Sky Blue in the ME ...

"I know how to fly, I know how to drown, in Sky blue"

....

"So tired of all this traveling.  So many miles away from home.  I keep moving to be stable.  Free to wander, free to roam."

Peter Gabriel, "Sky Blue", from the album "UP", 2002

There was a time when taking to the blue skies meant total freedom, flying, joy.  There was a time when I needed 'far away'.  And I took to the Sky blue to find all of that.

Yup, at the time, believe it or not, moving to the Middle East meant finding peace.  "Free to wander, free to roam".  And in many ways, the move and the distance have been a balm.

But today, being far away brings pain.

The skies aren't blue here.  Not today.  And I realize I am so far from home.  Somewhere along the way, the blue has dissipated.  My dad is dying.  Everything is beige, even the sky.

I want to see my dad before it's too late.  Before the skies all turn grey.

Skies in Switzerland ... true blue ... 

Losing the Princess in Me

I remember the day she discovered Binoo.  I remember the day she discovered Barney.  

I remember the day she discovered Blues Clues.  I remember the day she discovered Dora. 

Then, one day, she discovered Sleeping Beauty.  Every day of discovery since then has paled in comparison.

Sleeping Beauty was, and remains, in the eyes of my daughter, the ultimate fairytale, the ultimate princess, the ultimate magic.  Some would have me believe that to encourage this is detrimental to my daughter's independence, sense of empowerment, self-worth, and self-image.  I haven't dissected it that far. 

All I see is the MAGIC.  My daughter is now a size 8, but she still squeezes like a sausage into her size 6 Disney Princess Sleeping Beauty silk nightgown at every opportunity.  The difference these days is I'm not allowed to tell people she continues to covet this frayed blue silky frock.  Princesses are not cool.  Her friends might laugh at her.

Until last summer, my daughter defined herself as the ultimate girly girl.  

At age three, she proudly stepped into a pair of glass dress-up frou-frou slippers and paraded around the house, around the compound, and anywhere we would allow with those heels clicking and clacking.  She wore them with her best dress-up dress, with her best princess costume, with her best undies, striving to glide gracefully, usually tittering and tottering unstably, her parents agonizing at whether she would end up mercilessly twisting an ankle on those ungodly cheap plastic heels.

Nothing brought her more joy than those heels.  Nothing other than pairing them with a princess costume, fake jewelry or a really fancy dress.  Oh, the wonder at seeing the joy in her eyes as she dreamt and hoped of the possibility of perhaps one day achieving "princessdom".  

Her feet have long outgrown the length of those glass slippers.  

Last summer, our little princess girly girl informed us that she was now a 'tom girl'.

Apparently a tom girl combines all that is best of a tomboy and girlie girl.  That was cool.  She told us she preferred pop music to nursery rhyme tunes.  Then announced a slight interest in Justin Bieber.  Told us he had broken up with Selena Gomez.  That was cool.  Pink was no longer her favorite color.  She still liked pink, but turquoise was now the preferred option.  That was cool.  Then, on the first day of school, she asked me if I could buy her plain panties.  She didn't want the other girls to tease her when she changed on PE and gymnastics days.  Ok, but NOT COOL.

We were losing the little princess.  But we knew that change is the only constant.  So Christmas time rolled around.  She got a pair of flowery pj's from Santa.  She got plain panties from Santa.  All cool.  

That's when she told us that pink actually still was her favorite color (the pj's were pink).  And that she didn't really want to get rid of the princess panties; she'd just wear them on alternating days.  She pleaded for me to keep the Disney Princess nightgown; but I shouldn't tell her friends that she still wears it.  She confessed that she actually prefers all things princess.  She confessed that she is defending the value of princesses to her friends.  And, yes, she likes "Brave" and "Lava Girl" and other super duper progressive strong princess characters, but "Maman, Sleeping Beauty is still my favorite".  Our princess was obviously torn between what she loved and what she felt would get her loved.

