How are you? I’m fine. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I wrote last. I’ve been very busy (and I’m sure you have too!)
Santa, my kids write you every year, and every year their eyes light up with delight on Christmas morning as they rush in to see what you’ve left for them. I, on the other hand, wake up like a 1950’s stereotype. I sneak out of bed to brush my hair and fix my face, so that if I happen to end up in the background of a picture, I don’t end up on the cover of the Enquirer as Yeti discovered in suburban home wearing sweatpants and ironic t-shirt. I don’t want to sound ungrateful Santa, but you’ve been hooking those kids up. Last year I got a coffee mug and a crockpot. I’m pretty sure I’m on the Nice list, but in case it’s a wobbler, let me remind you that I often feed my children at least one fruit or vegetable a day. I’m working with them on their citizenship, and all of them know how to effectively swear. I haven’t kept my room clean, but that’s just because if it’s tidy everyone can find my candy stash. I promise to go to work and do my job most days, except when I have to take a day off to avoid getting fired (or arrested). Admit it, you take a mental health day every so often too, right? Just you and the Mrs. and a little afternoon hot cocoa? No worries. Your secret’s safe with me. Anyhoo… What I’m getting at, Santa, is that if I am on the nice list, maybe it would help to have a little direction. I know I’m #blessed, so I’m not asking for much. For Christmas I’d really like the following:
1. A soundproof bathroom door. Just once, I’d like to go into the bathroom without the dulcet tones of “MOM!!!” and “BABE?” and if I dare to answer, in an effort to make it stop, it’s always followed with “What are you doing?!” The Christmas cards, Santa, that’s what I’m doing in there.
2. Pants that don’t look like cozy pants but do FEEL like cozy pants. NOT PAJAMAJEANS. Bonus points if they also hide the mommy-pooch, have pockets, come in cute trendy patterns, and are exactly the right length for whatever shoes I want to wear.
3. Instead of Fritz Sugarton, the Elf on the Shelf, I want Lenny the Elferazzi. Please send your finest photog so he/she can take candid photos of me and my family all holiday season as we engage in a whole plethora of Pinterest-worthy family fun activities, which we’ll do happily and with absolutely no whining. Of course, he/she will be fabulously talented and every picture will be amazing, well lit, and flattering.
4. Non-viral glitter, so we can craft our hearts out without suffering the consequences for the next six months. There’s a reason it’s called the Herpes of the craft world, but it’s just so very pretty.
5. Do you remember Hermione’s time turner? I want one of those so that I can enjoy a quiet morning cup of coffee before everyone wakes up, but without having to wake up at o’dark thirty. Barring that, a coffee mug that will actually keep my coffee hot long enough for me to drink it (no offense to last year’s poinsettia mug). Bonus points if it’s also a bit swear-y (I’m definitely a Gryffindor with a touch of Slytherin, if anyone’s wondering *hint hint*).
And because I love giving almost more than I love getting, I’d like to hook my #momsquad up too.
For my edgy friend: A year’s supply of purse wine. Or purse Fireball, which might come in handy during the next winter PTA event (hypothetically speaking.)
For my fellow working mom: These amazing sunnies, so that no one will know how late she stayed up to catch up on Game of Thrones on a school night, and purse wine.
For my teacher friend: The clapper. But instead of it turning on and off the lights, it’s like a mute button for over sugared, under slept elementary students who’ve just had a month off for Christmas and forgot how to do school. Also, a lifetime supply of antibacterial gel and glue sticks, and purse wine.
For my pro-level mom friend: A beautiful personalized necklace. But not the one everyone already has. The one that everyone will want next year, and purse wine.
For my mom friends with new babies: A shirt made of mystical fabric that immediately camouflages all the variety of things that get smeared on your shoulder for the first two years of parenthood. Is it banana? Puke? Maybe coffee? Who the fuck knows? But it’s on every shirt. I’d love to give her at least one top without a schmear of *shrug* on it, and purse wine, or diaper bag wine? Is that too far? It might be too far, right? I mean, there IS an insulated pocket…
For my friend with no kids: An overwhelming desire to engage in some activity, which only makes sense if you take children with you. Oh, and I have children that she can take! Bonus if it’s an all-day, or even a weekend long activity! Maybe she wants to go to Legoland? It can be Amsterdam for all I care, as long as she takes my kids. I’ll suffer through a weekend to myself because, I’m a giver, but no purse wine for her. I’ll take that.
That should just about cover it Santa! Merry Christmas! Don’t forget, I’m counting on you!
P.S. Can you leave me some of those cookies that don’t make you fat, too? Thanks!