I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned, and
cuddled my 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 big-people
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 Play-doh 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 would 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 in his pajamas
to eat contraband ice cream 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.
Your's Always,
Mom
P.S. One more thing: You can cancel all my requests if you
can keep my children young...
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