Fridays are my Cubling days. They day I'm off to enjoy quality one-to-one time with Cubling.
Fridays are also the days I'm shattered in the evenings. Work is easy in comparison, even on stressful days.
I still really enjoy Fridays, don't get me wrong, but here are some highlights of the day:

Breakfast: Cubling loves breakfast. However, she has a habit of coaxing mummy to do things before opening her mouth. She doesn't quite get that not opening her mouth is her loss, so we play the daDADAAA game. The rules are this: one spoonful of breakfast, Cubling shouts da DA DAAA, pointing at some indiscriminate item on the table. Now mummy has to guess what she wants, and she'll only open her mouth once she has this item. Towards the end of breakfast time, she demands the bowl and a spoon, pretending to feed herself while I shove the food with a second spoon into her mouth. Needless to say that she doesn't manage to actually feed herself, but distributes the porridge on high chair, clothes, hair, table, floor, mummies clothes.

She won't let mummy eat breakie instead screams to be let out of the highchair. I comply. She runs straight to the front door, gets her jacket and points at the door, announcing "sey" (that's Denglish for "key") and "doo" ("shoe"), followed by pointing at the buggy. Yes, my baby can communicate very well that she doesn't like to be indoors. Maybe she wants to go to the childminder? I choose to believe she just wants out. Is mummy allowed to finish breakfast? No way jose.

I had a great outing planned which involved taking the train to the city.
First obstacles are the 537 steps up to the train station. Of course lots of people pass us, none of them offer to help. I can manage so no worries. The train journey takes 10 minutes, but will Cubling sit in her buggy? After 5 minutes I relent for the sake of my fellow passengers. Before I enter the City Halls Venue for the Mini Music Makers session she's signed up for, I let her run on the Ramshorn Theatre's graveyard. Nothing sinister in that, it's a lovely city centre graveyard next to a former church, a green sanctuary in the middle of the hustle. The idea is to give her a chance to get rid of some of her running energy. Half an hour later we enter the City Halls. They have a nice and spacious foyer, Cubling runs without a break, exploring absolutely everything. I observe the other toddlers who are all walking calmly, half the distance covered, or sit happily in buggies. Cubling gets a name tag. She takes it off. I put it on again, she takes it off etc, until I have the fabulous idea and stick it on her back. Point to mummy. She proceeds to take other toddlers' name tags off.
Finally we can go in and sit down on a dodgy chair. Cubling is supposed to sit on my lap for songs and nursery rhymes, later supposed to walk holding my hand in a circle of mummies and toddlers (no daddies there). Followed by quiet time holding a teddy and listening to classical music. This is what Cubling actually does: wriggles incessantly to free herself from mummy's lap, runs to tutor, runs to basket with toys, points to ball on piano shouting "daDADAAA". Runs over to other toddlers. Runs to door. Tries to climb chairs, radiators, piano stools. Tries to switch hifi on and off.
Mini Music Maker Tutor gives us a smile with her goodbye that seems to say "while I feel very sorry for your plight, please please please don't come back".
I'm drenched in sweat.
Cubling repeats train display but conks out just before we get home. Phew, we can have lunch in peace.

Lunch and dinner, repeat breakfast scenario.

Afternoon: we go to the park. I let her run wherever she wants, let her climb up slides, steps and climbing frames and wonder whether she's really only just 15 months. She can climb things I can't even climb. What will she climb when she's three? A tree maybe? She says "hello" to absolutely everyone, including dogs, rabbits, birds, ceramic fairies and garden gnomes. She runs up to cars, points to the keyhole and announces "sey". We come home, daddy boils the kettle, she says "tea", then "sss" for "heiss" (hot). She goes over to the neighbour, splashes with their dog's drinking water and spots bananas in the neighbour's kitchen, announces "nana" and goes for them. She'd eat the skin if only I let her. All the while she vocalises babbles, protowords and real words (with daily favourites, today it was mummy) incessantly. A constant moving of legs and working of vocal chords.

One breakthrough: She does an all body nod for "yes" now. I can actually ask her what she wants and she'll tell me if I'm right or not. Wow. And she's not negative - she'll nod to almost any suggestion (minus nappy change). She can do no, but only does it as a joke, not to contradict. Her behaviour is neither negative nor aggressive, just very intense. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to survive a two hour plane journey on my own with her strapped to my lap if she can't even tolerate five minutes.

