The 12 Day's of Christmas LP Style

One Little Person…..

One day, not so long ago LP came into our lives and totally took over. Whatever we were doing before seems like a dress rehearsal for having our we girl. YM and I had to wait way too long for our daughter, we must have been in the remedial Mummy and Daddy class and put back a few terms, but all the cool kids are, I guess! So, if I plan this right Gentle Reader you should be reading this whilst LP is fast asleep cuddled up next to her new best friend “Dooigie” whilst YM and I run about like headless chicken’s, wrapping prezzie’s and finishing off preparing Christmas dinner in order to allow me the opportunity to sit down for an hour and a half on Christmas Eve to become an emotional wreck, and it takes very little to push me over the edge these days,  watching Marley and Me.

LP asked me to say, “Babble dum bab da bum de”, which, as I am sure you are all aware, means Happy Christmas to you all of you with love from LP and her Mummy and Daddy

YM and I have the best Christmas present we could ever wish for…………… a Dyson handheld vacuum

Nah, only kidding………J

Two Happy Parents….

A wee while ago LP was delivered into our lives by the Stork. YM and I both remember the day the time the moment when we first saw her and fell totally and utterly in love as she blew a snot bubble from her right nostril. We realised that from that moment forward, life would never be the same for any of us ever again and we would have to face facts that our lives were over and “snuggle time” would be a thing of the past.
Talking of love, YM and I had met and fallen in love on or about the day that YM organised a motorbike escort to take us to my mother’s funeral (Loooong story)  Life before this, for me at least, could best be summed up by the words of Grace Potter, who sang “life ain’t good, but it ain’t boring”. I felt like I had lived a life less ordinary (Wee tip of the Hat to Graham Greene) before YM and I ever met and that, for the decade before LP came along, we enjoyed ourselves for the most part, filling our lives with work, friends, a rather crazy hound and a love of papier-mache modelling to 1:24 scale. Despite all this, YM and I always knew there was something missing. Trying to fill this void caused both of us a world of heartache and pain. The years passed by until one January we thought “What if”. This “what if” started as a hope and then, in time, grew into a reality.  The route of the Paris to Dakar Rally (I’ll avoid using the term “journey”) is most probably smoother than the one we travelled. Despite the twists and turns neither of us gave up, in my case, probably due to the fact YM would have maimed me. Step by step, every obstacle which was placed in our path was overcome and took us closer until…

One warm summer afternoon we were greeted by LP.

Three Boogie Babies……

Ah Boogie Babies, The Real Housewives of Broughty Ferry, the exquisite Pecan encrusted Tray Bakes, the singing, the interpretative dance and the wonderfully enthusiastic, and matronly in a good way, if you know what I’m sayin,  Boogie Lady. Need I say more? Goodness yes. LP loves her Friday morning visits to the BB Chapter House and I try to make the most of “creative flexi” in order to attend with her. I’m not convinced that the Boogie Lady is as enthusiastic about me accompanying LP, at least not after the “unpleasantness” which I have been instructed by the Courts not to speak of, however if you were of a mind you would be able to read about in my previous ramblings.

Unfortunately I was unable to escape from doing good work in the community last week  in order to attend the Boogie Baby Christmas party, however, I was press-ganged by YM into baking two dozen cupcakes for LP to take along to the party as her gift to the ruddy faced Children of Broughty Ferry, one of whom had previously stolen Daddy’s traybake and was then forced to hand the masticated sweetmeat back to me by his mother who was oblivious to the fact that I am not too keen on sharing my own daughters snot, never mind a complete strangers. So thanks to a hefty dusting of edible glitter there will be a lot of sparkly poo happening for the next few days which will no doubt disturb both parent and child. Apologies for the ‘scatter gun approach’ but in every conflict friendly fire seems, sadly,  to be expected….

Nice one LP. Revenge is sweet.

Four Baby Gates........

Dear Santa, I have been an OK Daddy for the past 5 months.  Can I have another Baby Gate and a bag of tennis balls, please?

