As I was asking my children to write their Christmas wish lists out for me, I realized that it's been an awfully long time since anyone has asked me, The Mom, She Who Must Some-times Be Obeyed If You Don't Get Caught, and Fulfiller Of Christmas Dreams, to make a wish list for Santa. I decided it's high time Santa heard from me.
First of all, I would like a Never Ending Supply Of Tape. I will designate a drawer in the desk for tape. This will become The Magic Tape Drawer. I will expect it to never empty of clear tape, masking tape, duct tape or that blue tape you use when painting. Then whenever the husband or one of the offspring comes to me in search of tape I will be able to point them to my magic drawer. I'm tired of telling them "I don't know" and "Did you look in the kitchen junk drawers?"
Next, I'd appreciate it if you would make white chocolate one of the major food groups. Oh, and cause it to have negative calories. Don't worry about any other color of chocolate; I'm not greedy. Fixing the white for me will do just fine. Thanks.
Please buy my gynecologist a speculum warmer. I don't think I need to add any details to that request.
I would like all the mirrors in my house to be replaced with those funhouse mirrors that make a person look very thin. It would also be wonderful if everyone that saw me would see the me I am on the inside, and not the Crypt Keeper Lookalike I seem to have become on the outside, according to my children.
Please make low-cut jeans and belly shirts drop out of style. Make wearing them such an incredible fashion faux pas for the teenage set that my 17-year-old daughter wouldn't be caught dead in them.
Going along with that last request, I'd like it you could make tanning at a salon excruciatingly painful. In fact, make the mere thought of going tanning give my children migraines. Please don't make the tanning experience be fun until 20 years from now cancer develops. I'd appreciate it if the pain was felt now. Thanks.
What I really, really, really, really want, Santa, is a Maxwell Smart Cone of Silence. You see, sometimes I play chauffeur with the four offspring, and when the noise in the vehicle rises to Ear Bleeding Decibel Levels, I always pray for a Cone of Silence. Since praying hasn't worked, I'm coming to you, dear Santa. I want one in my vehicle that allows me to maintain my sanity while driving to orthodontists, dentists, piano lessons, taking forgotten lunches to schools and other assorted running around. Silence is golden, but my cone of silence doesn't have to be. It just has to work.
The other day one of my children remarked that all the stockings hanging over the fireplace are rather large. All of them, that is, except mine. My stocking seems to be a lot smaller than all the others, which has always been fine because in all the years it's been hanging there, it's never had anything stuffed inside it on Christmas morning.
I'd like this year to be different, Santa. Here's what I'm thinking. What about two round-trip tickets? Not six, just two. One for me and one for Johnny Depp, to take a cruise to Alaska. Alone. With each other. With no children. No one to knock on our bathroom door or steal my makeup. Did I say Johnny Depp? I was, um, kidding. Yeah, kidding. Of course I meant my husband.
I'm serious about the tickets, though.
In conclusion, dear Santa, I don't want everything - I just want what I want. You know me, since becoming a wife and mother I've never sent you a wish list. Now I'd like to see it filled. Do it. Because I'm the mom. Because I said so. If you don't, then I'm afraid I won't bake any of those special Christmas cookies you like so much when they're left on a plate for you on Christmas Eve. And there will be no reindeer games for you to watch.