Author: Robin Chartier

One of the best parts about our weekend in the desert were the huge sand dunes (as long as we weren’t driving over them) and sandboarding. They had some sleds too, but the real fun was in strapping on a snowboard and hitting the sandy slopes.

I love Calvin’s twitchy dance at the beginning — he was trying to swat away a fly . . .

The worst part was the trek back up the long hill, slipping and sliding the entire way. For each step up the slope, we slid back about 1/2 a step. Between the heat and the steep incline, it was a great workout. I only managed three runs before I had to quit and head to the pool. Too bad the Bedouins didn’t have tow ropes!

Calvin and Carter were both professionals by the end. The sand was really soft so the only pain in crashing was getting the powdery fine grit out of your mouth, nose, and ears.

At the base of the dune looking up at Carter.

getting locked in

Ready. Set. Go!

I had a great video of one of Carter’s perfect runs, except it turned out that I didn’t. I thought I hit “record,” but I missed the button and only started recording after he finished. I don’t think you want to see the video I actually took of the sand and my foot.  Here’s a different one that includes a pretty good wipeout.

And what was Camille doing? Our very sandy beach bunny was cheering us on at the bottom of the hill (and eating a tiny bit of sand.)

Posted on the “classifieds” wall at the grocery store near our house. Interesting, huh? I don’t know why, but every ad includes the person’s race. When we were in Egypt, we were told by several people, “Oh, try and get a [insert race here] maid, because they are cleaner than [insert different race here]. Seriously. There’s a weird sort of accepted racism when it comes to maids. In Egypt there was a hierarchy that extended to pay as well. Egyptian maids were generally paid the most, then Pilipino, Indian/Sri Lankan, and finally Sudanese. I think that was the order. The general idea though was that certain races were known to be cheaper labor. It wasn’t just expat folklore, this info was printed in the Welcome to Egypt booklets that were readily available to expats. One difference here is that you won’t find Omani maids. All household help are what they call TCNs, or “third country nationals.” They live and work here, but aren’t native.    I don’t know which race is considered “better” for maids here, but all these workers sure think listing their race is an asset to finding employment!

Are you still jealous?

This is our house – one half of the nicest duplex we’ve ever lived in. You can click on any of the pictures to see them up close.     Our front entry. The doorway on the right leads to this living room.   and connects to the dining room through the archway. Then into our kitchen. No dishwasher, but there is a washer and a dryer.   Upstairs is the master bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom is the size of a living room, but it’s nice to lie on the couch and read while the baby plays on the rug. Especially when the boys are playing with Nerf guns in the living room downstairs. I also love the huge bathtub, but the small hot water tank runs out before the tub is filled (each bathroom has individual hot water heaters). Still trying to figure out if it can be adjusted so I can fill the tub up all the way.   Looking from our bedroom down the hallway toward the boys’ bedrooms. Carter’s room has two twin beds so Caleb likes to sleep in there with him.     Calvin’s room is also the guest room. It has it’s own bathroom and is almost as big as the master bedroom. Caleb and Camille will eventually share this room on the right. When she moves in there, I’m sure he’ll want to sleep in his own bed again.   Now head back downstairs and out front. . .   Josh pulling in our front gate in our tiny rental car. I need to get a picture of all the kids in the backseat. Once we had to give someone a ride and it was me and the four kids all in the backseat – the 4 of us crammed up against Camille’s car seat. You can take the family out of Egypt, but you can’t take the Egypt out of the family . . . The picture on the right shows the cutout detail that is in several places on the exterior of the house.   The back of the house from the kitchen door. There is quite a bit of space to play soccer, except they keep kicking the ball over the (really tall) walls. Calvin has had to make a few surreptitious rescues already and his hands and feet are getting raw from scaling the rough walls. Someone must have known I was coming. Tomato plants! These will die because of the heat, but Lucy said she loves to garden and suggested planting in October when it gets cooler: tomatoes, basil, cilantro, parsley, and more. This is where we’re putting down roots for the next year — unless they kick us out sooner. Come and visit – we have plenty of room for you!

That is my new name. I can’t say that this is true across all of Oman, but all the house help I have met so far call their employers “Sir” and “Madame.” As in, “is Sir at home this morning?” (he wasn’t.) or “Madame, do you want me to hold the baby for you while you eat breakfast?” (I did.)

Crazy, huh? I feel like I’m faking it most of the time – I couldn’t possibly be old enough or powerful enough to have someone call me Madame. It’s like I’m the ruling class in a Jane Austen movie or something. And it sort of does feel like royalty when you’re finished eating breakfast and you get up to clear your cereal bowl and Lucy swoops in and says, “Oh no, Madame! I will get that for you.” CRA-ZEE.

She gets here at 7am, lets herself in with her key, and by the time I get downstairs around 7:30 she has already washed the dishes from the night before, wiped down the stove and countertops and has probably swept the backyard or taken the clean clothes in off the drying rack. I asked her to help Caleb get his cereal one morning so now whenever Caleb comes down she gets his cereal bowl out, pours his cereal and milk, and carries it to the dining room for him. She treats all the boys like little princes and would wait on them hand and foot if I would let her.

She does everything I can think of around the house until 3:00 when she heads home. Washing dishes, clothes, ironing, making beds, sweeping, mopping, taking out trash, putting away groceries, baby watching . . . I was even cooking beef stew this afternoon and she came in and helped me prep all the vegetables.

I talk about her being our “housekeeper” because I think it sounds more empowering (or PC) than “maid,” but in the embassy information packet they had an entire section devoted to Hiring a Household Servant, so I think calling her our “maid” might not be so bad after all.

Tomorrow is our weekend so Lucy has the next two days off. The boys (and I) are going to be in for a shock when our dishes don’t magically disappear from the table and we actually have to clean up after ourselves. Only four days in and Madame is already spoiled.