Now that the gods (aka directors) decided that my area of work will be shut down by the end of this year, the time has come for some navel gazing. On the one hand, it's a great organisation to work for, and conditions of employment are really the best I've ever had. Can this be enough? Because, on the other hand, they are cutting the work I feel passionate about and I feel very critical about this decision. Some questions I've been asking myself are these: Do I want to work for an organisation who abandons their work with two groups of children whose rights are most abused in the UK? Do I want to fit in with the new focus of work, and no longer work with asylum seeking/refugee children? Is there any realistic chance that I will actually be able to continue working there even if the answer to both questions is yes? Shall I stick it out, take redundancy pay and potentially "gardening leave" hoping to maybe still find a niche within the organisation while enjoying the good life in the next few months? Or is it wiser to apply for other jobs right now? Will I accept a potential pay cut when applying for other jobs (I'm not exactly overpaid as it is)?

My feelings range between anger, acceptance and disappointment. I'm living through days where I run fabulous sessions with young people that are exciting, motivating and full of promises that won't be realised because the powers in charge decided that we're not important enough and next I'm confronted with the harsh reality of winding down a programme of work which is in top gear.

Arguments go in circles. What is value? To impact on the largest number of children or to impact on the severest child rights abuses? Is it numbers we're after, nothing but numbers? Was the decision made bearing a future Tory government in mind which will make raising funds for asylum/refugee work even harder than it already is? Am I working for an organisation who only take the easy path? May they unwittingly be consolidating their status as a charity which appeals to the white upper middle class of advanced age who on the whole prefer to care  about children of darker skin colour only when they live outside of the UK?

Among the certainty of the redundancy of my work and our team, the management is talking of withdrawing with dignity and embracing the new direction with the usual determination to make the impossible happen. I'm sorry. I'm not ready to sign up for it just yet. And I don't know if I will be at some point - I need more time for the moment. As far as job applications are concerned, it's a tricky business. When is the best time to ask for flexible working hours, special leave entitlements and childcare voucher schemes?

Looking at vacancies it is disconcerting to find out how many ask for an ability and willingness to work irregular hours, weekends and nights away. In my previous life I wouldn't have thought twice about it. Now with child, such conditions effectively disqualify me - and I wonder if employers realise that they are excluding women with small children who may actually be excellent candidates for such jobs. It smells like indirect discrimination to me, similar to the unwanted side effect of the upcoming redundancies: They will to a high percentage affect the few minority ethnic staff that currently work for the organisation, making it even whiter than it already is.

There's something not right if you go to an open air concert and you can't see the stage because some ingenious people had the most stupidest idea of bringing and using their brollies.
I mean, seriously, you guys live in Glasgow. It rains. Most of the time. Get used to it and get a hoody, but for goodness sake leave the brolly at home when you go and see Radiohead. It's just not cool gigging with a brolly in your hand. Honest.

Nevermind though, it was our first big long night out 15 months after B-day and I won't let brollies or indeed rain ruin a fab night. Radiohead were amazing as ever (even though I couldn't see a thing all night and ended up with a stiff neck for trying anyway) and Cubling had her own wee adventure, her first sleepover at the childminder. It went well and she managed without magic mummy milk just fine (does that mean she manipulates me? Probably. Ah well). She was just a bit confused not to find her pal at the breakfast table upon arrival (as she usually does in the morning) but thought it was real cool to spend the evening with N. In the morning though she was clearly chuffed to see us turn up.
She didn't quite sleep through but boy did I.

Today was a strange one. While I'm still getting used to the idea that I'm going to lose my job in six month's time (the first "permanent" post I've ever held, and the shortest stay in post at the same time) with some hope of continuing to be employed but the assurance that my actual work will no longer be there, it's hard to stay motivated. But then again, easier than expected. Thankfully, my job is varied, interesting, worthy and also extremely busy - no time to get moody. There is some attempt to keep up normality at work, and it helps that we're all in the same boat.

Then this morning, after dropping off Cubling to the childminder, I'm stopped by the police. Apparently the car's breaklight is acting up an indicator and flashes when going over humps. And humps there are many on that daily trip. Police issued ticket and checked that the car is all registered and insured, with me standing there like the puss in boots in my strange combination of cycling lycras and work clothes. Little wonder they were suspicious. Now I have to face the daunting prospect of showing them my dodgy driving license which is a) still in my maiden name and b) a European one, (I've always felt reluctant to exchange it for a UK one).

