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Dear Santa: Me Too

As we stare into tomorrow’s open
space on the calendar, I find myself wishing I was Maddie, full of
anticipation and glee. She’s been looking at the stack of
presents piling higher and higher and wishing desperately, I can
tell, that she knew how to read so she could check out those gift
tags.


I, on the other hand, find myself worn to the bone with getting
Christmas ready and dealing with our home life –house buying
and selling, packing, and so on. Add to that my littlest one, who
is again getting up every hour or two at night which leaves me
sobbing helplessly at 4 a.m., and I wish I had my own Santa to
grant me a few of the things on my list. And you know what? It
turns out I’m not the only mom to feel that way.


My girlfriend Sandra passed this mom’s letter to Santa on to
me – I can’t find the author anywhere so my apologies
for not crediting you, Mom! But whoever you are, you captured
pretty perfectly some of the things I wish for. So here it is for
everyone else – enjoy! I’ll call you from my crisper
later on.



Dear Santa,


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 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 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 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 calling 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.

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