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  • Week 21 Aug 24-30 (2ata)

    A hooded figure sits on a rocky outcrop at night with pizza and snacks, watching a lighthouse beam shine across the dark sea.
    August 31, 2026

    It started with numnum for food. Then booberry for blueberry. Then eeeeb for 7aleeb. Then sawberry. Then moz and 2apl.

    All of them belong to one category, 2akil, which he also acquired.

    He is not learning to speak. He is learning to order. And he is in a hurry about it, because he has watched his father do it and clearly decided it is the most important skill in the house.

    The system works like this. He says the name of the food and waits. That is the polite version, and it is the one you get first.

    If nothing arrives, he adds 2ata. Give it to me. Same word, different tone, and it is no longer a request.

    And if he does not know the name of the thing, he skips the first step entirely and simply says 2ata, pointing at it, with the confidence of a man who assumes the kitchen will work out the rest.

    Which we do. Every time.

    The rest of the vocabulary is still foOoOog with a long O, which means carry me, taal, which means come, and sit, which means sit.

    And nothing has changed since last week

    Not because of him. Because of me.

    Because I have been doing exactly what he has been doing. Adding things to a list. Places I want to eat before keto starts. Things I need to have one more time first.

    Same category. Same instinct. He points at food and asks for it, and so do I. The only difference is that he says one word and I book a table.

    Although the volume is starting to look strange. I have not been eating like a man about to start keto. I have been eating like a man who has seen the forecast and is going underground on Sunday.

    Which sends me back to something I wrote a few posts ago.

    I wrote about inheritance, and I said my eldest had clearly got the tinkering from me. The refusal to leave a broken thing alone. That part I still believe.

    Then I suggested the little one had it too, and I think I was wrong.

    He did not get tinkering.

    He got the food.

    The second flaw is exercise, and I cannot blame anyone for that one

    I have avoided it my whole life.

    On sports day at school I volunteered to be an organiser. Every year. Cones, rope, writing down the results.

    The one exception was the end of the day. The hundred metres and the relay. I ran both, and I usually won, and more than once I carried a team that had no business winning anything.

    Which tells you what I actually am. Not sporty. Fast.

    Ten seconds of effort, applause, and then back to holding the rope. That is the arrangement I made with exercise at about the age of nine, and I have never renegotiated it.

    The paperwork came later. Through most of high school I was excused from PE because of asthma. I did have asthma. It was not the reason I was not doing PE. It was the reason available to me for not doing PE, which is a different thing, and I knew the difference at the time.

    Nothing has changed since. The excuse is just better dressed now.

    Where the week landed

    Keto did not start. The plan is still ahead of me.

    Training did not start either. My trainer is eighteen months old and his entire programme is lift, come, sit down.

    Reading and writing held.

    So last week’s meters were filled with intent, and this week I converted none of it. I stood up glowing and then did not move.

    Two flaws. Food and exercise. Both known. Both mine. Neither new.

    But it has to end. إن شاء الله this week.

    Write in the logbook
  • Nursery, Part 3: The Case Against

    Warm family kitchen and dining area with a child’s drawing displayed on the fridge, suggesting home-based learning and a lived-in family space.
    August 30, 2026

    Part 2 made the strongest case I could for nursery, and I meant all of it.

    But there is research pointing the other way. Some of it is very solid. Some of it is weaker than people claim. And one popular argument against nursery has actually been disproved, which I will come to.

    Here are four things.

    First: a day at nursery is physically harder on a toddler than a day at home.

    Our bodies produce a hormone called cortisol. It rises when we are under pressure. Normally it is high in the morning and falls slowly through the day.

    Researchers measured it in the same children, at home and at nursery. At home it fell as expected. At nursery it often rose instead.

    Be careful with this finding. Cortisol also rises when a child runs, gets excited or does something new. No study has shown that this daily rise causes long-term harm.

    Why this is a point for home: whatever a nursery day asks of a small child, home asks less. If both options are decent, one of them is easier on his body.

    Second: the first weeks are hard for him.

    One study followed children at fifteen months, close to my son’s age. It measured them at home, then while their mothers stayed with them at nursery, then after the mothers began leaving. In the first hour after the mother left, their cortisol nearly doubled.

    There is a second half to this. Another study followed children for three months. The early weeks were hard. By the third month the levels were normal again, and both parents and staff said the children were doing well.

    Why this is a point for home: starting nursery has a real cost, and the child pays all of it. Staying home has no such cost. Most children recover, but you should know you are asking him to pay something.

    Third: at home, nobody else is using the adult.

    This is the biggest point, and several others come out of it.

