Dear Santa,
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children
on demand, visited their doctor's office more than my doctor, sold
sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on
the school playground.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases,
since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back
of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll
find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze;
but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle
in the grocery store.
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month
of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint
resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television
that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a
refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can
hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes,
Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't
fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the
use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the
living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice
seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be
heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough
time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the
luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being
served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten
the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a
vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.
It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the
house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an
organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet
under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a
safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in
and dry off so you don't catch cold.
Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave
crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always, MOM...!
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa.
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children
on demand, visited their doctor's office more than my doctor, sold
sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on
the school playground.
I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases,
since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back
of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll
find anymore free time in the next 18 years.
Here are my Christmas wishes:
I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple,
which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze;
but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle
in the grocery store.
I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month
of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint
resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television
that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; and a
refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can
hide to talk on the phone.
On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes,
Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't
fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the
use of power tools.
I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the
living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice
seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be
heard by the dog.
If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough
time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the
luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being
served in a Styrofoam container.
If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten
the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a
vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely.
It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the
house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an
organized crime family.
Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my son saw my feet
under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a
safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in
and dry off so you don't catch cold.
Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave
crumbs on the carpet.
Yours Always, MOM...!
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa.
