Girl's Summer

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, 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 week 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.



*Santa has  asked that this gets passed on to all

the mommies you  know.