    To be fair, a nursery room is usually not one adult alone. Many have a teacher plus two or three helpers for around fifteen children. That is a reasonable amount of adult attention.

    But it is shared attention, and shared attention is not the same as attention that belongs to one child. Four things follow from that.

    He waits. One child falls, one cries, one needs changing, one is hungry. The adults have to choose an order. At home there is no order, because there is nobody else in the queue. That immediate response is one of the main ways very young children learn.

    He may hear less language, not more. This surprised me, because language was the strongest argument in Part 2. One study recorded children’s whole days and counted the words adults said, the sounds the child made, and the exchanges between them. The children got more of all three at home. The reason is simple. A toddler points at a bird. The adult says “bird.” He makes a sound. She says “yes, it is flying.” He points again. That conversation can continue because nobody else needs her.

    Nobody knows him as well. A person who looks after the same child every day learns a great deal. That sound means tired. That cry means hurt. That gesture means water. This song calms him. Children can form real relationships with nursery staff, as I said in Part 2, but knowing one child that well is harder when you are responsible for fifteen.

    He loses control of his own day. A toddler gets tired at unpredictable times. He eats badly one morning and is hungry by ten. At home, someone can simply react. Fifteen children need a schedule. Meals at a set time, naps in a system.

    Why this is a point for home: at home the day is built around one child. At nursery the child fits into a day built for fifteen. The staffing may be perfectly good, and it is still not the same as having someone to himself.

    Fourth: he will get sick more. This one is not in dispute.

    A Danish study followed more than one million children. Starting nursery caused a clear rise in infections, and the rise was larger the younger the child was when they started.

    And the extra illness was not repaid later. The common idea that they get sick now so they get sick less at school did not appear in the data.

    Why this is a point for home: this is the only cost on either side that is certain. Nursery means more illness, for him and for the rest of the house, and nothing later cancels it out.

    And one argument that is weaker than people think

    This is the one you hear most often, so it needs care.

    The large American study found that children who spent more total hours in childcare over their first four and a half years showed more difficult behaviour later. More aggression, more conflict with adults.

    If I wanted to make a dishonest case against nursery, I would stop there.

    But newer research combined data on more than ten thousand children across seven studies in five countries. Instead of comparing different children with each other, they checked whether a change in the same child’s hours changed that same child’s behaviour. The result was zero.

    Why it is still worth knowing: because you will hear this argument, and you should know that the older studies found a link and the better ones found no evidence that the hours cause it. It is a reason not to assume more hours is better. It is not proof of harm.

    And one thing that is not on this list at all

    Staying at home does not put a child behind.

    The same large study checked children’s language and thinking at one, two and three. Children cared for only by their mothers did not do worse than children in childcare.

    Why this matters most: it removes the fear behind a lot of these decisions. There is no evidence that a child who does not go to nursery is missing something he needs.

    Where this leaves us

    All of this is real, but the points are not equal.

    The illness finding is certain. The physical cost of a nursery day is real, though we do not know whether it matters in the long term. The undivided attention at home is a genuine advantage. The behaviour argument is much weaker than the internet suggests.

    But notice something. Every point above assumes one thing: that home means a warm, attentive adult who talks to him, takes him outside and answers him when he needs something.

    If home means an adult busy with housework, a television on in the background, few books and no other children, then every advantage on this list disappears.

    Which is the same problem as before, from the other direction. The question was never nursery or home.

    It is which nursery, and which home.

    So I need to know what a good nursery actually looks like.

    That is Part 4.

    Write in the logbook
  • Nursery, Part 2: The Case For

    Nursery classroom bulletin board filled with children’s lighthouse drawings in different styles and skill levels, topped with a “My Lighthouse” banner.
    August 29, 2026

    Most parents reach this question the same way. It starts to become too much. There is too much work, and you begin to notice that you are not giving the little one the time he deserves. Then one of you gets tired, and the other one follows, and there is nobody there to take over.

    Then you begin to wonder two things. Would nursery help us? And would it actually be good for him?

    Whether it would help us is obvious. Of course it would. That is why we are asking in the first place.

    So I went looking for the harder question. Would it be good for him?

    Here are five things the research found that make a real case for nursery.

    First: a good nursery gives a child more language.

    This is the clearest finding in the field. Children in better-quality nurseries had better language and better thinking at ages one, two and three.

    And the reason was simple. In those nurseries, the adults talked to the children more.

    Why this is a point for nursery: more talking produces better language, and a good nursery is a place where an adult talking to your child is the job rather than something fitted in between other tasks.

    Second: a room full of people produces more talking than a room with one adult.

