Dear Santa

How are you? Very busy, I’m sure, so I’ll try not to take up too much of your time.  No, wait, you don’t have to go check your lists to see which one I’m on… I’m sure I’m on the “nice” list.

What’s that?  You’ve seen me sneaking extra cookies?  But that doesn’t count as naughty, does it?  I mean, I’m cut off from ice cream and chocolate, so those gingerbread cookies are the only treat I can have!  Ah… I knew you’d understand.  And there will still be plenty of cookies left for you, don’t worry.

Ok, it’s possible that I raised my voice a time or two this year.  If you lived with a two-year-old – and not just a bunch of people that are the same height as one – you would probably raise your voice occasionally, too.  You would try very hard to remain calm when he chews up pieces of grilled cheese, decides they are yucky, takes them out of his mouth and throws them on the floor.  But if in your shock and dismay, you shouted, “STOP THAT!” it could hardly put you on the wrong Christmas list, could it?  That’s right, I was provoked, so it doesn’t count, either.

Hmm… you see a note of “sarcasm” next to my name, huh?  Well, I’m not sure how else one could respond to a chipper, “Good morning, how did you sleep?” from one’s husband who slept a solid 9 hours while you were up every hour with the baby.  Is it possible to avoid sarcasm in that instance?  I submit that it is not.

You seem a little skeptical here, Santa, so maybe I can help you out.  I make sure that three humans and two cats have food, water, attention and (for the humans) clean clothing.  I sing songs, play games, take care of almost all diapers, hairballs, and cat puke.  I do my best to return phone calls, emails and favors.  I forego showers in order to make waffles, and give up naps to run errands.

You’re right, it’s true.  I should be volunteering and giving more to charity.  I’m not saying I’m at the head of your Nice list, but maybe there’s some room for me… right there?  at the bottom?  What do you say?

Yes??

Yes!!

Ok, so here’s what I would like for Christmas:

I want one moment.  It might come in the middle of the present-opening.  It might come just after, when everyone is busy admiring their gifts.  There will be a blurring and I will be able to look around at my family but not quite hear what they say.  I will see smiles, hear laughter, and feel nothing but love.  In that moment there will be no such things as stress or fatigue or neuroblastoma.  There will be only joy and peace.

That’s all.

I know, it doesn’t quite fit in a box.  It is both smaller and bigger than that.  But if you can find a way to get it to me on Saturday, I’ll be even nicer next year, I promise.

Thanks, and Merry Christmas,

Jessica