I first posted this back on December 16, 2004. I have no idea where it came from, but a quick Google search found it in several places including this one.
Rosie is my only child that still believes in Santa, and she’s getting skeptical. I guess they talked it over in Little Flowers and on the soccer field this fall and several of her friends no longer believe. Even the cross country kids are doubters! But Rosie perseveres and I guess that’s part of being a homeschooled kid. I have always emphasized that St. Nick is a real person, and that he was a bishop and was even imprisoned for his faith and that is the most important part of the story anyway.
I asked Izzy and Noah how they discovered that Santa doesn’t really deliver all of those presents or candy on St. Nicholas Day. I guess Noah accidentally saw his dad putting candy in the shoes one year and he told Izzy about it. They were stunned but later figured it was pretty cool that there dad went to all that trouble. I suppose Rosie will find her own way in this.
And then there’s little Miss C…
Dear Santa
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 sixty-two
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 son’s boy
scout uniform 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 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, (any mother)
P.S. One more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my
children young enough to believe in Santa