upon in these parts.)
2. Humidity in Doha in July sits at about 98%.  Most mornings sunglasses are useless as they fog up the very moment you step out the door.  The hair on your arms starts to frizz, toenails start to sweat, and it's so humid sometimes even cigarettes won't burn.
3. When it's not humid, it's windy.  And either way, it's still really flipping hot.  When the wind combines with the heat, it's like walking into the blast furnace from Hell.
4. Last year, this year and next, Kiddo's birthday fall smack dab in Ramadan, which means no drinking, eating or general cavorting during daylight hours.  Which means no trips to the water park, nor to the movies, nor to one of the dozens of indoor amusement parks until 7:00 p.m.
5. There are about 12 kids left in Doha over the summer months.  June marks the exodus of most stay-at-home expat moms and kids.  I think Kiddo is officially the only 9-year-old in town today.

4:30 p.m. on a weekday afternoon in July ... it's still daylight, but the dust is blocking the sun.  

So it is that every year we plan an ''un-birthday'' in May, before the sweltering summer exodus.  Two years ago was a beauty salon theme, last year Master Chef, this year Inner Artist.  Although always a resounding success because of our tendency to overcompensate (working parent guilt, only child, and all that), we are still endlessly at a loss come the real deal in July.

Last year the three of us went to Paul's at sunset.  Paul's is a little mall bistro that makes Kiddo's favourite buffalo mozza sandwich.  This year, Kiddo asked if we could order pizza from Fabio's.  Since tomorrow's a working day, we were more than fine with that.  

(Speaking of work, this year, her birthday also gives me a legitimate excuse to skip the work team-building 10:00 p.m. Sohur.  While I'm up for any excuse to enjoy a meal at one of Doha's finest hotel's Ramadan tent, the thought of supper at 11:00 p.m. and bedtime at 2:00 a.m. on a work night makes me shudder.)

So last night I made preps for today, the Big Day, the True Birthday, the 9th Anniversary of Kiddo's birth.  I set about making mega muffins for her to bring to Summer Camp today.  One batch of vanilla and one batch of chocolate.  No nuts, just in case.  I also made a tiny cake in a mini-loaf pan.  For Kiddo's birthday breakfast - a mix of chocolate and vanilla.

Then I set about making home-made icing ... my first time attempt!  And it was delicious, albeit a bit runny ...

Next ... the cake.  Every year, I seem to top the baking atrocity of years past.  As much as I love to cook, I am decidedly NOT a baker.  NOR am I a cake decorator.  Nonetheless, I always give it my best.  This year, I decided I would make a piano cake since Kiddo has been doing so well at piano and all.  Convinced it would be my greatest masterpiece EVER, I proceeded to produce THIS:

It looked so much better on Pinterest ...  still, I admit I'm still smarting somewhat from the gales of laughter this picture evoked when I showed it to the folk at work.

Chef d'oeuvre complete, I began wrapping gifts.  I always look forward to gift wrapping.  Until I actually sit down and start.  Then I get really grumpy.  So it was last night.  Three paper cuts (on wrapping paper ... how does one DO that?) before even getting started.

The first wrap was fancy indeed!

Comments from the Peanut Gallery on the fact that the folds are crooked NOT WELCOME.

I underestimated my paper requirements on the second.

Yes, that is a Sketcher's shoe box peeking out where I ran out of paper.  But in my mind, the box colours complement the wrapping paper quite nicely.

The last one was a pair of roller blades.  WITHOUT A BOX!  

By this time, I've just wrapped an entire roll of paper around the skates and haphazardly plastered Scotch tape around it.

Seriously?

But in the end, it doesn't really matter does it?  Kiddo had cake for breakfast, Happy Birthday was sung at Summer Camp, the house is decorated, the pizza's ordered, the cake and the unwrapping are anxiously anticipated.  Plus we've managed to wrangle a random 11-year-old and 5-year-old wandering the compound to partake in the celebrations.  BONUS!

Silly putty party favours for the kids at Summer Camp.

A duct tape wallet gifted to Kiddo from a little girl at summer camp.  This is serious craftsmanship by a 10-year-old (it even has slots inside for pictures and credit cards, and has Kiddo's name etched out in red and white tape).  I have a feeling someone is spending a lot of quality time with a Doha stay-at-home dad living out every man's duct tape crafting fantasy.

