Dear Santa,

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 and 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 calling 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...