Her Papa bought her a beautiful beaded "lady grown up gown" for Christmas, with matching beaded headband and high-heeled beaded shoes (the next generation of glass frou-frou slippers).  And a princess was reborn.  She couldn't help herself.  The princess in her was too strong.  She recently told me that she cannot keep on pretending she doesn't like princesses and girlie-girl things.  

She was teased by boys in her class for writing an essay on Cinderella.  She asked my husband and I what to do.  We told her to stand up for what she believed in, and if it helped, tell the the boys that writing about super-heros and spacemen was just as amazing or silly as writing about princesses.  Stand up for what you believe in.  

She did.  She told a friend on the bus that you can like princesses and still like Justin Bieber.  You don't have to like everything about them, but you can like something about them.  And that's ok. 

I truly believe princesses are born, not made.  Our princess cannot change what she is.  She cannot erase the princess within her; she may temper the princess, occasionally stifle her, but the princess will remain.  I love the princess.  Sleeping Beauty, Brave, Pocahontas, Ariel, Cinderella, Snow White, Jasmine, she is all of these and more.  

My daughter is an adaptable princess.  She cannot suppress who she is at her core, and in the end, she will defend who she is.  She will stand up to the bad guy, the evil matron, the cruel inflictor of pain.  

Her namesake is protector of mankind.  Perhaps by naming her as we did, we inflicted upon her the virtues of a princess and committed her to a life of dichotomous suffering and privilege.  But I am proud of my princess; she is standing up for what she believes in.

Yes, I am proud of my princess.  She reminds me every day that I must not lose sight of what is important to me; I must not lose the princess in me.  You may not always see her, but the princess in you is still there.  There is something to be said about re-discovering the princess in all of us.  Stand strong, stand up for what you believe in, stand up for the princess in you.  

I, for one, am committed to not losing the princess in me.

The princess in me ....

Princess slippers and dress ... a princess reborn 

The 'Problem Child' and Me

"Your child shows signs of attention seeking behavior."

I'll never forget those words.  Two months into the school year, my husband and I were seated none to comfortably at a kiddy-sized table, looking none to dignified and likely quite stunned.  I was mortified.  We faced our daughter's 2nd grade teacher as professionally and stoically as we could (given that our knees were bent at chin height  seated in teeny-tiny Crayola-themed 2nd grader chairs).

No words have ever instilled such despondency in this mother's heart.  But we sat silently and nodded numbly through the entire first-term parent-teacher meeting, waiting for the good part.  "She's an avid reader", "She socializes well", "She's creative".  It never came.  Apparently delivery of the sandwich feedback technique would not suffice for us to grasp the breadth of our daughter's shortcomings.

"She's easily distracted."  "She doesn't complete tasks on time; she can't focus."  "She lacks independence."  "She can't commit her ideas to paper."  "She lacks responsibility."  

We were utterly speechless.  Dejected.  Speechless.  Sad.  Speechless.  Powerless. Speechless.

Like most parents, my hubby and I are always a bit anxious to head to parent-teacher meetings.  But the Pre-K interview, our induction to the parent-teacher angst ritual, proved to be painless and really quite enjoyable.  It set the tone for the next two years.

Pre-K, Kindergarten, Grade 1 ... the homeroom teachers described to us a happy, outgoing little student with a sunny disposition, an eagerness to learn, and a motivation to share and help her classmates.  No academic issues, actually some really strong suits, but a tendency to dawdle.  We would have to work on helping her focus a little more in an effort to finish her assignments on time.   

Precious cotton ball and macaroni art, painstakingly written tales of heartache at not owning a puppy, a silly putty volcano model; these became our rewards for attending  parent-teacher night.  

Sitting with nurturing, positive, motivating educators who assured us that she was right where she needed to be academically and socially.  We always went with an objective mind, ready to take the bad with the good.  And they always gave us just enough of each to make a positive difference.

Every morning she would leap out of bed, excited about the school day, about the wonder that it held, about the hugs from her teachers, and about her classmates.

Fast forward to two nights ago, when our "happy, sunny, eager, motivated" kiddo told me she thought she would be too sick to go to school on Sunday (the school week runs Sunday - Thursday in Qatar).  She tells me she thinks her teacher and teacher's assistant don't like her.  She tells me that she wishes they would use their "nice" strict voice with her, like they do with the "really nice" kids in her class.  ????  