    At home, the language a child hears is whatever one adult says to him.

    At nursery, several adults are speaking. Other children are making sounds. There are songs and books and routines with words attached. And he hears everything said to the other children as well.

    Why this is a point for nursery: the amount of language reaching a child goes up simply because there are more people in the room. Home cannot produce that no matter how good the adult is.

    Third: other children teach him things adults cannot.

    At this age, children do not really play together. That comes later.

    But being around them still teaches him. Another child takes his toy, so he learns what that feels like. Another child copies him. He has to wait his turn. He has to make himself understood without the words.

    And he watches other children and copies them. He sees one child use a spoon, then he tries a spoon.

    Why this is a point for nursery: children learn by watching children slightly ahead of them, and at home there is nobody to watch. This is the one thing a parent genuinely cannot provide alone.

    Fourth: he can gain another adult who is truly his.

    Children can form real, secure relationships with nursery staff. Not a replacement for a parent. An additional adult who knows him, comforts him and answers him.

    This only works if that adult stays. One study compared nurseries where staff stayed a long time with nurseries where staff changed often. Where staff stayed, children got more attention and had fewer behaviour problems.

    Why this is a point for nursery: at home a child has the adults he was born to. A good nursery adds one more, and having more trusted adults in the world is a real gain for a small child.

    Fifth: fewer children per adult means more attention.

    Nurseries with better numbers had children with better language and fewer behaviour problems.

    An adult looking after three children can watch one of them, notice what he wants and respond to it. An adult looking after ten cannot.

    Why this is a point for nursery: a well-staffed nursery room is designed around children. A home day is not. If the numbers are right, the attention is deliberate rather than whatever is left over after the cooking and the laundry.

    Where this leaves us

    All five are real and based on research in child development. And all five depend on one thing, which is the same thing I found in Part 1.

    They only happen if the nursery is good.

    None of them come from the building, the sign on the door, the uniform or the curriculum. They come from what the adults in that room actually do all day. A bad nursery gives none of this. An average one gives very little.

    There is also research pointing the other way, and I am not going to skip it because it makes the decision harder.

    That is Part 3.

    Write in the logbook
  • Nursery, Part 1

    Illustrated seaside lighthouse converted into a children’s nursery, with cutaway floors showing play, reading and nap rooms, surrounded by a garden, playground and calm blue sea.
    August 28, 2026

    Term starts in a few weeks and I am only now starting to look, which is about as late as a person can leave this.

    Nothing is decided. My wife and I have not agreed on it, I have not agreed with myself on it, and the honest position is that we do not know whether our little boy is going at all.

    We are considering it because our schedules have closed in on us, because there is a lot happening at once, and because the arrangement we have been running is starting to show its cracks. I wish we did not have to think about it. But we do.

    Which sent me looking for an answer to what I assumed was a simple question.

    At what age should a child start nursery?

    I expected a number. Eighteen months. Two years. Three years.

    I did not get one.

    First problem: the words

    Four terms get used interchangeably here and they do not mean the same thing.

    Daycare is the one Kuwait does not really have, and I miss it. When I was studying abroad, I dropped my eldest off, he stayed the two hours I was there, and I collected him. No uniform, no schedule, no commitment. It solved a problem without asking you to restructure your life around it.

    Nursery, or حضانة, is group care for the under-threes. Meals, sleep, play, nappies, a routine. Care first, with some learning attached depending on the place.

    Preschool is for children from around three and is more openly educational, though a good one is still mostly play rather than sitting at desks.

    And then Montessori, which is worth explaining, because almost nobody using the word here means anything by it.

    Maria Montessori was an Italian doctor who opened a childcare centre in a poor district of Rome in 1907. What she developed is not a vibe. It is a demanding method. A fixed set of materials used in a fixed sequence, each designed to be self-correcting so the child finds the mistake rather than the teacher. Mixed ages, usually across three years. A long uninterrupted work period, around three hours, where nobody is moved on by a bell. The adult observes rather than instructs. No grades, no stickers, no prizes.

    That takes a trained teacher a year or two of study to run properly.

    Now the marketing part. In 1967 the US Patent Office ruled the word Montessori is generic and cannot be trademarked. Anybody can paint it on a sign tomorrow and owe nothing to anyone. In the United States, of roughly four thousand schools using the name, only about a quarter have any affiliation with a Montessori body at all.

    So here it has become a status word. We didn’t put ours in a حضانة, we put him in Montessori. As though it is a higher tier of place rather than a method a nursery either follows or does not.

    Ask the follow-up questions and it usually collapses. Are the ages mixed. Is there a three-hour work cycle. Who trained the teachers. Are the wooden materials being used in sequence, or are they on a shelf because they photograph well.

