Tag Archives: husband

Happy Birthday, Old Man!

(Yes, I’m talking about you, dear husband! 37! Wow.)
Had a lovely walk and a lunch at Marina today, although my husband didn’t seem to enjoy it just on the same level as we did. I reckon it could be the fact he gets there more often than us.
Snapped few pics, most of them blurry – imagine trying to stand still to have it sharp, but there’s always someone poking you and pushing you. That was Maryam, most of the time. Moving objects the second half of the attempts.
But few are quite all right. First and foremost, I’ve finally managed to catch how scaffolding looks like in Kuwait. I’ve seen a worker slip on one of these and manage not to fall down by catching one of the wooden “pipes” while slipping, so he hung down but didn’t get hurt. Mostly, it looks exactly like this – as a pile of matches randomly tied together; and more often than not they have no wooden palettes to walk on either. Adrenaline much. Injuries probably more.
The rest of the photos are more in the happy field, though.
The last one depicts rather nicely autumn weather in Kuwait. Heat, and sandstorms. Now we’re at the “almost winter” stage, where it still can get up to 30 degrees during the day, but can go as low as 8 in the night. We blew some serious money on this year’s winter wardrobe for kids there at Marina. Seriously; why does a sweater for 6 months old baby cost the same as mine?! You can’t tell me it is the same amount of material. I am not the 6 months old to believe so.

 

(Quality) Family Time

As my parents’ departure closes upon us with a lightning speed, we’ve sped up a bit of the leisure-y tempo in exploring what Kuwait has to offer to a pair of foreigners a.k.a. tourists.
We’ve visited the awesome Beit Al Sadu (I’m saying awesome, because I had the urge to visit that place since ever I’ve got to know about it, and that’s quite long), with traditional Bedouin weaving, exposition, even a weaver (women, by the way!) present and kind enough to Dori to explain to her some basics of the complicated red weavings, including spinning own yarn from sheeps, goats and camels and offering us the possibility to enlist her in appropriate lessons for it. It’d be very good for her as she got zero tolerance and patience and handicrafts are just great for teaching that (in my opinion, at least), but she wouldn’t last long and we don’t have the resources at the moment anyways. Hi, Maryam.
But maybe more than the flickery interest of my daughter in the sadu techniques, I would love to give it a try one day. Since I’ve gone through felting, needle and wet, and now crochet and even basic knit (Thanks, mom! Finally I get the two needle crochet-like craft.), weaving, and on top of it traditional Kuwaiti style, would be a great addition to it. One day, without belly. Perhaps.
We’ve visited National Museum today as well, with a little dizzying experience for me in the planetarium, but hey, how fantastic it is to watch stuff about universe. My favourites are always black holes. Fascinating stuff, really. No sarcasm intended.
Abbas was difficult as always and made my husband miserable till we reached our usual Tuesday lunch at my in laws, where he literally adores the garden space, running around, watching chickens and playing football and handball. Though his cousin made it a little miserable for him today, as he’s a little shy boy and doesn’t like to fight for toys. Yet. He will be taught, soon. I promise.
I’ve had camera on my hands and plenty of time, so I’ve snapped away a huge bunch of completely useless pictures (nearly 6GB of them on my memory card, but my excuse is that RAW takes well over 20MB per picture), but some came out nice, so let the photo spam begin.
The only downfall of this week is that my parents leave on Friday already, and top that around 1 am, so I won’t be able to even go with them to the airport. Kids sleeping at home alone, (=) fires, knives, electricity, bleeding noses and worse, you know that stuff.
Only two days left than; my daughter is going to be direly disappointed and already slacking at school due to her granddad and grandma being here and seeing us after a year, she’s got exams next week. Disaster approaching for sure, I’m telling you.
And top to that, we got not so joyful news at the last ultrasound check for Maryam, though not entirely bad either, true. At least she started to finally chubby up a bit, for I was scolded that she’s too small for dates before.

 

When Did We Get Such a Big Flat?

At least, it became much bigger after our housekeeper’s contract ended and I did not wish for a new one. Meaning, to my husband’s standards, I have to clean every day, with an exception of Friday which I attempt to claim as my free day. (Like, it’s so possible with kids.)


