Dear Santa,
Yes, Santa, I do believe. I’m only going to ask you for a few things this year for Christmas. I’ll start with the easier requests.
I’d like a self-loading dishwasher. And would you be able to make the dust on the shelves look ‘festive’ – like snow or frost – instead of neglected?
I’d like my father to call me by my name and not those of my siblings or the dog I had when I was a teenager so long ago.
I’d like just a little bit more time in each day. You can give that to me through my children. Please have them turn their clothing right-side-out, before it’s washed. Specifically, their socks.
Enough Scotch Tape to wrap ALL the gifts. Oh, and some Duct Tape so I can hold myself together this season.
I don’t want leggings or tights. But could you give me legs that might look good in them.
In years past, I didn’t always get the things I wanted, but that’s probably because I didn’t ask for them. I wanted things, but I stopped working hard to get them and keep them. Maybe somewhere along the way I stopped believing - in hope, in harmony, and in myself. This year it’s been different though.
So, Santa, if you can’t give me model legs – cause they really wouldn’t go with the rest of me – that’s ok.
Maybe you can give me something better, something much more important. Nudge me every so often to remind me that I cannot control any actions outside of my own.
Remind me that giving away what I have to offer will not leave me empty, but fulfilled. And that seeing what is in front of me can be better perceived if I use more than just my eyes to look.
Merry Christmas, Santa. And while I hope to not lose any of my teeth, I’ll be sending the Tooth Fairy a copy of this letter. Just in case you need some help too.
