Dear Santa, I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on  demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor and sold sixty-two  cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school  playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several  Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on  the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when  I'll find anymore free time in the next 18 years. Here are my Christmas wishes: I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which  I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze, but are  strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the  grocery store. I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of  my last pregnancy. If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant  windows and a radio that only plays adult music, a television that doesn't  broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a  secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone. On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, 'Yes, Mommy' to  boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three  pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools. I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting 'Don't eat in the  living room' and 'Take your hands off your brother,' because my voice seems  to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the  dog. If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time  to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of  eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a  Styrofoam container. If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the  holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable?  It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could  coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if  they were the bosses of an organized crime family. Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is calling and my son saw my feet under  the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip  and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so  you don't catch cold. Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs  on the carpet. Yours Always, MOM... P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my  children young enough to believe in Santa. *Santa has asked that this gets passed on to all the mommies you know