By cleaning, I mean the whole nine yards. Vacuum, mop, dust, dishes, ironing, washing, polishing, desinfecting, littering, cooking, putting kids to sleep, shouting at kids not to play with this and that and being ignored right away, and so on.
It can become exhausting if Mr. Pickles doesn’t grant me a good night sleep – luckily, alhamdulilah, this is more rare of occurrence nowadays than it used to be. So yes, on occasion I’ll crawl out of the bed feeling like a roadkill, not really so joyous over the ordeal upon me; mostly though I am fine and re-adapted quickly.
It’s just Mr. Pickles, who does the whole thing complicated, really. Either he screams his lungs out being restricted to my room only, making my sisters in law message my husband at work why the hell is that toddler crying so much and whether is he being eaten alive by our three cats, or he wrecks havoc all over the house. In the latter case he’s happy, that is true; me less however. It’s like cleaning with a tornado behind my back; I turn and see whatever has been done, has been undone. And worse, rather often. He also took a great liking in plugs, trash cans, cat litter boxes, Dettol bottles, vacuum cleaner wrong ends and other child unfriendly but awfully fun things. What’s child friendly is gruesomely boring, he says.


A Day on a Beach

We went to a small “bikini” beach today (yay for wearing abaya somewhere like that), it was rather small but clean and nice – my husband’s intent was me walking bare feet on the sand and that possibly making Abbas want to come out on this half sunny half dusty day, which of course didn’t work, but I’ve got a very nice sand massage for my baby elephant feet. So swollen and so painful recent days, hence a lukewarm sea water and sand washing over them felt just like heaven. I don’t intend to complain about that for sure!
I snapped few pics on the way too, mainly of my chicken of a daughter being afraid of going into the water (at first. Once we got her there, we couldn’t get her out, on the other hand.), and some quick snaps through the car window and traffic, just for sports and fun.


Just a little dip!

And now not going anywhere.

… and 38

…which is, supposedly, the temperature in shade (in Celsius) we’ve reached today. Well yay (nay), it’s 8th of April, and I am not prepared to get barbecued yet!
Yesterday I’ve optimistically opened the nice, rounded window in my room to get some fresh air for the morning, and equally quickly I’ve shut it back, as instead of some, at least little bit, refreshing air, I’ve got a heat slap. Big time.


April is the month of storms in Kuwait which according to my husband means a weather change – or so to say a year time change, and I suppose we could call it a spring, the stormy thing, because it seems to happen when winter ends and summer starts. And we’ve got not real spring here, so let’s call it spring; shall we?
Cats are shading hair as crazy and I don’t blame them, I feel like shading my pants and shirts off me too. I am just so not build for heat.


Often it’s somewhat between dusty and rainy, which creates a rather interesting muddy-in-the-air (picture of my window after one of these inserted above).
Nevertheless, summer is here, inevitably and irreversibly and I can stand on my head and it won’t change a thing about it.


We’ve finished shopping for the nursery, inshallah, and now I am just waiting for a call from Kaifan station to pick up my packages coming from UK, Turkey and Czech, containing just a little bit more for the baby, clothes and diapers mainly. Aaaand yes. I actually do blog about diapers. And I fear it’s going to get worse.
When we arrived from the second wave of baby shopping my husband looked like a true Kuwaiti man, with a balcony puckering his lips, desperate face, empty wallet, dozens of bags hanging in his hands, and with a smiling, content wife nearly jumping a step behind him. (Photo of how relaxed can a man be after one big shopping is below).


Aaaand yes – I am ruining my husband’s bank account. No better reason than preparing for the bundle of joy, right? (I have this feeling that this is just a sarcasm used by childless people, really.)

39

…days to go – supposedly, at least that’s what my Lilypie sticker says that it’s left to the 40 week mark. I’ve been dipping into nesting reflex recently which resulted in me sending my husband out on an errand to hunt some crochet hook and yarn, so I can practice a bit before my real crocheting order comes around – which, so far, doesn’t seem to. I blame Easter, busy postal services and so on. The taste to crochet is blamed on nesting reflex.
I’ve managed to hook up my first creation which, amusingly, turned out in a shape of a newborn hat. Wonder why, don’t you?