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Mom letter to santa
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, 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 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
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...!
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