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 s tore.

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…!

P.S. One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa. (Author Unknown)