Dear Santa

Dear Santa:

The barefoot boy at right is what happened when I tried to take Christmas pictures two years ago. Time flies. He flies. He ran out of the photo frame every time I tried to snap. I was lucky he was dressed anyway. Shoes aside.

Everyone around here has a Christmas list. I thought I would write mine. My list has a lot of things on it that you don't have in your bag. At least I don't think you do. But that's OK. Kind of like giving "God" a wishlist, I don't think the Universe--or Santa--works quite that way. But I'll play along.

First, it's about time. I need you to slow it down. You see, I can't believe how much that little Pirate Boy has grown. There's got to be a law against that. To keep him little for just a bit longer. His oldest brother is going to head off to college next year. I get it. It's the natural progression of life and all that, but . . . damn, the house is just not going to be the same without him.

While you're at it? An extra day in each week. I just can't get everything I need to done. My to-do list is way too long, and I just shuffle my list from Monday to Tuesday to Wednesday . . . to . . . you get the idea. It's a mother's lament.

A laundry elf? Come on. You must have them up there.

Now, here's the thing . . . I used to want a cure. For Crohn's. But I realize you live at the North Pole and not the Mayo Clinic. I'm a realist. Each morning--or usually the middle of my night--I wake in brutal pain. And every, single solitary day--I am talking no days off--it's a choice to get up. I consider maybe staying in bed. But it's a choice. And I will even go so far as to say it takes a little courage. Maybe not running-into-a-burning-building courage. But it takes peering in the mirror and deciding to go on. Every day. I'd like that choice to be easier. To BOUNCE out of bed just once--even with my pain meds. But damn if I haven't learned I have an iron will. So . . . for what it's worth, I don't ask for that anymore. I get along.

I think that's why the Universe gave me Pirate Boy, Santa. I really do. If he was an easier kid, I might assume someone could take care of him if I wasn't here. But no one gets him. Not his father. No one. So here I am. He's stuck with me.

I'd like guitar lessons this year. I know. Silly, right? But I realize I am getting lost. Yes, I know, I know, you gave me a GPS last year. I AM directionally challenged. But my to-do list is so utterly overwhelming, largely because I'm exhausted and it's hard to get through that list. So it grows. I'm drowning in list, dude. And I don't know where I am anymore. I can't remember the last book I read for pleasure. The last bubble bath I took (all right, yes, the tub is broken and I need a handyman--preferably one with ripped abs). My significant other asked if I want a day at the spa for Christmas. I laughed in his face. On WHAT DAY does he think I can go to a spa and not come home to fifteen crises that occurred? Nope. But I think I can manage one hour of lesson every week. For me. With a cute guitar teacher. Hey, you know . . . I have priorities.

I would like a day where I don't have to pick up after anyone. But then I remember, Santa, to be grateful for my rotten little urchins. They keep life interesting. They love me. Fiercely. And I love them.

So in the end, Santa . . . I don't think I'm going to get anything on my list. Chances are there won't be anything under the tree with my name on it.

But that's, OK. 'Cause in the end, like special ornaments on the tree, I have all these amazing memories hung of Christmases past. Of my kids being little and dancing to the Peanuts Christmas music. Of the year Oldest Child got the Barbie pool and the Barbie car and the . . . you get the idea. Of meals shared. Of wrapping 'til all hours with my bestie while watching Christmas movies. Of my own childhood Christmases and people long gone but always near in my heart. So thanks for all that.

Love ya, Big Guy,

Erica


P.S. ONE MORE IMPORTANT THING: Pirate Boy has asked for a wolf-dog. Under NO circumstances should you feel obligated to bring one.

P.P.S. Oh yeah, Peace on Earth, for people to be kinder to one another, for people to remember the lonely at this time of year. All of that stuff too.