Several years ago, Natalie Cole – in what must have been a collaborative effort with Miss America-wannabes – released a Christmas song called, “A Grown Up Christmas List.” I adored this song. I thought the message was well thought out and spoke to the universal heart of every person who had ears to hear. “No more lives torn apart! Wars would never start! Time would heal all hearts!” Honestly, there’s no more sincere prayer out there than this of Natalie’s!
Then I had children.
And while the sentiments in Natalie’s timeless holiday treasure (which may now be purchased through 1-800-Time-Life-Something-Or-AOther for $19.99, if you call within the next 30 minutes!), are beautiful and goose-bump-producing, the momma in me says, “Really?”
So, for your listening pleasure (imagine that I sound just like Natalie Cole), here’s MY grown-up Christmas List. (And, please, remember, Grown up does NOT mean mature.)
No more Saturday mornings before 8 AM. There’s nothing good that can happen before 8 AM on a Saturday morning. Unless it involves a tray of scrambled eggs, a glass of mimosa and a bud vase with a rose in it. And then only if that tray is delivered after 8 AM.
No more socks left unmatched. Daughter 2 has recently begun having an issue with socks. None of them fit. As in fits how she wants them to fit. Please be aware that they all FIT her… just not how the princess wants them to. Therefore, we have no less than 20 dozen unmatched socks on her bedroom floor.
No more calories in chocolate. I’m certain that at the E-Z peace summits, talks were heated because some secretary of state of some well-meaning nation set out a plate of chocolates and everyone started frettin’ over getting back to the hotel and the fitness room and if there’d be enough elliptical machines for both the Prime minister AND the chiefs of staff (or state… whatever!).
Every house has a housekeeper. You know, though. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I would want a stranger coming into my home cleaning the messes that I obviously can’t clean… because if I were cleaning, I wouldn’t have time to watch Modern Family and Eastwick, right? Besides, what’s the guarantee that this person won’t go snooping? Especially snooping in the top drawer of the night stand? Not that there’s anything worth snooping for in there… just saying… So, I change this request: I do not want a housekeeper; I want a magic wand. (And, truth be told, I probably need a housekeeper WITH a magic wand to make a dent in our humble – and hectic – abode!)
Every mom has 10 hands. Could you even IMAGINE??!! I could drive, take away the headphones-turned-lasso, change the CD from Taylor Swift to … um… Taylor Swift, talk on the phone to The Dad who is at home wondering what I’m fixing for dinner (in the van??? Uh --- nothing!) AND put on chapstick! 10 hands, I tell ya!! The possibilities would be endless!
And speaking of endless, the Twilight saga would never end! I am one of those women who have fallen in love with a vampire. And the thought of never meeting my Edward ever again after Breaking Dawn? … well, let’s just not go down that winding, rain-soaked, Washington-state road during the holidays!
And speaking of Vampires, how about a whole station devoted to Vampires? There’s a whole station devoted to History, to Weather, to Shopping, to Poker, and to Game shows even! Why not Vamps? Wait – what’s that you say? Oh, right. I forgot about CW… never mind.
All exercise would be graceful and effective. I would like to be able to do the Carmen Electra Aerobic Striptease without cracking myself up during the warm-up and without tripping over my own feet during the walk down “the stage.” Oh, I hear ya. Maybe I could try a different tape, but then I’d probably actually exercise, break a sweat and I can guarantee you that I would not giggle like a 13 year old boy through the whole thing. (Apparently a 13-year old boy with a big, ol’ honking behind!) And isn’t laughter the best medicine?
Last, but not least, Bedtimes would be mandated as soon as the first yawn graces the beautiful face of the smart-alec-y Daughter who whines about … anything. And really? I don’t care if THEY go to bed as soon as the whining commences or if I go to bed as long as someone is in a nice warm and quiet bed when the whining winds up.
I realize that my list is long and really far fetched (read again the paragraph about Carmen Electra). But a girl can dream, right?
I’ll end with this: Christmas morning, I’m sure I’ll open up a bottle of my own perfume (wrapped in toilet paper), a macaroni necklace stuffed in my stocking – which I’ll never wear because the maker will wear it until the macaroni all breaks off, and a card that reads: Merry Christmas to the World’s Gravest Mom! I’ll be the happiest Momma on the planet, and I’ll love every minute of it … even though it’s guaranteed to happen before 8 AM. WELL before 8 AM!
And I still hope that Natalie gets everything on her list too!
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