A mom’s letter to Santa

The time is coming to celebrate another Christmas Season and try to get our ducks in a row for the new year of 2020. After working for almost a year, one of the hardest but most precious jobs is to be a Mom. Mothers are always there to count on, even if it’s to find a lost sock, or to pack your lunch packs, or even just to call for that much-needed advice (Mom, how long must I cook the meat, because it’s turning black now?!).

Are you a mom and sometimes just need a break? Maybe you’re hoping that this Christmas you might just get one day off. So does this mom.

Here is a letter for Santa that might help.

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 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 any more 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 colour, 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 programmes 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-dough Travel Pack, the hottest stocking-stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers. It comes in three fluorescent colours 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 would 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 organised crime family, or if my toddler didn’t look so cute sneaking downstairs to eat contraband ice cream in his pyjamas at midnight.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is buzzing, 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 a 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.