Mothers like to get gifts. We like to be pampered a little bit because we are always doing for others. It is nice to be thought of ( if only for a moment ) as somebody other than the woman that feeds me, kisses me too much, and makes me do stupid stuff, like make my bed and apologize to my sister for stepping on her face. When the Holidays arrive, pretty little packages tied up with string do make us happy (we can be a bit acquisitive after all), but if you really want to know what moms want, I will tell you…
For Santa Claus to pay our kids a visit
Sometimes I want St. Nick, the jolly ol’ son of a bitch himself, to show up in my living room while my kids are trying to strangle each other and say, “hey kiddies, you better check yourself before your wreck yourself or there won’t be any bundles of joy for you under that damn tree. Straighten up and fly right for your Mom and Dad or you are gonna be sorry. Real sorry. Got it?” Then I want him to fade into glitter that gently falls from the sky. You see this way, they will be scared, but it will still be kind of magical. I love Santa and I need him. As far as my kids know, he is judging them all the time. I have tried these threats myself, but it never seems to work. Probably because I always cave any buy them presents anyway.
I want rubber walls installed in my house. Sterilized rubber walls, in every room, please. I would like extra padding in our main living area where most of the shenanigans take place. I would also like these walls to suck up boogers, dirt, blood, coffee, piss and skid marks. This way, nobody gets hurt, including me. Scrubbing down walls is serious business. I think I have tennis elbow to prove it.
An elf that can do shit on his own
I love the Elf, I do. When he first comes back from the North Pole anyway. The hubbs and I get really into it and make him do all sorts of tricks. Then I get lazy. I mean, sometimes it is nice to pass out on the sofa after sucking back too much nog, with the Hallmark channel whispering to me in the background. I start to fall into a delicious slumber, until I am jolted awake, remembering I forgot to move the little red shit. His tricks always have to be epic too. If they aren’t, you will constantly be reminded of the time he spelled out” be good” with m&m’s or the time he was bathing in a sink full of marshmallows. By the end of the season, you see your kids giving him the side eye, telling him that he sucks. Really Elf, pull it together. Do shit on your own. Oh, and make sure it is spectacular. Every time.
To eat and eat and eat
I want cookie dough and stuffing. Gravy and fruit cake. I want to eat it all. Not just a serving size either. Who eats a half cup of stuffing? I don’t want part of my preparation for attending a holiday party to include eating 12 pounds of veggies so I don’t over do it on the pigs in the blanket. Or the bacon wrapped shrimp. Oh, and the fudge! Every time I see fudge I have a tendency to whisper stuff like, “come to mama.” Don’t put a limit on fudge. I want to enjoy all of these things without adding anymore love to my handles. I am still waiting on that free pass. The free pass we should have from Halloween to New Years Eve, so anything we consume that is above our recommended daily calorie allotment just kind of, you know, fucks off. Or fades to glitter, whatever.
To say something only one time
Yes! One time, and one time only. I can not image what this would be like. I don’t know what I would do with all the extra energy and my rested vocal cords if I didn’t have to constantly repeat myself. I could probably learn to sing and dance like Jennifer fucking Lopez. After all, without saying the same things over and over, a million times a day, my kids and husband would probably miss the sound of my voice, so really it would be a gift for the whole family.
A little bit unrealistic? Maybe. I guess I could just settle for some fudge instead. The J. Lo dance lessons would be nice too…
Katie Smith had three kids in three years and crafts her ass off in order to stay sane. She loves to write, wear faux leather pants, eat at burger joints, and make beautiful things. She pays her kids to rub her feet and play with her hair. You can see more on her blog www.philigry.com, Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/katie.binghamsmith and Instagram: https://instagram.com/katiebinghamsmith/