During the afternoon, driving back very tired from a day full of running activities, a young woman appears on the road amidst the queuing traffic. Zigzagging between cars, throwing herself onto the green strip, her dark red blood pouring out of her mouth. She comes to a rest beside my car and I fiddle for the electronic window opener, think better and get out. The guy in the car in front of me is already there, but further away. Another guy also out of his car, on his mobile to the police I assume. I walk up to the woman, notice stripes of dirt on her clothes, an expression of pain, fear and despair on her face. Her movements and behaviour are erratic, I cannot make sense of what I see. So much blood, where are her teeth? I walk up to her, reach out to her with my hand asking if I can help her in any way. Then my eyes are fixed on her mouth, my hand which made her stop and look at me, retracts, suddenly aware of potential danger, AIDS, and, yes, zombies. As in "28 days later". Her appearance uncannily resembles those zombies. She notices my change in body language and runs off, zigzagging downhill, between cars, vegetation, half way on road and pavement. I gesture to two policemen I see nearby, they observe with calm, but don't act. I shout of them, trying to make them aware of urgency. There is no way I can turn or get to the woman, I have to let go, just like the two guys who are still standing outside of their cars. What's left is a feeling of having failed this woman, realising I have a grain of senseless stupidity in my brain.

Back home Cubling explored the effects of bringing together electricity and water in the form of pouring her cup into the telephone charger. I did think her hair looked a bit on edge. It did no good to her bum as we had to struggle with yet another bout of severe nappy rash. By way of recording her language development (the linguist in me cannot quite let go), she now has the following words (or versions thereof): daddy (also dida), mama, all done, tata (bye bye), hiya, nona (Rona), ssss (heiss), du (dog), ca (car). She is also proficient at imitating a fish, a snake, a cow, a monkey, a dog and a duck (the latter sounds more like a galloping horse, but never mind). As to signs, she signs duck and milk, which are similar... we haven't really kept up other signs so it's not surprising she doesn't do any others. I think she still confuses Eis and heiss, but has lost both the fear of the Eisbaer (polar bear) and Benny the puppet. In fact, she now loves Benny the puppet. She also adores Bracken, our neighbour's Scottie dog and Siegfried, our friend's cat and thinks it's hilarious if Bracken licks her fingers and if Siegfried lashes out at her with his paw because she's annoying him. Blissfully unaware that lashing out cats aren't to be messed with.

Above all, Cubling raised £150 for Save the Children by doing the mini monster marathon, and she made it into the Evening Times. Not just once, no, three times! I just adore the photo where she's being pushed by running mummy and is clapping her hands... There are also photos of mummy pushing her here, but you have to be quick so see them.

I'm a walking zombie today. One could think it has something to do with my job being scrapped, but no, I'm not that fickle. It's the old baby sleeping habits that have me fighting leaden eye lids. These are the days where my chocolate craving is substituted by a craving to hear from other mums that it's not just my daughter who will not sleep through at night thank you very much. And craving for sleep, it goes without saying. I'm not even asking for sleeping through, mind you. Very happy to still feed twice a night, if that's what it takes to get her back to sleep. Thing is, it doesn't. And we have had occasional nights where she slept 8pm-5/6am, but maybe only a handful so far.

One night with a restless feverish baby (and perfectly perky the next day) and the next night with a 4am playtime call, both during the (working) week, and I'm a slush puppy. Just as well all my work involved today was eating and drinking yummy food, taking a train to Edinburgh and having a meeting listening to the news that we'd all lose our job in December. The first easy day in months.

Tonight's idea for a good nights sleep is the introduction of a night light. My theory is that it might help her lie down if she wakes and sits up at night. Like, by herself. Success so far: Cubling whimpers every half hour. Not sure if we're on to a winner here.

Books say feed to sleep is the problem. I don't agree, she goes down perfectly first thing at night, not fed to sleep, neither is she for daytime naps. During night wakings, I feed her but half of the time she doesn't go back to sleep, so the magic isn't even working. Which kind of means that it may be time to get rid of those night time feeds. (and have 2 times 2 hours of playtime? I think I'm going to cry). I'm too tired to embark on any form of sleep training but I guess at almost 15 months, it might be time to go for it during the next period of holiday.

Anyway, must catch up on sleep before she's up again.

See left widget. I'm doing the mini monster marathon with Cubling (in fact whole family hopefully). It's not a long distance. It's not hard, really. It might be wet though. But really it's just an excuse to get you all to donate some money for a worthy cause. Ah go on go on go on! Ah you will you will you will!

Have you sponsored me yet? No? Come on, you can do it!

If I wasn't feeling so miserably ill with a silly cold, I'd be raving mad. But no energy left for the raving madness at present, it takes all my effort to sit in a reasonably comfy position and not to faint (why do I have that fainting streak? It's rather annoying).