And Kiddo still insists that my cakes are the best and most beautiful ever.  She says she would be very unhappy with some fancy shop-bought confection.  Bless her.

The cake was even worse for wear after a night in the fridge ... my black icing keys bled into the homemade cream cheese icing.  

This is the real day.  It's not about the fluff, or the number of kids around the table, or the pool-side activities or lack thereof that we arrange for the un-birthday.  Un-birthdays can happen any old day.

Today's so much better than all that, despite the sand and the heat and the humidity and the isolation.  Today marks the day that Kiddo entered our lives and changed us forever, nine years ago.

Today's the day that has made every single moment of my life worth living.  Happy Birthday Kiddo!

That Spot on the Left of My Chest ...

It was a little sad dropping Kiddo off at summer camp this morning.

Most days, like this one in Ireland, Kiddo is used to being an only child ...

Her BFF had been staying with us for her last three days in Qatar.  For three glorious days our house was a hustling, bustling madhouse of little people, with 4 kids ages 10 months to 9 years prancing about, dancing, crawling, crying, laughing, squealing.  There were lots of runny noses, some random vomit and diarrhoea, hot dogs and 3 types of Ben N' Jerry's ice cream (perhaps the culprit of said vomitus).  It was a 3-day sleepover, a first in our household.  Kiddo was over the moon.

It was beautiful.  We are so lucky.  We got to spend 3 days with a family of five we've come to love over the last four and a half years.  

But it's real quiet at home this morning.  That family of five left at 4:15 a.m.  We got up to wish them a safe trip, gave a few last hugs, and off they went, family in one car, bags in the other.  As I write this, they are a quarter of the way to where they're headed.

So I wasn't dropping Kiddo and BFF off at summer camp today.  Nope.  It was just Kiddo.  She didn't really want to go, but seemed quite happy once she was there.  As we walked in, I told her I was proud of her for facing the day even though she missed BFF.  And I assured her that BFF was still 'right there' (tapping her heart as I said it).

And she smiled sadly and turned those beautiful blue eyes of hers to mine, and said: 'Maman, I've figured out why my heart sits on the left side of my chest.'

'Why?' I asked.

'Because I need a spot for everything I love, especially once they've left.'

Then she giggled a little.  And that spot on the left of my chest grew tight.

These are the things my Kiddo teaches me.  These are the moments I realise how much this little miracle with the big blue eyes has filled that spot on the left of my chest.

Non-Muslims in Qatar During Ramadan ...

Ramadan, the 9th month of the Islamic calendar, began on June 28 this year (2014) in Qatar.  (Because it is based on sighting of the new moon, it can begin on different days throughout the world - this year it began on June 29 in the United States).  It is a month observed by Muslims worldwide through fasting during daylight hours, and is regarded as one of the Five Pillars of Islam, which are:

1. declaring there is no god except God (Allah), and Muhammad as God's messenger;
2. praying five times a day;
3. giving 2.5% of one's savings to the poor and needy;
4. fasting and self-control during the month of Ramadan;
5. pilgrimage to Mecca (Hajj) at least once during one's lifetime if one is able to. 

The month of Ramadan lasts 29-30 days based on the visual sightings of the crescent moon.  

During the month of Ramadan, fasting is mandatory for adult Muslims except those who are suffering from an illness, travelling, pregnant, breastfeeding, diabetic or menstruating.  

Work hours in Qatar are shortened to 5h a day, in recognition of the strains fasting places on the body and mind.  Eating, drinking and smoking in public are strictly forbidden for all, whether Muslim or non-Muslim.  Alcohol is not served in any establishment in Qatar, the Distribution Center (Booze Shop) is closed, and restaurants do not open until after evening prayer.  All are asked to wear conservative attire, and during this month many Muslim women who do not normally wear the abaya will wear one.

Though fasting from dawn until sunset means refraining from food, beverages, smoking and engaging in sexual relations, these are allowed before sunrise and after sunset.  

In Qatar, the hours following sunset involve many a feast, with breaking of the fast marked by Iftar (usually breaking fast with dates and/or water, sometimes soup), followed by Sohur (main meal eaten between midnight and dawn).  