I was considering using the Tennis umpire cry of “New Balls Please” but I figure it may be too obvious. Alas I am not attempting to follow in the footsteps of our very own Sports Personality of the Year (sorry Andy and readership, but I find the title ironic as my fellow Scot is not known for his Jeux De Vie) but I do require said tennis balls to cover the gonad height metal bolt which sticks out and becomes Preditor movie style invisible as I walk towards it. In life most pointy things appear to be covered with a burst Tennis ball, especially in church halls,perhaps reflecting in a biblical way the protection of faith and acting as a green beacon of hope to those unfortunates who would impale themselves. Furthermore I would envisage that said tennis balls would give the hound hours of fun as she attempts to, but fails abysmally to extricate them from the gate. It’s a win win situation really. That said, YM, forever the voice of reason (!!!!) thinks I should simply get used to shutting the baby gates all the time as this means that we will never leave the gates open and prevent the problem of LP climbing up stairs and playing with the pneumatic Nail Gun..... Again.
Good call Mrs Health and Safety. One Day LP will be old enough to dispense with injury inducing stair gates and  go to B&Q, so that I may vicariously learn how to hammer a nail in straight, or, as recent weeks would, sadly prove, lay vinyl floor tiles.

 Five Code Brown’s (sing it, it works!)....

“Beware the smiling assassin” This was the advice an old Manager, well, not so old, but you know what I mean,  gave me a few years back. Advice which  I have probably declined to fully appreciate until now.  Gentle reader, I am sure you are aware that, over the past months I have talked a lot on the subject of LP’s Code Brown’s.  Many of you would think that I talk a load of…. Shhhh your mouth at the best of times, but every word is true, well, OK, most of it is true, em well some of it anyways. Knowing LP as I do though, I believe  it is fair to say that she enjoy’s a good code brown as much as the next person and it’s clear to see that she isn’t put off by  YM and I shouting “She’s coding” in a dramatic ER kinda way as we rugby tackle her to the changing mat whilst one of us goes to fetch the Maragolds and coal tongs.

For the sake of this Yuletide ditty I shall attempt never to speak of such things again....... Save to say...

There are times when our normal chatterbox  LP will suddenly go a little quiet, perhaps a little too quiet if you know what I mean. Observe the pursed lips the frown and then the demonic smile. Gentle Reader, LP has just completed an, apparently, quite satisfying code brown before your very eyes.

One, two, three AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARG!

Six Emergency Dummies........

I have a feeling that YM will pop out to the shops to buy a pound of Lorne Sausage.. or “Sassaj” as they say round here, and the next time I will see her will be on GMTV with Lorraine Kelly (Yum) live from a run down Court House surrounded by  mastachioed Police Officers (YM not, dear sweet Lorraine).

Where is this going? Yes, I can hear you ask... or is it the voices again... Hmmm. Anyways YM has the ability to secret Dummies about her person and then whip em out (so to speak) on que. The que in question being an LP meltdown which can’t be addressed by singing I’m a little teapot (with moves), raspberries to the tummy or indeed  Calpol. In these circumstances it’s good to know that YM will be able to, no matter where she is, reach down, in or indeed up and grab a dummy with which to pop into LP’s mouth.

I never cease to be  amazed by YM and the valuable lessons she learned whilst on a Gap Year in Thialand.

Seven Clothing  Malfunctions....

One winter, many years ago I worked as a Chef in a French ski resort.  T’was in that sleepy mountainside  village that I wore White Stuff for the first time. Over the years, prior to LP, it would be fair to say that I amassed a rather large collection of White Stuff clothing and accessories all before it became the Uniform of Harry and Kate at St Andrews.  Sadly those days are gone now and in the past they must remain....as the song goes, for both YM and I now realise that with a homemade Strawberry Jam and Brioche encrusted LP any thought of dressing with even a smidgen of sartorial elegance  goes out of the window. A fellow survivor who, it should be said, was never really known for his dress sense advised me that cargo pants are the way forward as they can be filled with a cornucopia of handy items which allow LP to go outside in relative safety. Nappies, Sudocrem, bonnie wee hat, gloves, stun gun, those wee scissors for cutting bairn’s nails as LP seems to be able to grow super sharp ones and then attempt to carve her name in, thankfully, inanimate objects, maragolds and in place of coal tongs, which would cause all sorts of questions to be asked by passers by in ASDA, doggie poo bags, which in may respects are so so wrong yet soooooo right.

Talking of dogs... in a round about way. I like to think I am a man who can carry off a pink shirt of an evening. My metrosexual bent is however in jeopardy for the same reasons as we had a beige flat (including carpets). Beige, Gentle Reader, covers a multitude of sins. A fact I was unaware of in my youth, but one which might have prevented a lot of awkward questions. It was clear that having the Hound for one week required us to spend the next eight years painting the flat Forth Road Bridge style in Beige paint to cover up the many doggie related incidents. In the same way I have taken to wearing beige in an attempt to make it less obvious when I have been secreted on by LP.

Beige is definitely the new black.

