My Grown Up Christmas Wish
Is it just me, or does Christmas seem to come earlier and earlier every year? It's November 20th, and already, I feel that I am somehow behind. I need to get my decorations out. I need to make my gift list and gather my thoughts to plan for meals and gatherings. Sometimes, the immense pressure I am feeling just saps all of the fun out of the holiday season.
I came across a letter someone sent me in an email last year, and it was so good, I saved it and fluffed it up to fit my current situation. I think this letter really sums up what most mommies would wish for the holiday season. I will simply call it, "My Grown Up Christmas Wish." It goes a little something like this:
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 regularly and sold sixty-two cases of cookie dough to raise money to plant a shade tree in the school learning garden (so my son can ride in a Hummer limo). I was hoping you could just keep this list on file and spread it out over several Christmases, as 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 any more 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 flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to pull my screaming daughter out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.
I'd also like a waist, since I haven't seen mine since somewhere around the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big-ticket items this year, I'd like self-cleaning carpets, fingerprint resistant windows, and a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals (including "you-know-who," the talking purple dinosaur!). I'd especially love a trap door in the pantry where I can hide to talk on the phone, since apparently, all of my children's most pressing emergencies seem to happen while I am on it.
On the more practical side, I would love to have a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two children who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip up all the way without me squirming all over the bed or using power tools to cinch up the zipper.
A recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Please stop screaming and use your words" would be greatly appreciated, as my voice seems to be just outside of my children's auditory range and apparently can be heard only by dogs.
If it's too late to manufacture any of these items, I'd settle for an extra hour in the day, which I would put to good use by brushing my teeth and combing my hair in the same morning. I would love to have the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature or even enjoying something that does not come in a fast-food wrapper or Styrofoam container.
If it isn't too much trouble, I could also use a few Christmas miracles, which would brighten my holiday season immensely. For example, would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will help clear my conscience, Santa. Could you coerce my children into helping around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family? Would you help my husband fling his dirty underwear into the clothes hamper instead of beside it? It would be ever so much appreciated!
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 when you come in the house, dry off so you don't catch cold. Help yourself to the cookies and milk on the table, but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.
Whatever you do, don't leave me a "Buns of Steel" workout tape or a lifetime subscription to Weight Watchers. No kitchen gadgets, appliances or sexy lingerie, either. Let the aforementioned wishes guide your gift-giving.
Yours Always,
Mom
P.S. You could cancel all of the above if I could just sleep in until 9 a.m. one Saturday morning and keep my mind on the true meaning of the Christmas season.
