I've been a good mom all year.
I've fed, cleaned, and cuddled
my two children on demand,
visited the doctor's office
more than my doctor,
sold 62 cases of candy bars
to raise money to plant a shade tree
on the school playground,
and figured out how to attach
nine patches onto my daughter's
Girl Scout sash with staples and a glue gun.

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 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
in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.
If you're hauling big ticket items this year,
I'd like a car with 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 daughter doll that says,
"Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence,
along with one potty-trained toddler,
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.

And please don't forget the Play-Doh Travel Pack,
the stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers.
It comes in three fluorescent colors
and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet
making the In-laws' house seem just like mine.

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;
or if my toddler didn't look so cute
sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream
in his pajamas at midnight.

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 chimney and come in and dry off by the fire
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

PS--One more thing...
You can cancel all my requests
if you can keep my children young enough
to believe in you.

Midi Playing: "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town"