Dear Santa, From Mom
Dear Santa
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on
demand, visited the 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
and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash
with staples and a glue gun.
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 after a day of chasing kids (in any
color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't flap in the
breeze but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler 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 a car with 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 daughter doll that says, "Yes,
Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with one potty-trained toddler,
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. And please don't forget the Playdoh
Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers.
It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the in-laws' house seem just like mine. 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; or if my toddler didn't look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat
contraband ice cream in his pajamas at midnight.
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 chimney and come in and dry off by the
fire 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.
Dear Santa
I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my two children on
demand, visited the 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
and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash
with staples and a glue gun.
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 after a day of chasing kids (in any
color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't flap in the
breeze but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler 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 a car with 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 daughter doll that says, "Yes,
Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with one potty-trained toddler,
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. And please don't forget the Playdoh
Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers.
It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the in-laws' house seem just like mine. 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; or if my toddler didn't look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat
contraband ice cream in his pajamas at midnight.
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 chimney and come in and dry off by the
fire 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.
