my letter to Santa

Dear Santa.

I've been a real good Mama all year.

I've fed, cleaned, and cuddled my four children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, dispersed more antibiotics than our local pharmacy, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to provide uniforms for the Amanda's softball team, and figured out how to outwit three preschoolers all at once.

I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmas', since I had to write this one with AJ'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 fifteen years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler out of the candy aisle in the grocery store. I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere during the last of our three adoptions.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year, I'd like a new mini-van with fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music; a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals; a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone, and a bathroom with an invisible door where I can go potty without someone knocking and saying, "But, Mama! It's important", only to find out that the emergency was that Amanda couldn't find her brush, that the Dora show ended, that Anna Grace was not AJ's best friend that day, or that Kai wanted a snack.

On the practical side, I could use a talking Kai doll that says, "Yes, Mama" to boost my parental confidence instead of thinking I have a five-year old lawyer at home, along with a teenager that can do the dishes without having to be asked five times, three kids who don't fight, two pairs of jeans that zip all the way up without the use of power tools, a button I can push at the dinner table that says, "Anna Grace please swallow your food" so that I don't have to repeat myself incessantly, and lastly, a secret hiding place where I can put things that AJ will never find, since he seems to have a radar for finding and breaking playing with all of my things.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting, "Don't touch Mama's things", "Clean up this room" and "Take your hands off your brother", because my voice seems to be out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

And please, don't forget the Play-Doh Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colors guaranteed to crumble on any carpet and make our van look like it just came out of a 60's flower power party.

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; or if Kai didn't look so cute sneaking behind the couch to eat contraband cookies in his pajamas at midnight that he snuck from the pantry.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing and AJ saw my feet under the laundry room door and 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 a cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table, but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet. If you do, you can always call our puppy, Fred, over to you and he'll clean up the mess right away. I do ask a favor though. Will you kindly clean up the throw-up afterwards? His tummy is quite sensitive due to all the snacks the kids sneak him that for some reason seem to cause that effect. I'm not sure why, but Captain Crunch and Oreos don't sit well with him.

Oh, and one more thing Santa; you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in you.

Always,

Mama