The streets become extremely crowded after the breaking of fast, and tents are set up throughout the country, on hotel grounds, in empty desert fields, in compounds, and outside private villas, to welcome visitors, Muslim and non, to partake in the meals that follow sunset.

You might think the grocery stores would be empty these days, what with everyone fasting, but the reality is, stores are never so full as during Ramadan.  Families fill shopping carts to capacity at 2:00 p.m. in anticipation of the feast to come that evening.  Since much of the premise of Ramadan is charity, tents and homes are open to the less fortunate, and as such, food is prepared in huge quantities in anticipation of many hungry mouths to feed.

As non-Muslim expats, we abide by the rules and avoid eating or drinking out in public, but in all honesty, we have our coffee and breakfast under cover of our homes after sunrise before making our way to the office.  We may thirst a bit at work, but chances are there is a break room set aside for us to discretely go have tea, coffee, water, and a snack if we've brought one with us.  We probably have a bottle of water stashed in our handbag or car, ready at the handy in case we get too parched on the ride.  As soon as we get home, we head to the water cooler or coffee maker.

We are discrete, because anything less would warrant a reprimand, but we still manage to go about our lives in relatively 'normal' mode.  Every once in a while we're jarred back to reality, like yesterday when I went to get Kiddo a Subway sandwich after work (her regular Thursday treat) and saw the 'Closed' sign on the door (restaurants don't open until after fast has broken, i.e. around 6:30 p.m.).  While grocery stores are open throughout the day, restaurants are not.  So yesterday we created our own Subway station at home.

Kiddo's Home-Style Subway Station ...

All the pickings ... who knew we could do this at home?

Adding a little spice to the mix ...

Vegetarian Subway sub looking good ...

Yummmm!  Yup, better than shop bought!

Many of us tend to avoid  venturing out into traffic at night during Ramadan.  Fasting Muslims tend to sleep a lot during the day in Qatar and go out all night, every night, during Ramadan.  Night becomes day, and streets, malls and restaurants are filled to capacity.  The streets are full of revellers, and the traffic can be chaotic.   So it is that we take advantage of the relative peace of the hours between working and waking (usually the quietest times are between 3:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m.) to do our shopping and errands, before returning home and tucking in for the night.

Occasionally, we'll go on a Qatari-like spree, stocking up as if there were no tomorrow, in an effort to avoid having to take to the roads for the next week or two.  Case in point, our trip to MegaMart today:

Spoils from Mega Mart, which stocks many specialty and imported goods.  Pockets empty, fridge full ... we're ready for company!

Kiddo's birthday will fall smack dab in the middle of Ramadan, and this means that there will be no opportunity to go buy her ice cream, bring her out to lunch or go see a movie during daylight hours.  This is the second year this happens, and even though she doesn't yet get it, she accepts it.  As doting parents, we celebrated her birthday two months early, before the Expat Exodus, when her friends were still in town and drinking and eating during daylight hours were no big deal.  On her birthday, we'll have a cake, open gifts and bring her out for dinner after sunset, but we'll remain thankful we made the day magic in May.

Poster for Kiddo's painting party, held in May this year, 2 months ahead of time.

The 'tableau' ...

Blank slate ... ready for imaginative minds.

Our outdoor drying gallery after the fake birthday party in May.  Some masterpieces here I do believe.

But I'm actually grateful in many ways to be in Qatar during Ramadan.  Traffic eases slightly, life slows down a bit, the office becomes less hectic, spring cleaning finally gets done, we get to hunker down and catch up on Survivor and Master Chef on Mac TV.  The work days are short, family time is abundant, and life is generally easier.

And even though we don't fast beyond office hours, Ramadan is a good reminder to all of us to tip a little bit more to the gas station attendant, the grocery bagging boy, the compound maintenance staff, the delivery man.  It's a reminder to give thanks for what we have.  It's a slowing of time that reminds us to stop and say 'thanks', 'how are you', 'have a nice day' to the person in front of us, beside us, behind us.  

Ramadan Kareem.

Leaving ME with Grace ...

Grace :  a way of moving that is smooth and attractive and that is not stiff or awkward.  

