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 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 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.
~~
Dr Bob Griffin, www.grif.net
1 cross + 3 nails = 4 given