Monday, December 24, 2012
Read one mother’s open letter to Santa
Dear Santa, Please send me some patience this year
How's it going, Fat Man? How's tricks? This week is your big scene! Everyone outside the North Pole is so jonesing for your arrival. I hope you're on schedule. Fitting all those flat screens in the sleigh? Got me an iPad? I know you and the Mrs. are super busy this time of year keeping elves in line, grooming reindeer, watching the weather forecasts and in general bending the laws of physics and time. I don't mean to hassle you. But since you're in the business, I thought I'd drop you a line.
Because I've been giving some thought to what I want on my Christmas list this year, and I need your help. I could certainly use some of your Christmas magic if not a full-on Christmas miracle to make my Christmas dreams come true. It's not that what I want is expensive. Well, okay, the iPad is outrageously high. But material objects are not so much at the top of my list this year.
No, Santa, instead I need mental gifts to survive two weeks home with my family and the holiday season in general. Don't get me wrong! I love my spouse and children. When they're not actively trying to commit crimes. You think I exaggerate. But have you seen their act in that magic snowball of yours? The threat of the naughty list seems negligible. Alas, my children fear nothing, not even a childhood icon of your considerable weight. No pun or offense intended.
And I love the holidays! Christmas Eve, in particular, still feels magical to this old broad: like love is in the air, and no problem is too big to be solved by Christmas magic. I still feel the romance. I did grow up with some great Christmas specials and movies that may or may not have convinced me miracles can happen before end credits. But in spite of my natural affection for all things Christmas, I still must say keeping the old goodwill intact while wrestling other shoppers and the traffic? Bah. Humbug.
So Santa, send me some patience. Patience to make it through this school break. Make board games and children's programming less torturous. Intervene in battles over game controllers, computer time, and who called whom what. Inspire my children to change out of pajamas happily and quickly and in to clothing that doesn't make them look feral. Send some Christmas magic that returns shoes to their proper resting place so I am less likely to lose my life tripping over them. If you can re-animate Frosty, surely you can motivate my offspring to get off the couch.
Yes, Santa, this year I ask for fortitude, as I'm unlikely to get what I'd really like for Christmas: a chef, a team of muscle-bound nannies, and a housekeeping service. Related: If Hubs gets me any type of cleaning implement at all this year, that sucker better be diamond-encrusted. But I digress. Your gift to me, Santa, will be in my refusal to throttle the first one that says "I'm bored!" Christmas afternoon.
Get me through the cooking. The scrubbing. The hosting. The sibling rivalry as familarity breeds contempt. All with a giant cheese-eating grin on my face no matter how many times the dishwasher needs to be unloaded or my golden retriever's feet need to be cleaned before she can come in the house. No matter how many empty milk cartons Hubs abandons on the counter.
Peace on earth! Goodwill to men! It's not just a phrase from a Christmas carol, Santa. And I gots to get me some. It's a tall order, Santa, and I know it. But I've seen bigger Christmas miracles. And if anyone can bring the Christmas magic, it's you, Kringle. I'm convinced with your Christmas mojo, I can sail through the Yuletide with the best attitude yet.
Peace on earth! Goodwill towards men, my children, and the gum-snapping, impossibly bored cashier with the pink hair and eyebrow ring who moves like she's on Quaaludes. Let nothing me dismay, including the elbow in the ribs from that lady who just has to get to that on-sale ceramic Santa before I do. Make me tender and mild to that driver who's tailgating me...with reindeer antlers on his car.
Thanks for looking into my Christmas list, Santa, even if what I crave doesn't come in boxes or bags. Peace on Earth? Hell, I'll take peace in my living room first. But we've all got to start somewhere, right? And I know I can count on you, Santa. Here's to a New Year featuring clean, well-behaved children, a clean house that stays that way, and goodwill towards siblings. See you Christmas Eve, Santa. As always, there's cookies and milk in it for you. Thanks in advance.
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