Parent Failure

Everyone in Muscat knows The Clock Roundabout. It stands like a sentinel at a cross roads--go one way and you are on the road that heads toward the ocean, toward what is known as As Seeb. Go another and you will find yourself at the airport, or heading toward Nizwa or Sohar. And likewise, because everyone knows The Clock Roundabout, everyone knows exactly where we live, because we live so close to the The Clock that we can hear it chime the hour during the school day if we keep our window open.

At the base of The Clock, there is the lush, green Sahwah Park, well within walking distance of our house. It is built in a sort of triangle shape, with rounded corners. In one corner there are stables where the horses live that pull the carriage through the park each evening. In another corner there are a series of fountains that shoot color-tinged water high into the air, and another series of more gentle fountains that randomly bubble out of the ground. Within the borders of the park there are mazes carved from hedges, stairs bordered by thick beds of petunias, and acres of green grass. And in that third corner of the triangle there is a playground.

During the day, the park and playground are not open (unless you know where the fence has been cut and bent in order to allow admission...not that I would know something like that). But at 4 p.m., as the sun is going down, the park begins to burble with energy. The people come in hordes...women wrapped in black abayas, pushing a baby in a stroller; men in their cool white dishdashas, holding a child by the hand; the nanny toting along another, older child; another domestic carrying a picnic basket; a boy with a soccer ball and a giant woven mat. These groups enter the park and set up a camp for the evening and, once their space is set, the children run to the playground.

The playground is not just a set of swings and a jungle gym. This is a pair of play structures--the grand-daddy of all playgrounds, with slides so high that there is no way they meet any sort of safety code. The sides of the play structures are riddled with climbing hitches and half a dozen towers are connected by rope bridges. In the chalky darkness, children skip through the cool sand, playing soccer, running through the towers, screaming in the dark.

The park has recently loomed large in my children's realization that I am a less-than-perfect parent. I do not carry snacks. I do not carry anything to treat impromptu wounds. I do not haul entertainment, spare change, or water. In short, I am the anti-mother, and this situation has become unacceptable to Silas. When we go to the park, Silas expects that, when he is thirsty, I will have a bottle of water for him because he sees all these other well-prepared families with their overflowing picnic baskets doling out goodies to their own children. When Silas is hungry, he wants a snack to magically appear from somewhere within my proximity. In short, I am a disappointment to my chronically starving son.

Last night, we visited the park; after two hours we were ready to head home. Tehva and Silas were thirsty and I had nothing for them except for the promise of water when we arrived home. In her anger at my lack of vital supplies, Tehva attempted to step on the hems of passing women's abayas and Silas collapsed into a dehydrated heap every three steps. "But I am THIRSTY!" **collapse** **stomp** "Mom, I need WATER!" **collapse** **stomp**

In the confusion of the masses around us, the whining messes next to me, and the Arabic language program being blasted from the speakers in the trees (Am I in China?), a blanket of self-doubt wrapped itself about my brain. "What am I doing?" I thought..."I am frickin' in the Middle East with three kids who are not in school. I am surrounded by people whose calves I have never seen and probably will never see. It is nearly Christmas and we are still running around in short sleeves. The people around me have their children dressed in scarves, hats, and down jackets even though the temp is in the 70s. This is ridiculous. What are we thinking being here?"

This self-doubt that comes and goes when adjusting to a new place has finally come to me. It will evaporate as quickly as it has come and I will emerge a person with a new attitude and understanding. And maybe then I will also know how to carry a bottle of water for poor Silas. Whatever.