Dear Santa,
I’m running a bit late on this letter and I apologize. Clearly, I need plenty of help this year. I wish I could have given you more notice; I don’t think the elves can whip up the things on this list.
To borrow from Dr. Seuss and his Grinch:
Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas … perhaps … means a little bit more!
Here’s what I want for Christmas:
1. Some freakin’ patience. I’ve been with my children almost nonstop for weeks and there’s more to come as school is out. I’m trying to limit the “no more wire hangers” moments, but it’s rough.
2. A good, old-fashioned smiting. I know that’s usually God’s area, but I thought maybe you could help out a little with the hypocrites screaming that Phil Robertson‘s Freedom of Speech was violated. A&E isn’t the government, Freedom of Speech does not equal Freedom from Consequences, and weren’t these the same people calling the Dixie Chicks traitors?
3. Awareness of others for certain people. They clamor for attention daily (especially on Facebook) but cannot be bothered to remember other people’s birthdays or other important events.
4. Relief from some of the holiday trappings. Call me Scrooge, but I despise the Elf on the Shelf, “The Nutcracker,” and Christmas cards that start arriving right after Thanksgiving. (I hate them because that means the senders have their shit together. I don’t, especially when it come to cards. I’m thinking New Year’s cards sound good. In 2015.)
5. An end to the ridiculous “Merry Christmas” flap. Look, some people are sensitive to the fact that many people don’t celebrate Christmas. It’s not an attack against Christianity to say “Happy Holidays.” Is there NOTHING else to worry about? Oh wait … see No. 2.
6. The chance for Jack Kingston to live within a poor person’s means for a week. Maybe then he will understand that we are not all born equal. Low-income families certainly don’t choose to be low income. To suggest that children sweep floors to earn their subsidized lunches is beyond crass. He’s a real-life Mr. Potter!
7. Blake Shelton.
8. A silencer for anyone who wants to talk about Crossfit. It works. It’s great. Now shut up. It’s like this:
9. Some cold weather. It doesn’t feel like Christmas when it is 77. Does Mrs. Claus need to make another appeal to the Miser Brothers? (My tropical husband disagrees, but whatever.)
10. A return to robustness for the aforementioned tropical husband. He’s been in bed with a fever since Friday. It means I don’t have to worry about No. 8, but that’s sad for him.
Oh yeah, and peace on earth and goodwill to men (which I’d like to include marriage equality and an end to racism and classism, but maybe that’s just me). Also, an end to poverty.
You may not be able to deliver. If not, I understand. It’s short notice, plus it’s a tall order. I know. And we regular humans should really be doing a better job of walking the walk of loving and understanding our neighbors. (Uh oh. Didn’t I just ask for a smiting? All right. I’ll take the coal.)
Thanks anyway. See you tomorrow night!
Still a believer,
Beth
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Observe and report 