Oh bliss. For the second time running, while in my sleepy hometown of Dormagen, there was a fleemarket. I just love rummaging through bizarre collections and buy useless stuff for close to nothing. My strange collection of prey was:
three knitting needles, three soft toys, one handknitted jumper for Cubling, a mouse sweater (for Cubling), two books (guess for whom). Granddad almost fainted, while I thought I'd been comparably good. The problem is of course, as usual, flipping Ryanair who only allow 15kg worth of check in luggage, no infant allowance thrown into the bundle. It's hard on the way out, harder on the way back because I do want to bring little pressies for family and colleagues. And of course with child, you get given stuff. Which is really lovely, if it weren't for the Ryanair induced weight allowance problem.

Apparently, fleemarkets will be a monthly occurence here. That's one good thing, even better that they take place in the centre of town, on the pedestrian area, and start at a decent time (11a.m.). Compare that to Glasgow markets - Sunday out near the city dump with a starting time of 8a.m.

Cubling loved it all, she has eyes that won't miss a snake, a banana, a cat or a dog. Rather funny because mummy spends half the time trying to find the snake/banana/cat/dog Cubling has spotted. I spy with my little eyes... She's winning at the moment. We also had great fund playing the "nein" game: taking out a book from granddad's bookcase gets her a "nein" from mummy, so let's play at taking out a book from granddad's bookcase, waiting for mummy's "nein", then repeating it in the same tone of voice, big grin, and putting book back. Repeat. Until mummy bursts out laughing. She usually does, can't help herself.
I hope she doesn't think books on granddad's bookcase are called "nein".
Somehow just somehow the purpose of stopping her from taking out books is ever so slightly defeated (scratches her head).

Well, at the airport, I was convinced that my backpack was considerably heavier than Cubling, and thus danger of a hefty charge loomed. However, it seems that I'm so used by now to carrying a toddler on my hip and so not used anymore to carrying a backpack that my fear was actually unfounded. And it didn't even burst. Phew.

Seems my ideas are all en vogue. Children in Scotland have issued a press release calling for the Scottish Government to include a nurture through nature agenda in the Early Years Framework. In fact, the conference that Children in Scotland ran and which I couldn't attend due to work commitments to me had looked pretty lacking in the early years area of promoting outside education. The press release clearly redresses the balance.

Along the same lines, an anti-bullying network conference looked at the implication of an over protective stance on bullying and our society's aversion to accept any form of risk. While we all want to protect our children, they argue that we are trying to ignore that life is a fatal disease ending in death, and in an attempt to cheat death and injury, we emprison our children in environments which are neither contributing to a healthy development nor a happy childhood.

Tim Gill, author of “No Fear – growing up in a risk-averse society” put it into a nice and short check:
When you were young where did you most like to play?
Was it outdoors?
Was it out of adult supervision?
Form me the answers are yes. That's because I'm over 25. Nowadays the answers is a definite no and that's where the problem lies.
In an attempt to keep children safe, we deny them the important opportunity to play outdoors and without adult supervision. So it's time to maybe reconsider if we do have the right balance.

The answer seems to be that we need safe opportunities for outdoor and unsupervised play, which forest kindergardens, among other things, can offer.

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.

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.

No, I didn't change my blogroll yet, that's because my run of the evening went something like this: tidy chaos left by Cubling. switch on a machine that washes stuff. Hang up laundry. Stop to listen to Cubling scream her heart out and wonder why she does that and breathe again when cry turns to snores. switch on laptop and read my favourite blogs. Check email. Curse the laptop for being so flipping slow. Look at symptoms and images for chickenpox. That's because now that Cubling is just back at childminder after having had measles, she has a body full of big ugly spots that look vaguely like chickenpox. Not wanting to bother GP with yet another emergency appointment or my boss with yet another absence, I decide on web diagnosis. So this is what chickenpox look like:

pretty disgusting. Cubling has something that looks similar apart from the blister on the top. Her spots don't look disgusting, even if I admit they aren't pretty. And since every image I've seen has those blisters, and she hasn't got (m)any, and because she isn't scratching the spots, and because she only has about 25 250 on the whole of her body, with little change for better or the worse, I've the doctor has officially decided that she doesn't have has chickenpox and will go to the childminder tomorrow and meet up with her pals on Friday stay in isolation until further notice.
C'mon, it would be pretty unlikely to finish off the measles with chickenpox? Or is there a disease that starts with 3.5 days of 40 degree fever, develops into an all body rash that starts behind the ears and the hairline, uncannily resembling measles, before it develops biggish spots that seem to accumulate around the eye and the bum?

Next on my browsing list is Hidden Glasgow. Tomorrow I shall be cycling past the two Gorbals tower blocks of Stirlingfaulds for the very last time. They will be demolished on Sunday. It's been a long time coming and to be fair, they are extremely ugly. Yet I've been cycling past them for well over a decade on almost every working day. Twice. I can't imagine them not to be there. Here are some amazing images taken of and from them. Pictures by cumbo and Alex Glass to be found on the public forum of Hidden Glasgow. Demolition by controlled explosion is scheduled for 7am apparently. Hm, not sure if I'll manage that.

