30 Days Challenge

Dear Santa,                                                             
                                                                         
I’ve been a good mum all year. I’ve fed, cleaned and cuddled my children 
on demand, visited the doctor’s office more than my doctor,             
sold sixty-two cases of choc 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 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 colour, 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 lolly
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, Mummy”
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             
tomato sauce (even McDonalds for working Mum’s) 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 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, MUM…!                                                   
                                                                         
P.S. one more thing…you can cancel all my requests if you can  keep my 
children happy, healthy and always believing.