This has been stewing for a while.  She's telling me nothing I haven't already felt.  My husband is livid.  The main reason we chose not to leave Qatar last year was because our daughter loved her school so much.  

And even though we knew things would be different from the first day we dropped her off at school this year, we thought that would be a good thing; we were determined to remain objective.

Even when we saw her teacher standing arms crossed at the classroom door, turning kids away before even greeting them, telling them to put their bags in their cubbies before coming into class.  No "hello", no "welcome to second grade", no "what's your name", no warm and fuzzies.  We took it all in, a bit sadly, but thinking the no-nonsense approach might actually be a good thing, might help kiddo mature, might provide her with a solid foundation to prepare her for the 'real world'.  Our little girl was finally growing up.

We continued to take the objective stance after the parent-teacher meeting.  We told ourselves that this was just this teacher's 'way'.  After all, we could't discount what she'd said; we consider ourselves mature enough to take the bad with the good.  Even though we both walked away with the sense that the teacher simply did not like our child.  Even though we felt like we'd just been put firmly in our place.  We told ourselves we would use the opportunity to help her improve on her weaker points; at least we could focus our efforts.  We told ourselves that even though the delivery was poor, the message could still be useful.

Her report card a month later was no better.  While her marks remained strong and all her 'extras' teachers had positive and constructive comments, her homeroom teacher's comments read something the lines of "if she applies herself, she might have the potential to become a good student".  It took everything to hold my husband back at that point.  I am ashamed to say that even then I asked him to keep it in check, to suppress his instincts.  

How could it be, he asked me, that a child who has repeatedly gotten praise for her compassion, her interest, her respect, her work, her efforts, had all of a sudden become such an utter "problem" child.    

It's been five long months, filled with small and frequent examples of demotivating comments and actions.  "The teacher didn't let me go to the bathroom."  "The teacher rolled her eyes at me when I told her it wasn't my fault." "The teacher took away free time for the whole class because I wasn't done picking up my table."  Small examples of humiliation that never quite sat right.  Still, we remained objective.  

But our daughter's comments two nights ago were the final straw.  We miss the bounce in her step.  We miss her enchantment at learning something new.  We miss her anticipation of each school day.  We miss being able to tell her everything is going to be ok.  Something is not ok.  And that's not ok with us.

So we've scheduled a meeting with the school counsellor.  We can't stand back and see her spirit crushed.  We can't stand silent while someone chips mercilessly at her larger-than-life personality.  We can't let one bad teacher (yes, I actually wrote that) destroy our daughter's faith in all the great educators this world has to offer (subject of a future post).  We've had enough.  We're not objective anymore.

How did it come to this?

A CAT, ME, and Responsibility (our first pet in the Middle East)

So this year for Christmas, we did what everyone says "you should NOT DO" as a responsible adult.  We got our daughter a pet.

Hear me out.  We are animal lovers.  Both my husband and I have had pets since we can remember.  Dogs and cats have always been a part of our lives.  But when we moved to the ME, we agreed that for the three (hahahaha!) years we would be here, we would not have any pets.  And these are the reasons:

-  Pets like the outdoors.  It's really hot here (+50C on some summer days).  It makes it miserable - if not deadly - for most animals.  Particularly for spoiled, domesticated animals.

-  Pets need attention.  We both work.  Our daughter goes to school.  When we go on vacation (7 weeks a year), we leave the country.  Having a pet means re-organizing a lot of the way we run our day and lives.  It's a sacrifice we're not sure we're willing to make.

-  Pets need to be loved.  We live in a country where dogs are seen as purely farm animals; they are teased and abused by neighborhood kids, and if lost they stand a very slim chance of being returned or at the very least brought in by a loving family.

-  Cats abound, but they are mean, raunchy, ghetto cats.  To bring a cat into your home means you must either accept that it will be torn to shreds by the neighborhood gang before the age of six months, or kept inside at all times as an "indoor" cat.

