Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,

Thank you for coming to our house and all the other day. Thank you, on behalf of the Midgets, for the Krazy Kars and Mickey Mouse umbrellas and the foam swords. Thank you that they were not poisonous foam swords or sharp ones, because Gbot has taken ten or so bites out of each edge of his blade. Oh, and thanks for the froggie rain boots that have, although I know it seems like a physical impossibility, upped Gbot’s cuteness by a factor of 1,000. Thank you for leaving the Imperial Storm Trooper Gun at someone else’s house. Thank you. But I really wasn’t looking for a one-night stand.

Where were you the next morning, when I really could have used some help picking up the wrapping paper and boxes and ribbons, and maybe someone to keep the Midgets from climbing the tree to get to the candy canes while I was using the bathroom? Where were you the morning after that, when I had to pick up all over again because the Midgets, taking a break from their new toys, decided to decorate the living room? Where were you that evening when the kitchen counters were still piled high with baking sheets and mixing bowls? I did not see a second dishwasher under the tree. Or a laundress. Mbot is running out of Superhero underpants. I have noticed that you are not on any superhero underpants. I am beginning to understand why.

If this letter finds you–which it might not, because there might not be any postal service in your part of Bali, which is where I suspect you might be spending the months of January through November, living off your endorsements–please know that mothers everywhere simply wish that you would practice what you preach. Is it naughty or nice to disrupt entire lives for weeks ahead of time, then just drop in, fleeing the scene like a bad guy on CSI, leaving pandemonium behind you?

I know I sound like a bitchy ungrateful middle-class American mother, but I also know that I speak for all BUMCAMs when I say: next year, please, stay awhile. If you would only help me catch up in my life after Christmas, I promise you, you’ll get your own line of underpants.

Beseechingly,

Betsy

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5 thoughts on “Dear Santa,

  1. Haven’t you learned what I learned this year? (albeit after the fact) Here is the secret: Santa will give you virtually anything if you will just ask for it. It’s so simple, I love it! I can’t wait for next year :0)

  2. Just read Hallelujah! (toot) Hallelujah! and realized that darn, I forgot to ask for a brother-in-law like yours (ask Mom, really I was going to), Next year!

  3. Actually it IS yours I want, but I also believe Santa works within moral and ethical guidelines, so I think you’re safe! And your brother-in-law too :0).

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