Friday, December 24, 2010

MommyLand Rewind: An Open Letter to Santa

Dear Santa,

As you may have heard, we've been snowed in for Christmas. Which is awesome. Awesome in the way that I love spending my days putting the Indoor Homeless People in -- and eight minutes later taking them out of -- snow clothes. Even when they're outside they're Indoor Homeless People, asking me for every !*#(%@ thing because, you know, they're in snow clothes and not allowed inside. What does that mean? That means they're Outside Indoor Homeless People. Amazingly enough, even more annoying because I have to bring everything OUTSIDE. Or strip them. Or tell them to play in traffic. Which I did. But they don't listen. They're Deaf Outside Indoor Homeless People.

And despite the fact that we have -- as I once mentioned -- a WHOLE room devoted to their toys, they seem to find nothing to do. But ask me for stuff. And tell me they're hungry. Or hot can I take off my gloves? Or cold where are my gloves? Or I have to go to the bathroom can you please take off my snow clothes? Or someone is touching me. Which, really, is astonishing because with the exception of your eyes and that little space between where your jacket stops and your gloves start, I. CAN'T. SEE. ANY. SKIN.

And, we've been watching way too much TV. Like burn your retinas too much. At one point, there a commercial that was something like "...remember, mom, to limit your kids television viewing to just one hour a day..." and, well now the TV is off. And by "off" I mean "has my snow boot wedged through the middle of the screen."

But only AFTER I realized that maybe, with your help, and just a few of the ten gillion faces we've seen on TV in the past 72 hours, this might be a Merry Christmas.

Santa, please send me:

1) Jack Bauer -- I know I'm not supposed to use you as a threat to the children to be good. But, we've moved beyond my ability to "gently" convince them that behaving is in their best interest. I need a good threat, and I'm on a time crunch. If Jack Bauer can convince hardcore criminals to divulge their entire evil plan in 47 1/2 minutes -- WITH COMMERCIALS -- then I'm sure he can tell my DOIHP that if they don't straighten up, he's totally wedging you up in the chimney.

I'm sorry we have to threaten violence against you, and I really don't think we will have to follow through, but -- let's be honest -- they like you more than they like me. Frankly, I like you better than I like me right now. Trust me, they'll totally cave. Which means that 1) I'll get 24 (haha) hours of peace and quiet, and 2) you can use the front door. Win-win.

[Editorial Comment: You need to get an "Elf on the Shelf". A little red elf who you place in a different conspicuous spot every day, who observes your children's behavior for the purpose of collecting data for Santa, to help determine naughty or nice accordingly. And it works pretty well, at least for the first week. It's sort of a combination of Christmas and a surveillance program. Like the North Pole meets the NSA. Well worth the purchase price, friends. The only problem is that the elf has to be in a new place every morning when the kids wake up. Resulting in the Cap'n or I waking up in a panic at 3am shouting - "Did you move the Elf? Did you? Damn it, DID YOU MOVE THE ELF?!?" - Lydia]

2) Dumbledore -- He's the greatest wizard there has ever been. In the history of ever. And I am snowed in with my kids until NEXT YEAR. I need his help. My situation is dire. There has to be, deep down in the pockets of that robe, or tucked inside that amazing beard, a potion that makes my children sleep for 17 hours a day. Not for always, just for now. When we are trapped in the house. And the four walls are closing in. And Christmas is less than a week away. And school and sports are cancelled. And I promised I would not drink until dark. And every business in town is closed except, miraculously, for the one McLovin works for (because he's *essential*). Which means, essentially, he is psyched to go to work and leave me in purgatory for the next three days. So send Dumbledore. Now.


3) That Rapping White Boy on Fresh Beat Band -- mostly because I'm tired of the debate about whether or not he is really singing/rapping in that one song that my brain insists on playing just as I'm going to bed. I'm all about keeping you, Santa, as real and believable for as long as I can. But pretending this kid can rap is beyond my capacity to bullsh*t. He's whiter than you, probably is from a place equally as remote and rural, and, frankly, if the boy could rap, does anyone really think he'd be on Nickelodeon? Thank you.




4) Statler & Waldorf -- Totally for my entertainment purposes only. They'd say all the things I think all the time anyway, and if someone gets offended, I can just shrug and say "it was the puppets, what do you want?"
Statler: What are we doing here?
Waldorf: I don't know. We got kidnapped, stuffed in a bag, dropped down a chimney and now we're here, with her. Bolted to our chairs.
Statler: Let's get out of here!
Waldorf: I would, but I can't stop staring at that kid's huge head.
Statler: You have a huge head.
Waldorf: I have a hand inside my head! What's his excuse?
Statler: I blame the turtleneck.


I am totally building a balcony in my kitchen.

5) Ty Pennington or Bob Villa or Handy Manny, or some other fool with a tool belt -- I love you, Santa. You're jolly and kind and put up with crap from kids that no other adult man in his 70's (80's??) would. And, you break into my house once a year while I'm sleeping and I'm fine with that. But to bring gifts that say "some assembly required" is the toy equivalent to saying contractions feel like "a little pressure." I spent last Christmas putting together a bicycle for SEVEN HOURS and only if my son was a one-legged, five-armed contortionist who was pedaling with his butt was that thing going anywhere.

Here's a thought: You've got elves. If there's one guy on earth who has the staff large enough to ensure that we don't have to be flipping through a 47-page book of instructions written in nothing but hieroglyphics and Chinese, it's you.

Alternative: Please include a sledgehammer. If nothing else, Lefty will enjoy destroying the butt bike.


6) Ruth Bader Ginsburg -- No, I know she's not on TV, but mini-Clarence Darrow is already working on his appeal should all the requisite gifts he's itemized not be found under the tree, and really, I'm exhausted. He's already muttering things about implied consent and the enforceability of verbal agreements. I think he is going to need a better legal mind that mine to prevail here. I offered Jack McCoy and his response was "bush league." What does that even mean? Point being, he needs someone else to play Legal Deaf Outside Indoor Homeless People with. And, I've heard she's tiny and adorable -- and Jewish, so we're not really keeping her from anything. Maybe she can fit in his stocking?

Love, Kate

P.S. I totally made you rum balls, though you may want to get a designated sledder.
[Editorial comment: Heh heh - you said 'rum balls' - Lydia]

P.P.S. If you show up with that little bilingual girl or that damn monkey, the freaking deal is off...

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