The Good List
Dear Santa,
I know I am supposed to be too old to believe in you, but I refuse to give you up. The world is a cold and boring place without you in it.
I usually content myself with doing what I can to get or make things for everyone else, and yes, it does feel wonderful to be the person who puts those little smiles out there, but let’s face it, I’m really not all that saintly. If I have to face another year of no presents under the damn tree after all the effort I’ve put in to making sure everyone else’s day is wonderful and exciting and delicious and happy and fun, so help me, I’m going to die of apoplexy on the holiday in question.
I think that would be the worst possible Christmas memory to leave my children with, don’t you?
Obviously, my children must be of the good sort because of the volume of mysterious extra Santa gifts under the tree year after year. Paradoxically, I must not be the goodly sort because of the visibly opposite totals. Regularly throughout the year I am subjected to a litany of complaint about what a terrible mother I happen to be. After much ponderous reflection, I thought the items listed below might remedy the situation perfectly.
Ready?
Here goes:
1. More Arms.
I need more arms. One set of arms is aggravatingly incapable of keeping up. I must be able to hold, catch, grab, grasp, write, hug, help, juggle, and create, all while my hands are occupied with other, more mundane tasks, like washing all the dishes in the house a minimum of thrice daily, folding and re-folding and collecting and sorting all this ridiculous laundry, and cooking all meals daily (plus snacks). More arms would enable me to achieve this state of desired perfection from which I am apparently falling gravely short.
Also, more arms would mean more cookies for your plate.
2. More Ears.
I need more ears. One set of ears is woefully deficient, particularly since each person in the household seems to believe that those ears are attuned specifically only to them. In order to efficiently facilitate the situation of all people simultaneously shouting at me and requiring me to answer clearly without becoming confused or asking anyone to repeat themselves, I would like to request one pair for each family member, plus one ear for the cat, who, while perfectly capable of communicating without spoken language, does occasionally need to be heard.
These new ears should in no way be construed as a replacement. The original set, slightly worn and damaged with normal usage, will still be useful to listen for other things, like the telephone and doorbell, knocks at the door, the toilet running, the faucet being left on, the refrigerator finally groaning unto death, pipes splitting in the basement, fire and smoke alarms, people sneaking in or out of the apartment, the sound of a breaker flipping, the direction of approaching and passing sirens, the unfortunate screaming of neighbors and passersby, someone attempting to use the window for a door — I am certain there are myriad other uses, hopefully these examples will be sufficient to convince you.
3. A Second Head.
I need another head. I need one to do all the noticing and listening and understanding and seeing and witnessing and remembering, and one to do all the thinking, because I simply cannot do both. Obviously the aforementioned inability is one of my greater failures: I am apparently supposed to keep track of and remember everything for everyone at all times (and often without prior knowledge). Now that I am no longer operating under the mistaken impression that they are all supposed to remember things, too, a second head will definitely remedy this situation. Plus, it will be a good place to hang some of my new ears.
4. Small Army of Assistants.
I humbly request a small army of assistants to aid me in bringing things to the tip-top shape that everyone seems to expect. I do not require all of them forever — just a bunch to get things taken care of properly so I have a good starting point.
Perhaps ten would be sufficient to get this sardine-can-cum-apartment into a livable condition (please present all repair bills to the landlord in lieu of rent, as I am tired of repeating those requests), and then a few could remain behind to follow each of the children as they go through their day littering the apartment with clothing and food… maybe one could vacuum while I manhandle Mount Dishmore into the drainer over and over again?… And someone could mop! While I scrub the dagblasted — Sorry! The potential is dazzling.
Suffice it to say, it would be amazingly helpful, and would enable me to provide the endless supply of clean utensils, filled plates and brimming bowls that my children are so evidently fading to nothing without. It would also attend to the seemingly magical and instantaneous removal of all crumbs and bits and blobs of paper they all wander around shedding like dandruff. Oh, and perhaps the food would improve! Mine is considered a punishment unless it has sugar in it. And finally getting the jump on all those wrinkled, messy, devastated things hiding in the laundry bins — some of them are talking now, would you believe it?!??
I was originally going to request clones, but because I am so terrible at this job, it may be better to simply have a group of assistants to help me get the proper hang of things for the benefit of all.
5. Personal Secretary.
Someone needs to be in charge of this incredible tsunami of appointments and calendar dates and birthday parties and reminders and arrangements and transportation and when the bills are due and which people need to get where and when. It is apparently supposed to be me. Also included are dispensing of medications, checking of expiration dates, writing down of all questions, researching of all answers, recording of conversations so that my eternal wrongness may always be prominently displayed on Instant Replay, and the adjustment of menu options according to the desires of the popular vote at the dinner table. Right now, I am operating under the impression that we have three food groups in consensus: One of them is anything related to a potato, preferably covered with one of four choices in the group called “cheese,” and the third is chocolate.
Thank you very much for your time and attention in this matter. My interest is purely based on the desire to provide the most perfect atmosphere for these people who obviously find me lacking in all my parenting (and associated) requirements. Any selection from the above will be wondrously received and clearly all are intended as further gifts to the entire family. Should any benefit solely to myself be discovered lurking within, I will gladly exchange that item for any substitute you deem appropriate. I wish only to find my way back on to The Good List as effectively as possible.
Sincerely,
The Woman Otherwise Known as Mom
PS. Merry Christmas!
With Special Thanks To: Roo Black, Julia Kantic, Annie Caldwell, Christopher Iacono, Rene Salinas, James Butt, Brenda Birenbaum, Abhishek Sengupta, Experimental Writing 101, A Maguire, D Gestalt, Alex Cabal, Georgia Lewitt and Bart Elbey — because quite frankly, without all of you, i would never have started writing again in the first place. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
