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,
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!
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.

***Santa has asked that this gets passed on to all the mommies you know.***




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