Mom's Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and
cuddled my children on demand, visited their 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...!

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

Christmas Shopping

Found some funny political cartoons about Christmas shopping. It's so sad because they are all so true.

Open Letters

The challenge: Write 5 open letters. People, places, objects, animals. It doesn't matter. Write 5 succinct letters and express what you can't express in person. Strangers? People you'll never see again? People you're afraid to be completely honest with? Corporations? Celebrities? Your sister's cats? Write to 'em.

To people who want to tell my how to raise my son when they can't manage to raise their own:
Stop focusing on me when you should be watching your own kids. If you were watching them, I wouldn't have to write a letter to you at all. This includes the guy in Penny's who freaked out when I walked next to his stroller. Buddy, you are not the only parent in the world or the only stroller in the mall, so unless you own it show some common curtesy to the other people who have shopping to do too.

To people who gossip:
If it's about me, ask me. If you didn't hear it from me, then assume it's untrue until you are told otherwise. Then if I ask you not to tell anyone, DON'T!

To my former place of employment:
If you change my schedule, that's fine. Call me, let me know so I can be there at the proper time. If you don't call me, I don't know, and therefore it's your fault you were short a person on that shift. NOT MINE!

To my friends who act like I have the plague since I became a mom:
First of all, I do not have the plague. Nor is pregnancy contagious. It's not in the water or anywhere else. If you aren't comfortable hanging around with my family then let me know so I don't bother calling you anymore (or at least when I don't have a babysitter).

To the average Disneyland guest:
You don't own Disneyland and neither do I. I feel we are entitled to equal space on the sidewalk. If you need to stop great but coming to an abrupt stop in a very crowded theme park is hazardous to your health. That is of course, if you like your ankles unbruised anyway. Strollers are a dangerous thing and I now own one. So don't stop or fear of my stroller running into you. Or if you are going to stop please step off to the side, into a store, or something. There are plenty of spaces and places to do this. Also if you aren't there to have a good time, go home. No one wants to listen to you complain every time they happen to be unfortunate enough to be stuck next to you in line. Save the nice people at city hall a headache and stay home if you are going to be cranky. If you are going to complain about the crowd, go at the beginning of the day not 2am. I have a hard time believing you had no fun whatsoever in over 14 hours!!

Are you READY for Christmas!??

I am so not ready!

I'm not! I'm not! I'm not!

So far I have 13 things on my to-do list and those are just the Christmasy ones. Not counting the normal day-to-day stuff. AHH!

Just had to vent!