So for those reasons, we agreed that we would get a pet for our daughter when we returned West.  No matter how many times she begged for a pup, we held firm.  We felt very responsible.  Like in our mature 40's and 50's we had actually grown up and realized that we couldn't just go out and get a pet on a whim just because it was cute and caught our fancy.

Soooooooo, two weeks ago, six + years into our stint in this country, I'm surfing the online souq at work (an office buy-and-sell site) during some free time in the quiet weeks leading up to the end of the year.  And up pop these images of four little Persian cats.  They are sooo cute!  But I'm strong, we're not going to succumb.  We're responsible adults.  I'm a responsible adult.  There are too many reasons NOT to get a pet.  

As a result, I responsibly send a responsible e-mail to my husband, with the tagline "neat Christmas gift???? xoxoxoxox".  I'm feeling very adult.  He doesn't immediately respond.  So I call his office number.  No answer.  So I furiously dial his mobile number.  Breathe.  Calm.  "Ohmmmmmmm."  Responsibility.  We don't need a really cute, super furry, incredibly cuddly kitten looking for a loving, caring home.  I just want him to check it out.  That's all.

He picks up on the fifth ring, says "I'm in a meeting with the Manager, can I call you back?"  Responsibly, I say "Ok, but can you make it quick, this is really important."  He hangs up, and calls me back five minutes later.

"What's up?" he asks.  "Can you go back to the office and check out the e-mail I sent you?" I say.  "I think I've found the perfect gift for our daughter for Christmas."

So he goes back to the office, opens up the e-mail image, and calls me back, responsibly, immediately.  And he says, "They're really cute, but it's up to you."  And I say to him "Come on, take responsibility for your actions.  If you really want a kitty, say so."  So we hem and haw, back and forth, and he finally says, "ok, call the guy.  I'll go see them after work.  If it's on the up and up and they're fairly healthy and well cared for, we'll think about it."  I am proud of his restraint.  It shows how responsible we have become.

So I call the seller (8 times????).  He doesn't pick up.  I text him (4 times????), responsibly telling him what a responsible and caring family we are.  Can my husband please go see the kittens after work?  He calls me back.  We make arrangements.  My husband goes to see the kittens; he sees how loving and lovable they are.  All they need is a loving family to carry them through to adulthood.  He plays with the four for a bit, responsibly sees which one is naturally drawn to him.  He chooses her.  He tells the man he will be back after work on the 24th of December to pick her up.  They shake hands, the deal is done.

We are excited.  I go to the Veterinary Clinic.  I pick up a kennel, cat food, kitty daybed with pink mattress, litter pan, kitty litter, toy mice, brush ... we're responsibly ready.

Christmas Eve rolls around.  My husband goes to pick her up.  The seller is not home!!!!!  He is not answering his mobile!   After about thirty attempts to reach him, we are disheartened, but agree that it must be meant to be.  My husband responsibly leaves a note on his gate, explaining how the kitten was meant to be our daughter's Christmas present, can he please get in touch with us if he gets this message?

Christmas Eve goes on; we enjoy crostini and some vino and tell ourselves that our daughter has more than enough to enjoy on Christmas morning without need for a kitten.  She can use the kitty daybed for her dolls.  We'll save the kennel, and maybe someday in the future we'll reconsider getting a cat.  We're taking this on as only responsible adults would.  We're quite proud of ourselves.

At 21:40, my husband's phone rings.  It is the seller.  He was held back at work.  Can we pick up the kitten the next morning (Christmas Day) at his workplace?  Since I work for the same company as the seller, my husband passes the phone on to me as I will be able to locate the tradeoff spot easier.  I jot the address down quite responsibly, and gush out profuse thanks and Christmas greetings to my Muslim co-worker ... Oooops!  He takes it all in stride, as I responsibly proffer excuses at being so gauche.  

When I hang up the phone, my husband and I smile serenely at each other, as only responsible adults would do.  I then proceed to do a happy dance, he launches into a rendition of "We Are the Champions", and we high five and skirt around singing "we did it, we did it, oh yeah, we did it....".

