DEAR SANTA,
The last time you heard from me was around 1978 when all I wanted for Christmas was some Guess jeans, an Izod polo shirt and a pair of Yo-Yo wedge sandals — in lime green, of course.
You delivered on the Guess jeans and the Izods (sort of), but apparently you agreed with my mother that the sandals weren’t appropriate for an 8-year-old girl, because I didn’t get them that Christmas morning.
It was also that Christmas, though, that I remember you blew your cover, Santa. After some detective work of my own, I discovered the Izods weren’t Izods at all. In an effort to make good on her daughter’s Christmas wish-list and save money too, my fashionable, yet frugal, mother shopped garage sales for some used men’s Izod shirts and, with great care, removed the little green crocodiles and sewed them perfectly and precisely right onto a couple of JCPenney brand knit polos.
I’m pretty sure I didn’t bother writing you again after that. But in 30 years I’ve dealt with my skepticism and thought I’d give it another shot.
Besides, I’ve got three little ones of my own now and — frankly — you owe me.
At least two of them you should know quite well: Grace, 7; and Hattie, 5. They are big believers, faithful pen pals of yours and they take your line of work very seriously.
But it hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s getting more and more difficult each year for their dad and me to keep you alive and well in their little hearts. Just last week we waited in line for nearly two hours for a 90-second seat on your lap. That was 30 seconds a kid, two of which were too star-stuck to share their wish-lists in that amount of time and our youngest who couldn’t get past the beard to find your ears.
Since then we’ve fielded some fairly provoking questions about your omniscience, omnipotence and omnipresence, offering up the craziest of excuses for your simultaneous appearances at the mall, the library, the television and elsewhere this time of year (really, Santa, you should consider finding a new PR person).
We’ve also gotten really good at preserving the evidence of your visit each Christmas Eve — from your sooty footprints and that little piece of your red coat that always seems to get caught in the fireplace door to the cookie crumbs and your signed autograph for our kids to find on the hearth the next morning — we’re definitely doing our part.
Without parents like us, I’m afraid you’d be dealing with a global warming of sorts at the North Pole.
As I said, you owe me.
So, here it is:
(You’ll notice it doesn’t contain stuff like it once did. In fact, it may appear kind of boring by most wish-list standards. But as I’ve gotten older my priorities have changed somewhat; and what once was so important to my happiness isn’t anymore.)
• A renewed appreciation and love for my dog, who has systematically defaced almost every surface of our house. From the floors to the doors, our Weimaraner, who was once the love of my life, has paid us back for having kids of our own — three times over.
• More patience with my children. Need I say more?
• More date-nights with my husband and less late-nights with kids who don’t want to sleep in their own beds.
• To hit “fast forward” on my girls’ obsession with “High School Musical,” but “pause” on their love affair with their grandpa.
• To hit “fast-forward” on teaching our 2-year-old how to use a potty standing up, but “pause” on “The Happy Dance,” a little jig he performs every time he discovers something new.
• Organization. You name it, from my closet to my photos, it would take a miracle to untangle some messes at my house.
• Less time reading e-mails. More time reading.
• Less time talking on my cell phone. More time talking to my daughters.
• More discipline at being still. With three small children, finding time in my day to do nothing is not only nearly impossible, but feels uncomfortable when I do.
That’s it. Nothing fancy or costly, but priceless to me, nonetheless.
You bring me these things, Mr. C., and not only will I finally put the Izod flap behind us once and for all, but I’ll promise to keep you in business, at least around our house, for many years to come!
Sincerely Yours,
Ashley K. Walker