Cubling is running late with her immunisations. She'll be 15 months next week and still hasn't had her MMR. This is because we missed two appointments which fell on dates we weren't in the country and it usually takes a month to recuperate that appointment. We also had to change clinic because we moved house. All my pleading was in vain. When Cubling managed to catch two viruses recently, we went to see the new GP three times with what was diagnosed as measles, and a fourth time with the chickenpox a few days later (different GP, same practice). A few  months earlier, hubby had suspected measles. Now I don't know about attitudes to measles in school medicine in the UK, but even a lay person like me knows it's a serious disease with a risk of fatalities. When hubby had suspected measles, he was told he could mingle with people and travel, no precautions in relation to baby (then still under a year) or me meeting other mums with babies, and I didn't know any better. Blood tests were undertaken because he went back and insisted, and he didn't have measles as we found out about 3 weeks after he was ill.

Then, with Cubling, on the third appointment, koplik spots were detected. I was asked to keep her out of daycare, but could still go to the playground. I looked up measles on the internet. I got very scared. Very. Nevermind that I also feared to get them myself as I'm neither immunised nor had them as a child. More time off work. At the same time, to me the rash didn't look like the images I saw, but what do I know, I'm not a GP and the GP saw koplik spots.

When Cubling got chickenpox and we went back for a diagnosis, a different GP saw her and said it was extremely unlikely she'd have measles and then chickenpox. She suggested it might have been roseola followed by chickenpox, which incidentally was my guess from reading books and comparing symptoms (3-5 days of 40+ fever, then rash for another 3 days, no rash in face, and rash looks different to measles).

When I read up about measles I really started to wonder why it was dealt with so lightly in both incidents. It is a highly infectious disease, which can have complications which are fatal - up to 10 years after the actual illness. I truly hope Cubling didn't have the measles and it's looking good as I didn't get them and would have. Considering the complications that can come with a true measles outbreak, surely it's an illness that should be reported? Where definitive blood tests should be undertaken for an exact diagnosis?

So when I received an invitation for the MMR two weeks ago, I couldn't wait for the appointment. Unfortunately, it was still from the old clinic. So I phoned and asked whether I could come anyway. I was told yes. I made arrangements at work to manage a mid afternoon appointment, which involved driving all over Glasgow to make it happen and still get a decent daily amount of work in - after all I'd been off work enough already with Cubling having two viruses that required isolation. When I was called into the health visitor's practice, I was told that sorry, they couldn't do it. Cubling is no longer on their system. She was deleted that very day, in the morning. On top of that, the red book had not been kept up to date, and the Health Visitor at the new GP practice couldn't be reached. I understand that they couldn't administer the MMR without confirming previous immunisations and their dates, what I don't understand is how I was given an appointment, phoned to confirm it was ok to attend, and how medical records were deleted rather than being shared across the two clinics, or why I have a red book when none of the immunisations Cubling was given has ever been noted in it.

Above all I'm not a happy camper because Cubling didn't get her MMR.
G. sent me an interesting link to the dangers of measles and why immunisations are really very important. It's in German, but to summarise it confirms my views - having been through thinking that Cubling had the measles and reading up on it, I can only say don't play with the measles. They can be nasty. Very nasty. They kill. Not often, but they do.

It's been a busy weekend.
Cubling had fun, but also a sore bum. That almost rhymes, I'm such a poet.
Well, the bum thing is really annoying, it seems to come with teething, and yes, I did think she'd get a break once she had 12 teeth, two viruses, and was finally well again. No. not that simple. I did wonder why she went back to 2 wakings per night, and getting up for the day at the crack of dawn.
Tooth number 13 is through and no end to the night time terror screams. So no. 14 etc may be on route.

Anyway. Outings. One of the great things about having a toddler is that finally, outings are fun for them, and you can start doing stuff that actually is fun for mum and dad, and convince toddler it's great too.
Friday saw me head down the M8 towards Port Glasgow (not a nice place), to visit Finlaystone House and Gardens (a very nice place). The gardens are just lovely, the tea room had positively yummy cakes and the forest walks were just amazing - if only I hadn't brought my new lightweight McLaren, which really didn't like stones or tree roots. On the good side, I got a real and much needed workout (even though Cubling was clearly unimpressed by the shakes that this workout involved). The forest walks brought us ever deeper into the woods to ever more adventurous playgrounds - for older kids, so we will be back. There wasn't really a lot of stuff for toddlers, but sometimes the magic works and Cubling was intrigued by a water feature. Hours of fun.