Christmas morning rolls around.  Our daughter is wholly satisfied with the loot she's received from Santa and her parents.  Lego Friends, Frustration, princess dress and shoes, pj's, big girl panties, ... the list goes on.  It's an awesome morning, but we know it's about to get better.  But we responsibly keep mum.

At 8:00 a.m., I tell my daughter I have to go to the store to pick up a few things for Christmas dinner.  I head off in my car, and almost immediately realize I don't have my mobile phone, so don't have the gentleman's phone number. But I figure that's ok.  I can find him.  So I drive along, listening to the French music channel in the car, anticipating having that little kitty in my arms!  And halfway there, 20 minutes into the drive,  ... I realize I don't have my i.d. because I've taken my husband's car, and won't be able to get through the work security gate to pick up the cat.  And because I don't have my phone, I won't be able to call the seller to meet me at the gate.  So I .... responsibly .... turn back to the house to pick up my phone and i.d. card.  

When I am finally on my way, i.d. and phone in hand, I am fighting the panic.  Two hurdles ... should I expect a third????  But I force myself to think responsibly.  I breeze through the security gate, arrive at the seller's office building, give him a call, and he picks up!  He comes out to greet me, and we make the exchange.  He hands me the kitty, I hand him the envelope, and he tells me I am a few bucks short on the agreed-upon price!!!!! I do not have a single extra cent on me.  He calls his wife, who thankfully says that "no", I actually have given the exact amount.  Phewwwwffff!

I drive back home.  I call my husband, tell him to get our daughter upstairs.  I meet our nanny outside.  She is ready with the wrapping paper.  We wrap the kennel in the backyard and responsibly punch holes into the paper so that our kitty can breathe.  

We place the wrapped kennel and kitty daybed under the tree.  We call our daughter downstairs.  Ask her how these two extra packages got under the tree?  She unwraps the bed.  We tell her it's for her dolls.  She's not super thrilled, but graciously says thank you (she doesn't have that many dollies).

We responsibly stop her when she tries to flip the wrapped kennel over to unwrap it.  She starts unwrapping.  Not a peep from inside.  I'm kind of worried; this kitten has not uttered a peep since getting into the kennel.

She looks inside the gated side.  She says "it looks like a cat!"  My husband says "You know it's not real, we're responsible, we don't have pets."  She says "But it's moving."  My husband says "It's battery operated; it's meant to be just like the real thing!"  She is thrilled.  She opens the door to the kennel.  The kitten paws at her.  She slams the door shut and exclaims "It really looks real!"  We all laugh!  I say "It is real!"  She says "Is it really real?"  I say "yes!"  Her eyes saucers, smiling ear to ear, she asks softly "Is it mine?"  My husband answers "yes!"  She says "Do I get to keep her forever?"  My husband answers "Yes!"  She tears up.  She tears open the door and pulls out the newest addition to our family.  It is LOVE!

So she's been in our home for four days now.  She's been to the vet's, been de-wormed, had the mites scraped out of her ears, is receiving daily eye drops and ear drops, and is due for immunization next week after her ear/eye treatment is over.  She is a loving, lovable little thing who has brought a new vitality into our home.  And a new sense of responsibility.  You see, our daughter, an only child, now has someone to look over, to look after.  So she's taken on litter duty, feeding duty, and loving duty.  She finally has someone who relies on her, and it's amazing what a gift it has been to her.  She was actually quite put out yesterday when she got up and our nanny had cleaned out the litter box.  Our daughter had wanted to clean it for us without any prompting as a surprise.  She is now telling us that this kitty is her "responsibility".  The kitty that we said we wouldn't get as a "responsible" family.  Ironic?

And obviously the gift has been shared by us all.  All of a sudden, our house in the ME feels even more like a home.  A kitten bouncing in the mess of Christmas gifts still displayed under the tree, running after discarded Christmas ribbon, climbing up your pant leg and cuddling up in your lap as you blog ... well, it just whispers homeyness, doesn't it?

I'm home ...

Cuddles and dreams ...

Just bein' cute ... 'cos that's the way I roll ...