Dear Santa


Listen, I know I’m a bit out of your age bracket, and I actually came to terms with your nonexistence like 20-25 years ago or something like that, but I’m home with the kiddos today and a morning of being Mr. Mom has left me primed and ready to crank out a request list and fire it off to a fictitious elf.

If you could do me a solid and hook me up with the following, I’d be as happy as Rudolph when included in reindeer games.

  1. A couch with no pillows to be strewn about the house…it’d also be cool if the couch had no crevices where food could hide for months. If there must be crevices in this couch, please make it a magic couch whose pressure can turn lost snacks into diamonds.
  2. Some kind of sixth sense that alerts me just a tick before I put my full weight down (barefooted) on a Lego.
  3. An airport-style bathroom for my kids, complete with self-flushing toilet and timed faucets.
  4. Toys that disintegrate when left outside of their assigned room for more than ten minutes.

Perhaps most importantly, though, you red-clad imaginary chimney creeper, I could use this: a healthy dose of patience and perspective.  Please don’t let me miss out on the riches of these years because I’m selfishly wishing too hard for the days when I will no loner have to guess at the age of fast food found in my van or when I won’t have to bite my tongue when I’m tempted to cuss at a tattooed plastic man confusingly devoid of key appendages.



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