Why my kids might not graduate from medical school

T-Bird: "I have fairies in my body. Lots of them. Mo-om! Don't look at me like that - you know what fairies are! They're those things that fly. Well, I have lots of them! And they're in my body. And there's a whole lot that help get rid of all the rubbish in my body with my poo."

AirBear: "Well, God makes my body work."

Silence.

AirBear: "But sometimes it's a little mouse."

A bit of a gripe, actually.

It really irritates me about how little people understand about the basic geography of the middle east. We didn't live there long, but long enough to know a bit about which way is up. After spending 2 years in Saudi Arabia, it really grates my carrot when people ask me about my time in Dubai. So, to save you from making an ass of yourself when engaging in light conversation with people about the middle east, let me enlighten you.

Lesson Number 1: Dubai is NOT a country.

Please look at the map. You see that tiny bit of orange country just to the right of the large yellow mass? Look a little closer. Somewhere near the top of it, you will see, written pretty tiny, the word: Dubai. Dubai is a bustling CITY in the north of the country known as the United Arab Emirates. (Oh, yes. The United Arab Emirates is the name of a country

Lesson Number 2: Dubai is NOT In Saudi Arabia. 

Also, Dubai is nowhere near to even being equal to Saudi Arabia. When you say, "So how was Dubai?" and I say "It was Saudi, actually," and you say, "Oh, but it's the same thing," you are very very mistaken. Dubai is NOT the same thing as Saudi. (Check the map: Dubai = tiny little city in UAE, SAUDI ARABIA = massive expanse of lemony yellow land).

Lesson Number 3: Saudi Arabia is NOT THE middle east.

Never assume, when conversation turns to the middle east, that Saudi Arabia is the topic of conversation. (Check map, please). The middle east is comprised of a vast number of countries. Remember also that "Middle-East-Conversation" is also not always about Israel vs Palestine. Bear in mind that we're talking about twenty-or-so different countries with different political climates, and even different degrees of desert. They ARE NOT all one and the same.

Lesson Number 4: In the same vein, Israel is NOT THE middle east.

Check the map again, please. Do you see that small strip of burgandy just off to the north west of Saudi Arabia (the frikking huge yellow expanse in the middle)? That's Israel. See what I mean? There's a lot more to the middle east than that small, albeit extremely volatile, strip of land.

Thank you.

The way things are

So it would seem that the bug I'm getting over, has found new lodgings in the Mother of Last Year (unfortunately the title of Mother of the Year is floating, and until proven otherwise, a temporary title will be used).

 The man was complaining of the all too familiar sore throat, blocked head and aching joints, when I stirred up a great concoction of vitamin C and anti-inflammatories to wash his malaise away. I held out the potion, and the whining started.

"I don't want all that stuff. I don't need it."

"Don't question me," I said, all maternal-like, "I am a nurse, you know."

"Really?" he said, eyebrows raised, taunting.

"Daddy," T-Bird interjected. "Mommy really is a nurse. Or she used to be a nurse."

A moment passed where we all exchanged glances.

"Mommy is a nurse who stays at home," she declared after a little thinking.

I nodded triumphantly at her father and shoved the medication into his hand.

"...and who goes shopping."

So much for victory lasting for any decent length of time.

PS. And it's not true, by the way. I do a lot of other stuff too.

Out of Commission

So, weirdly enough, it would seem I have developed a form of midsummer's flu. I have no idea how it happened, but I believe that subconsciously, my body decided that once the year actually gets going, and school's back, and the extra-murals start, there won't be time for me to get sick, so it's taking its sick leave now, before the chaos of the new year starts.

So there I was, resting my fevered brow upon the armrest of the couch, when my two little girls, craving affection, descended upon my weakened frame. Hugs and kisses were offered in generous amounts. I tried to push them off me.

"Guys," I moaned, "please don't kiss me. I don't want to make you sick."

"Can we kiss your mouth?" asked T-Bird.

"No."

"Can we kiss your nose?" asked AirBear.

"No."

"Can we kiss your cheek?"

"Your chin?"

"Your forehead?"

"No, no, no. You cannot kiss my face."

Little downcast faces looked at me. "But why?"

"Because I'm sick," I explained.

"Oh," said AirBear, "it's because you're sick in your face."

"Yes, I suppose. Here," I said extending my arm, dangling my fingers to the floor, all regal-like, "you may kiss the royal hand."

They liked that. They kissed the back of my hand, courtsied and ran off to play fairies.

Big-boned Ballet

I recently attended a dance school recital whose students ranged in age from 3 to 30. There were about thirty different performances on the program and the show covered various aspects of dance, from ballet to hip-hop, tap and modern.

Now, while it was entertaining and all, some disturbing thought kept nagging me. The thought was: Why are there so many fat ballerinas on stage? When I first became aware of what I was actually thinking in my subconscious, I started counting the obese dancers. In each group that performed. Shockingly, there was always a minimum of two overweight dancers in each group. I realise that the skimpy outfits that dancers wear for ease of movement also add to the ease of identifying  the portly kids in the group, but really!?! What in the world is going on?

When I was at school, if there was ONE fat kid in your school, let alone in your own class, it was a lot, and generally the poor child had some glandular problem. But after watching that ballet show, I was totally horrified at the number of fat dancers I saw. Surely glandular disorders are not so plentiful nowadays?

I presume they dance (or are encouraged to dance) to try and deal with the extra weight, and most of these podgy girls are actually quite agile and graceful when performing, but surely this is a sign of the times? And I can't help but wonder if MickeyD and the likes are in some (large) way responsible. Is the convenience of er, convenience foods the direct cause of these growing numbers of portly dancers?