... according to the online Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

Last day of grade 1.  Little BFF's exiting the school year with grace.  This year's exit will be much more painful I fear., as BFF is moving on.  Where has time gone?  

A very, very good friend will soon be leaving Qatar, leaving the ME.  

She's headed to the Principality of Monaco, renown for many things, including Formula 1 races, the Monte-Carlo International Circus Festival, and Princess Grace ... 

She and her family are spring-boarding into LIFE!  Into a world that is vibrant and colorful, fresh and new.

They are moving from desert-scape to ocean vistas, from prohibition to festivals.  

From mosques to casinos, sand to surf, abayas to bikinis ... 

The contrast is blinding.

It's much like the contrast in me as I steel myself for their imminent departure;  I'm so happy for them, yet so sad to see them go.  

But this is the expat life.  This is the expat truth ... people come and people go ...

And yet ...

Some people are a little harder to let go of than others.  

This is my amazing friend.  She's a vibrant human being who's let me be Me without having to pretend I was one single thing other, celebrated the good times with me and commiserated the bad.  She's been a TRUE friend ...

And she's leaving.

And I'm sad.

I'll miss her.

A LOT.

She is Grace.  Around her, everyone moves in a way that is smooth and attractive and that is not stiff or awkward.  What did she DO that was so special?  Why will her absence permeate our day?

Because much like Princess Grace of Monaco ... it's not about her history.  It's about her presence.  My friend is an amazing presence.  Her absence will be an aching void.  Her absence will be most present in those moments when I need to send a desperate text that no one else in the world would 'get'.  

She is my 'go-to' friend in Doha.  She is my constant laugh.  She is my constant rant.  She is the friend who will always farking commiserate exactly how one is meant to commiserate;  with plenty of expletives and f-bombs.

Grace is leaving me ...

I'll miss her.

A LOT.

Her daughter is my Kiddo's BFF.  The goodbye will be hard.  Likely as hard as my last goodbye to my Dad.  I'm not making light of it.  An 8-year-old's goodbye is HELL.  

I'm dreading it.  Absolutely dreading it.  

A 44-year-old's goodbye isn't much better.

Friendships, TRUE friendships, aren't easy to come by in the ME.  I know we're not losing friends; Grace and her family are friends for life ... NOTHING changes THAT.  But the FRIENDSHIP ... that day-to-day celebration and commiseration ... well, that's going.  No soft landing.  That part will soon be over.

I'll miss it.

A LOT.

Give me Grace ....

What Moved Me ...

This is a story about a guy who rides a camel through drive-throughs and does a happy dance with a mop ...

I didn't think I'd write here for a long, long while.

I didn't see the point; I felt disheartened, disillusioned, broken.  I had NOTHING positive to write about.

And I knew there was no good to be had in spreading the negativity.  The world has enough of that already.

I completely stepped away from all forms of social media for about two weeks.  While that might not seem long to some, or so very long to others, for me the lapse was what you'd call a 'significant' break.

I'm not a huge 'twitterer'.  

But I check out Facebook at least once a day.  

I visit my blog every day.  

I'll occasionally sign in to LinkedIn.  

I check my hotmail every few hours without fail.  

I scan Mail OnLine because I secretly enjoy the trash.  

I lurk on my favorite blogs for sheer entertainment and because I've actually become 'friends' with their authors ... these strange, hilarious, sad, engaging, amazing kindred writer souls.  

I read Doha News religiously, because the reporters there always seem to know what's happening here before anyone else...

But for the last two weeks, I just stepped away.  

Completely.

And it actually felt good/great.

It felt like I was a newborn, rediscovering my thoughts; actually having to sort them out before spewing them out.

You see, I'm a thinker, then a writer.  But I'm not much of a vocalizer.  So for the last two weeks, I've actually had to run things through my brain and work through them ... without blogging or talking.  Just thinking.

And since there was (virtually) no social media input, all I had to think about was me and my life and all that's in it. 

There's something to be said about that.

But a few days ago, like every good addict, I decided I wanted a little bit 'in'.  My fast was over.

I checked out one blogger friend in France, and found she'd suffered a great loss.  One as great as mine, perhaps more.  Perhaps unexpected.  I realized I hadn't been around to ask.