Eight missing screws.....

Gentle reader, let me explain. Many of you will think I am talking of myself and my seven imaginary friends. This is not the case.  I am actually talking about missing screws. Here’s the thing, I have many tools, more tools than I know what to do with and operate with any degree of safety. I’m not sure of the difference between a wood and a metal drill bit, I tried to use a coving (mmmmmm, coving) mitre box as a regular mitre box to cut skirting board. Nuff said about that, save to say YM had to buy an occasional table to hide my shame. You get the picture though. Screwdrivers. I have many. Some Flatheaded some Philips, some which light up when I attempt to play with electricity prior to isolating at the mains... note to self: Don’t make the same mistake twice). Anyway what I don’t have is a wee teeny screwdriver. In reality I have many but I don’t put things away properly, or so I am constantly reminded. LP has many toy’s. I have a feeling Santa will bring her many more. The wee screw that secures the clip on the battery compartment of various toy’s and automatons did not mean a whole lot to me prior to LP. I would simply hack into it with a pointy knife and loose it in the shag pile. No longer. Gentle reader, Since LP came along I now understand the true meaning and indeed value of this screw. Never again will it be abandoned as it is the front line in preventing LP accessing the battery compartment and attempting to stick them up her nose.

Little Person/Duracell Bunny.... Just say No!

Nine broken phones....

OK so slight exaggeration. It’s not nine broken mobiles. Two well chewed mobiles and two malfunctioning TV related remote controls. From the get go LP has had a fascination with mobiles and remotes. I find it hard to remember a day going by when YM and I don’t find ourselves frantically looking under furniture and checking bins for these objects. At this time of year it’s probably worse. I blame myself, I really do. In an attempt to moderate LP’s wild ways post white chocolate consumption I have taken to making idle threats that Santa won’t be visiting unless she behaves. Of course all these idol threats are indeed idle and hardly real threats as LP, for some reason, know’s that as soon as I mention Santa’s name she can pick up anything which resembles a phone and communicate directly, in her own special language with the big man himself. I should imagine that every Little Person has a hotline to Santa. Our LP just does it sooo much better.

Ten quality breakfasts.....

It would be fair to say that the Hound is not a vegetarian. Not that our doggie has anything against vegetarians and would probably eat a whole one at a push. Thus, breakfast time see’s a rather happy LP and a less than happy hound. The hound has taken to circling round LP’s highchair Jaw’s fashion in order to wait for any foodstuffs which LP decides that she can’t really be bothered with. Sadly, for the Hound at breakfast time there are slim pickings. LP’s breakfast would be applauded in the finest restaurants in Europe for its colour, nutritional value and all round loveliness.....Much like Lorraine Kelly.  Even in the depths of winter and thanks to a scant regard for Carbon Footprints LP can enjoy fruit from around the world, some of which I have failed dismally to remember the names of and have to rely on Monica my anally retentive Manager and our, in many respect, collectively unnatural ability, to play Charades in order to differentiate between Physalis and a Mangosteen.

Eleven   swimming lessons....

LP smiles that sweet Chucky smile as she sits happily in her safety flotation device which looks like it could be used to save many a poor soul lost at sea. Swimming with LP is fun if fraught with danger. Oddly enough the danger is not necessarily water related. Like most things these days, going swimming with LP necessities leaving the house two hours early and employing Sherpa’s to assist taking all the necessary accoutrements  with us. Swimming is worse! Gentle Reader, quite simply this is due to a rather lazy YM who apparently has the lung capacity of a sparrow with emphysema. I am sorry to name and shame YM , I really am.  LP enjoys a bob on the water in her life preserver which as mentioned previously should have supplies stashed about its hull and the means to erect a mast...O’h and a flair gun too. Considering the size of this vessel may I suggest to YM that she deflates it before shoehorning it into the car.

For shame YM for shame.

Twelve .... well Twelve Hundred, Twelve Thousand, who knows, Friends....

Actually it’s more than twelve but (thankfully) this song only goes up to twelve so twelve it is. I know YM and I am totally biased but LP seems to bring a lot of people a lot of joy, not least YM and I. For those of you who don’t know who Oor Willie is, he’s a character from a long running cartoon strip from around this neck of the woods. You may feel inclined to Google.  His tag line of "Oor Wullie! Your Wullie! A'body's Wullie!" rings true in the life of LP too. No matter where you are in the world, there is a little bit of all who care for her with her.

Hopefully you have enjoyed these vignettes. Happy Christmas and a Good New Year to you all.