Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my child on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my own doctor's, and 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 daughters 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 pregnancy.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year, I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music;
television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals;

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 child that won't talk back 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 "Pick up your toys", because my voice seems to be just out of my childs 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 child to help around the house without demanding payment as if she were the
boss of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and my daughter saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think she wants her crayon back.

Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in to 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

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