Today we ventured out to a place recommended by my colleague - Heads of Ayr Farm Park. I imagined a multiheaded monster, but instead we got wallabies, lemurs, guinea pigs and mice. And many other animals too. Cubling was hysterical about most of them. She's strange like that, excitement can totally take over and make her screech in delight, exploding saliva towards the poor creatures. She didn't like the horses, I guess they were a tad bigger than the ones in her picture books. She also was convinced that the Shettie wasn't really her pony because its nose wasn't soft enough.

While we were a bit taken aback by the hefty entrance fee, looking back it has to be said that it's worth it. There's enough to keep the whole family entertained for a day or more, between a large selection of exotic and not so exotic animals, giant sand pits, quad biking, drop slides, piknick areas, trampolines and tea rooms. Apparently, the place is also near the beach but we never even ventured that way, in spite of the glorious sunshine.

Cubling loved the animals (mice, monkeys and goats were her favourites), sandpit, and particularly sitting in a tractor. She ate sand, ice cream and another child's sandwich (I haven't quite yet adapted to her ability to walk fast and far: one second out of sight and she not so sneakily approached another buggy, eyes and hands fixed in perfect coordination on the sandwich held by its occupant). And on the way back, she conked out while chewing her very own sandwich, tired and happy.

by the housing market.
Apparently, house prices have not yet fallen in Scotland. Me bum I say. They may not have fallen, but that's just because they're not selling at all.
When we bought our castle, it all happened very quickly. It was the height of the housing boom, my own wee flat still occupied by a then unemployed tenant. I didn't want to give him notice at the time, and although the housing market warning lights were on amber, I thought a few months won't make a difference.
Then the tenant negotiated another two months before moving out. He liked the flat so much you see.

The flat has been on the market for a month now. Estate agents promised me to sell it within a fortnight. So far, not a single person has even set foot in my beautiful flat which was a well loved home in my bachelorette days. Nevermind bought it. Instead, another 3 tenements in the 7 flat close are now up for sale as well. Some of them look nicer, even though they are more expensive.
To add insult to injury, the estate agent who deals with the sale is now on annual leave. Somehow I think this will not contribute to a soon signing of a sales contract.

My plan of action now is to find a short term tenant, before bankrupcy looms (don't worry, dear readers, I'm not quite facing starvation just yet). Hurray to the internet, which makes it even almost possible. At least I'm in hope after just half an hour's worth of surfing. Meanwhile, I'm considering lowering the asking price or changing it to a fixed price flat.

Which kind of shows that house prices will be going down in Glasgow very soon, when people like me start panicking.

So far I thought I was in some sleepy city set scenically between hills, waterways and pastures green. From the day I arrived, being bussed passed this beautyspot that goes by the name of Queen's Park, that I'd end up living in. A leafy park, in the quiet south of Glasgow, duck pond inclusive, model boating pond, bandstand, flagpole on a hill, looking out to the Trossachs. Victorian built spacious park and tenement flats, feel good factor in the package. A park perfect for jogging (4 circumferences for a 10k run, with a perfect hill training terrain), walking, relaxing, piknicking, cygnet watching, duck feeding, going to glasshouses full of creepy crawlies, and now the perfect toddlekingdom for Cubling.

Except that the park has been closed for over a week now.
A week ago Moira Jones was found murdered in Queen's Park and it is apparent that the investigation hasn't got the foggiest as to who beat her to death after raping her. She lived on the same street where I used to live. She's my age. And I thought I'd passed the age of needing to be afraid of rapists.

I've always lived around Queen's Park from the day I first came to Glasgow. I know the area like my own trouser pocket (I don't do handbags). I never ever considered it unsafe, though I wouldn't necessarily walk in the park at night time, but that's just common sense. It's a family park for goodness sake, not a place for a murder. The police are taking it seriously which is good and bad. Of course the murderer needs to be found. Over a week on though, it feels like they can't possibly get any more evidence and that the investigation may not produce any result. In the meantime, the park has been taken over. Saturday's farmers market has been relocated and I just hope that the southside festival and Bungo in the lanes won't be affected by all this. The longer the park is peopleless, the more the murderers have won. To scare us, to make us feel unsafe, to claim the park to fear. At this time of the year, the park should be filled with people. Instead, it is empty apart from 100 police.

Amidst all this, there is the contradiction that the murder of a successful business woman in an affluent area of Glasgow makes for a major enquiry while just two days later, a man was killed in the nearby deprived Shawbridge area. That murder got a mere mention, while Moira Jones continues to make the headlines. Then again, you can picture a murder scene in Shawbridge, but you just couldn't in our beautiful Queen's Park