I checked out my blog comments and found that another blogger buddy understood what 'ME fatigue' is all about.  (anyone living in the Middle East will understand the inexplicable 'tiredness')  But more than that, he really 'gets' living in the ME as an expat.  The whole 'love-hate' relationship.  Not everyone does.

My best blogging buddy (3B) who's followed me since I was a 'baby blogger' has been dealing with an injured spouse while celebrating a newfound calling.  Empathy and congratulations were in order.

My best friend in the world, the one who was my roommate for four years in university, the one who consoled the inconsolable when I got separated, the one who always assured me it would "be all right", the one who drove hours to see me when I was visiting my dying father, the one I love to the ends of the earth and beyond ... well, she just found out her mom has cancer.  I need to be available ... just in case she needs me.

Smilin' Vic's step-mom is undergoing chemotherapy ... it's not looking great.  I realized that when I opened my e-mail three days ago.  

My brother-in-law wants to make me laugh so he sends funny fart jokes and the occasional positive social interest piece on Qatar.  He e-mails.

My sister, my mentor, sent me a few messages.  I opened them today.  They were sent a week ago.  On WhatsApp.

Forgive me for my weakness, but I have quickly realized that an expat in Doha fares far worse without social media.  Unfortunately, my addiction to fibre-optic connectivity is a lifeline to what moves me.  It is a lifeline to what matters.

The key most likely resides in balance.  Balancing the NEED to communicate and the DESIRE to be heard.  There's no need to be in constant contact.  But there is a need as an expat to be 'reachable'.  There is a need as an expat to 'reach out'.

This blog is no place for negativity.  For reflection, yes.  For appreciation, yes.  For a good laugh, yes.  For a healthy rant, yes.  But not for negativity.  And so I've resolved to respect it for the healthy outlet it's meant to be.

Tonight I broke completely, like the true addict that I am, and was rewarded with a satisfying rush - a good news story, about Qatar to boot!  A story of one (caveat:  not the 'only' one) Qatari making a difference.  Changing the world, one gesture at a time.  That one Qatari made a difference.  That one Qatari moved me.

I was moved.  Truly moved.  Moved to the point of wanting to write about something positive again.  Despite the disparaging comments questioning the authenticity of the intent.  Despite the naysayers insisting that it's all a publicity stunt.  

I insist ... actually I KNOW, that there is inherent good in every society.  My previous rants, my disparaging comments about dissatisfaction in this country ... they're justified.  Through the eyes of a North American expat, they're justified.  But they're not fair.  They're my perception of a society, a Nation, trying to come to grips with Westernization.  And who am I to say the Western way is THE way?

All I can say in my defense is that I struggle with what is unfamiliar to me.  Even after eight years, I struggle.   

Which gives all the more credence to my hosts, who struggle every day to adapt to the expat population that engulfs them by approximately 85%.  

I can at least plead the frustration of a 'foreigner in a foreign land'.  

But imagine being a minority and a foreigner in your homeland.  Imagine.  This is your HOME.  And the world, the worldwide scrutiny, the wealth, and the media have taken over.  You have no place.  The world has tried you; you are wrong, you have done wrong, everything you believe in is wrong.  What do you do?  

Kudos to individuals like Hamad Al-Amari and Fatima Al-Dosari for trying to merge those worlds.  What did they do?  A little something.  A little something to make you 'Happy'.

I work with some very cool dudes.  Some Nationals who hang out with me and love a good laugh and song.  Some very respectful, respected, respectable individuals who actually want to see the WORLD, not just Qatar, be a better place.  Like the guy I know who went back to the Philippines last year to visit his childhood nanny, because he missed her, but also to see how he could help her and family.  

Living here is not easy.  I don't always 'get' it.  Often I want to go home.  But that's my thing.  

On the flip side, I admit to feeling personally offended when I read or hear of outsiders or newcomers trashing this country.

Everyone has some good in them.  They just don't always 'get' it.  Forty years ago, North Americans were driving 140 miles an hour down the highway with a kid bouncing around in the front seat and a case of beer at their feet.  We've evolved ... most of us ... to an extent.

Give Qatar time.  

Not eternity.  

Time.  

You got it.  

Qatar will too.