I have about 4 posts in the production line, not enough time to finish them due to selling my old flat and utter madness at work, so I'm pretty brain dead when it comes to the evening. I haven't exactly been tagged, but since Midwife Muse was so kind as to respond to my tagging her, I thought it only fair to return the favour. Plus, this is a much better meme than the one I burdened on five people before. So here it goes.
I won't tag anyone this time because a) I think 8 is too many, b) I don't want to be a nuisance, but if you feel like joining in, please do so and let me know in the comments box.

Remove 1 question from below and add in your personal question, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8 people, list them out at the end of this post.

1. What do you really really want right now? Take out those silly contact lenses and have a tasty dinner without Cubling screaming blue murder. Get tipsy. Then sleep for eight hours. See, I can be easily pleased.

2. If you can turn into anything, what do you wish you can turn into? an inspiring speaker or writer

3. How are you feeling now? Tired but relaxed after a day spent with other mums and babies, and with Cubling having conked out on the living room carpet.

4. Where is the place that you want to go most? Too many in the top list, New Zealand, Peru, Thailand and Nepal to mention but four

5. If you have one dream to come true, what would it be? Live in a just world

6. Do you want more children? Sometimes. Actually, yes, but then I'm worried I'll have another whirlwind like Cubling and won't be able to cope with the two.

7. Do you think religion is redundant? No, it seems part of human nature.

8. What cheers you up for the rest of the day? When Cubling comes home and does a full body smile, or her first "da" of the day (upon waking).

9. If you meet someone you love, would you confess to him/her? No, unless it was reciprocal. In that case, sure I would

10. If you were a colour, which would you be? Purple or turquoise

11. Of all the things you've done in your life, what are you most proud of? Cubling of course. Other than that, having run a marathon in spite of being Miss Unsporty. Going abroad as an au-pair after finishing school in spite of nobody (including myself and my parents) believing that I'd last the year. Interestingly, not my PhD.

12. What type of person do you hate the most? People who have no respect for others, in the worst form, who are violent and abusers.

13. What would you do if you won a million dollars? Stop working for a few years, or work only two days a week, so I'd have time for my 28 hobbies or to spend time with my friends. Get a slightly bigger house. I mean, we've got a fabulous place and I'm really happy with it, but I wouldn't say no to an additional bedroom and a bigger garden. Then I'd really have to work less to get time for it. Some of it I'd donate to small and forgotten charities though. I don't think I need that much money.

14. What would you wanna be remembered for after you’re dead? Not to have wasted the time I was given maybe, but really I don't care if I'm remembered or not. If I am, great, if not, so be it.

15. If you have a chance, which part of your character would you like to change? My impatience and indecisiveness. That was a joke. I'd only change the first, the second I quite like.

16. What do you think if you look out of your window right now? Those fuchsias need a gallon of water.

17. What do you think is the most important thing in your life? My family

18. If there’s one thing in your life you wanted to do but yet unable to, what would it be? One thing? There must be loads. To keep with a previous post, give birth myself. That's the only thing that comes to mind at the moment. It's not the most important thing though. I'm not that obsessed.

19. What do you see yourself as in the next 10 years? A mum, a friend, a wife, a daughter, a colleague

 20. If you were an animal, what would you be? A squirrel

When it comes to violence committed in the name of Allah, the choice of words aren't universal. Britain has settled on "terrorism" and "threats to national security", maybe for historic reasons.

In Germany, the word used to describe perpetrators of such violence is "Islamisten", islamists. Immediately I objected to the term, because it seems to suggest that being a follower of Islam makes you a violent person who may commit such crimes. Granted, the -ist ending does add a negative connotation to the word Islam, so Islam as such isn't necessarily considered a violent faith even by the use of the word. Yet this very ending may taint the word Islam itself giving it a negative connotation over time. It feels wrong.

Why not use the term "terrorist" I naively asked (as if I liked it any better). I was told that "terrorist" could apply to anyone and wasn't specific enough. After all, we're talking about a specific type of terrorism. I understand that explanation, but I still think the German term is anything but politically correct, nevermind respectful, to a religious community. It seems to offend and tear people apart rather than bring them together.

I'd love to hear from Germans, anglophones, and particularly Muslims what they think. 

You know where the comment box is.

Phew. I've done it, the first run after getting pregnant (I didn't run when pregnant because I was paranoid that the baby could fall out...). My legs are screaming, my eyes burn, it brought me to the edge of an asthma attack (but I know that exercise induced ones are harmless and don't even need inhaler action) but oh how good it felt to run through the light Scottish rain along the Cart. Bring on those long summer days when jogging after Cubling's bedtime is an option even for a woman running on her own.

Now, I wonder if I can do the Women's 10 K in May...
I must be slightly mad.

Well, what a nice surprise.

As I dropped off my wee Wirbelwind at the childminder's today, the primary school child who comes there before school was dead pleased that he was dressed as a German. Apparently his school was doing some sort of project. The childminder thought it was extra special for me to see this. And she made me teach him two German words to make his outfit complete.

So how do you dress as a German?

You wear SS armbands which read "tank driver" (in German) and other military accessories, preferably 60 years old and with the St Andrew's Cross, just about falling short of a swastika.

It's not funny you see, by the same token of misguided stereotyping, how would a primary school child dress as a Pakistani?

I dare say there'd be trouble.  

(if you google "dress as a German", incidentally you get good old dirndls. Which are Bavarian. Even so, mostly harmless)