    Wooden toys and neutral colours are not the method. They are the set design.

    Which is the wider point. The sign on the door tells you almost nothing. Researchers avoid all these words entirely and use one term for everything before primary school, whatever the building calls itself.

    How young children start elsewhere

    I assumed there was general agreement that children stay home until two or three. There is not.

    Finland starts once parental leave ends, around nine or ten months. Denmark from birth. Germany from birth to three. Norway from one. And the OECD reports that in many of the systems it studied, more than half of all children are already in some form of care by two.

    So an eighteen-month-old at nursery is not unusual anywhere. That tells me it is normal. It does not tell me it is right.

    So what does the science say?

    This was the part I did not want to hear.

    There is no established best age to start nursery. I could not find good research saying a normally developing child should start at twelve months, or eighteen, or two years. That is not the question researchers are asking.

    What they ask about is quality. Hours. The relationship between the child and whoever is looking after him. How many children per adult. How much talking happens. And what the alternative at home actually looks like.

    The largest American study followed children from infancy to four and a half. Better quality care, especially care with a lot of language in it, was linked to modestly better development. But children who stayed home with their mothers did not do worse.

    That kills both arguments at once. Nursery is not necessary for a child to develop properly. Nursery is not harmful. What matters is which home and which nursery you are comparing.

    And three is not a magic number either. The evidence for good preschool does get stronger from around three, but even there the finding is not that a child needs it. It is that a good one helps. The same rule keeps applying at every age I look at.

    Which brings me back to my son

    He is not three. He is very much a toddler.

    He is still recycling the same ten words, and on some days I suspect he has decided that one word is enough and everything else can be handled through tone and facial expression. Which, to be fair, is roughly how most adults communicate anyway.

    So the question is not is nursery good, or is home good. Both can be either.

    The real one is harder.

    For a child this age, in our situation, would the nursery we can actually get be better or worse than what he would otherwise have at home?

    Which means looking honestly at both sides, rather than deciding first and hunting for research that agrees with me.

    Five parts

    Part 2, the case for. Part 3, the case against. Part 4, how to choose one, if we choose one.

    And Part 5, what we decided.

    I genuinely do not know yet which way that one ends.

    Write in the logbook
  • Inheritance

    Gouache painting of three lighthouses at different stages of age and use along a misty coastline, with two beams lit, one lighthouse unlit, and a fourth foundation barely visible in the distance.
    August 27, 2026

    It started with the Talabat driver.

    He calls, asks where the house is, and calls my son ma’am. Every single time. Different driver, same call, same ma’am.

    My eldest has not hit puberty yet, so his voice is still up there, and he had clearly had enough.

    So he dropped it.

    I heard it from the next room. The phone rang, he answered, and out came a voice about two octaves below anything he owns, saying the building name with the calm authority of a man in his forties. Then he hung up and went back to being eleven.

    Then he tried it on Alexa.

    Alexa will not let him into certain things because it can tell he is a child. His normal voice gives him away. So he used the other one.

    It worked.

    He is a tinkerer. Like me.

    I cannot leave a thing alone if it does not work properly. I see a problem and my hands start moving before my brain has decided whether they should.

    That is exactly what happened here. He did not complain. He did not ask me to fix it. He did not argue with the driver or file it under things that are simply how they are.

    He found the one thing he could change, and changed it. In about four seconds.

    Nobody taught him that. There was no lesson. He has just spent eleven years watching a man take things apart.

    And the little one is at it too

    Eighteen months old, about ten words, and on some days one.

    Which I had assumed was a delay. It is not. It is a decision.

    He has looked at the problem every adult struggles with, which is how to communicate a great deal while doing as little as possible, and concluded that one word plus a tone plus a face will cover most situations.

    And he is right. It does.

    Which makes me think about what my mother gave me

    القناعة

    She handed it over the way a torch is handed over, without ceremony and without saying anything, and I am fairly sure I was the only one who took it.

    But it did not come out of me the same way it went in. What I passed down was not القناعة. It was tinkering. Which is almost the opposite, because القناعة is being content with what is in front of you, and tinkering is refusing to leave it alone.

    So the torch changed hands and changed shape on the way.

    Maybe they will find their own way back to it, and build a version out of whatever they have lying around, the way they build everything else. Or maybe it skips them entirely and turns up in one of their children, the way it skipped everyone else and landed on me.

    Either way, I will be here.

    Because I still have my mother’s, and there is enough left to pour.

    Write in the logbook
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  • The Workshop
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    • The Brew
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