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Mommy Nature's Preschool
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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
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 bri
ghten 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...
P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep
my children young enough to believe in Santa.
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