What I Got for Christmas

What I got from Santa:

What I got from my husband, who is a very good sport, with or without a Man Cold:

Loaded with this:

Plus this:

The moral of this story: A good husband is better than a hundred jolly old elves.  

God bless us everyone!

Dear Margaret

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Please forgive this automated response to your message.  I am out delivering toys to good little boys and girls all over the world.  I will return to the office in January after a long winter's nap in Hawaii.

Merry Christmas,

Santa Claus

Dear Santa

Image by dryfish via Flickr

It has recently come to my attention that some naughty little elf has been hacking into my blogger account, pretending to be me and sending mean emails to you.

My goodness!  I am so outraged and upset.  I only wish I had known what was going on.  Unfortunately, I was so busy grading papers, making holiday cookies for neighbors, nursing my poor, sick husband (he had a MAN COLD!!!) and praying with my ever-delightful children that I neglected my blog.  And now my sweet blog been used for evil!  I am really beside myself!

Can you ever forgive me for allowing such a thing to happen?  I still remember that New Born Baby Tender Love you gave me in 1973.  Those were good times, and now this horrible, horrible LIAR has ruined them.  I am actually crying now.  CRYING!

If you do forgive me, can you do one thing for me? Can you please blanket the world in peace and love.  After all, that's what Christmas is all about.

Thank you for all you do and have done.

Much, much, much, much, much love,

Margaret

PS: You are looking so svelte in your latest picture.  Have you lost weight?

Dear Margaret

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I read yesterday's comments.  You think I'm angry?  You think I need Xanax? That's what I get for hundreds of years of selfless giving?

No presents for you!

Well, maybe one, a little one.  Like this.

Why you deserve anything is beyond me.  Damn my jolly good nature.

Santa

Dear Santa

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This?

Margaret

(PS: I would remind you: I did have the teenagers to contend with during the man cold crisis.)

Dear Margaret

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He was SERIOUSLY ill with a fever off 99.6.  It was really more of man flu.

Santa

(NOTE: Margaret has entered into a lively email exchange with Santa.  To start at the beginning, scroll down.)  

Dear Santa

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How about this?

Margaret

(NOTE: Margaret has entered into a lively email conversation with Santa, to start at the beginning scroll down.)

Dear Margaret

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It was a man cold. Have you ever had a man cold?  Of course not.  You're not a man.  Childbirth?  HA! That's nothing.  Downgrade your list because I'll be checking it twice.

Santa

Dear Santa

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I did get him soup.

(NOTE: Margaret has entered into a lively email conversation with Santa.  To start at the beginning, scroll down.) 

Dear Margaret

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A little elf told me you were not showing due respect to your husband's man cold.  I advise you to downgrade your holiday expectations.

Sincerely,

Santa Claus

(NOTE: Margaret has entered into a lively email conversation with Santa.  To start at the beginning scroll down.)

Dear Santa

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Puhleeze.  Fashion-starved elves?  That's your big Occupy drama?  My teenagers invented the Occupy movement.  They Occupy my living room, they Occupy my refrigerator, they Occupy my computer.  That whole human microphone thing?  They've been doing that for years.

"She's copying me."

"She's copying me."

"Stop it."

"Stop it."

"I hate you."

"I hate you."


It's really annoying.

As for your gift idea.  I sort of think it would be wasted on me.  I'm not really an APP kind of girl.  All I want is to read digital books.  I know that sounds sacrilegious, as I know how much you appreciated the fine holiday sales spirit of St. Steve Jobs.  Likewise, I appreciate that you are a wee ticked off about Amazon trying to undercut your prices, but I think I would be better off with this.

Dear Margaret

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Ho, Ho, HA!  You think you've got problems?  Try dealing with the occupy movement. I can't walk outside my workshop without tripping over an elf carrying a sign reading, "We are the 99% (of elves forced to wear candy cane tights and felt hats).  I know.  Their signs are ridiculously long.  But at least they don't swear like the reindeer!

Anyway, if you want that, why not just ask for this?  It can do so much more.  (Besides, you know how naughty Amazon has been.)

Trying to stay jolly,

Santa

Dear Santa

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Dear Santa:

How are you?  I am fine.  I know this is a busy time for you, but we need to talk about the  children.  Ok, let's call a spade a spade: the teenagers.  I know they are on your naughty list.  Heck, they are on my naughty list!  The bickering, the moaning, the whining...and that's just when they learn what's for dinner.  I'm telling you, the Cold War never ended; it just moved into my living room.  Germany had the Berlin Wall; We have a blue curtain running smack down the middle of the their room.  Yesterday, my fourteen-year-old banged her shoe against the kitchen table and demanded that her broccoli be shared with the collective.  

I understand that it would be wrong to reward such deviancy, but, Santa, who really pays the cost when you hand out lumps of coal?  The teenagers?  Of course not.  I pay.  Me.  Have you tried cleaning up coal?  You might as well try to count snowflakes before they melt in your warm hand.  And what about the tears running down the coal-receiving urchins' faces?  Have you actually mixed tears and coal?  Have you?  I don't think you have.  It's a fricking mess!  No amount of naughty is worth that.

I'm gonna be honest with you, Santa.  You're a little like a bad date.  You're lots of fun as long as you get what you want, but scratch the surface and you're kind of a judgmental prick.  (You ordered a second glass of wine?  No dessert for you!)

Look:  You made this whole consumerist frenzy, what with your little mall visits and your TV specials and your cute little reindeer songs. You did this, and so, I'm sorry, you've got to deliver.

Do the teens deserve it?

No.

Will the teens be grateful?

Of course not.

The point shouldn't be whether or not the teens are naughty.  The point should be if the mothers have been naughty.  Bad mothers?  Sure.  Maybe they deserve a wall scrawled with coal.  But you and I both know that I have been good.  (Must I remind you of the Girl Scout outing to see The Three Muskateers?)

Am I saying you MUST give my children gifts?  No.  Am I saying you probably should give ME a gift?  Yes.   That being said, here is what I want.

Hugs and kisses,

Margaret

Goddess of the Week: Pele

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Jenny is feeling overworked and under-inspired.  She needs a goddess of passion.  She needs the Hawaiian volcano goddess Pele.

According to Hawaiians, all volcanic activity is caused by Pele.  She had a bunch of sisters and numerous husbands, many of which she "accidentally" burned.  The fact of the matter is, she was a bit fickle when it came to men.  She would hang around all sleepy and quiet for years and years and years, and then she would find the man of her dreams and WAKE UP.  Inspiration would flow through her, and it was all she could do not to create little island after little island.  Unfortunately, the men she loved weren't always that into her because she was pretty high maintenance.  If she got tired of you: POOF!  You were literally lava-lamped.  If you got tired of her: Poof!  You were also lava-lamped.    Plus, she had these low maintenance hula girl sisters who were always stealing her thunder.  Which of course meant: Poof!  Lamp-lamped!

Still, what you've gotta love about Pele is that she totally understood how passion flowers best after periods of dormancy.  She wasn't out there 24/7 making islands.  No.  She would create, then she'd rest, then she'd create. She understood that, in fact, creativity requires dormancy.  It demands that one lay fallow now and then so that one's very spark can be lighted anew.  Personally, I would prefer a little bit more control over that spark. Would that one could turn it on and off like a lightbulb.  Alas, no such luck, at least in my case.  But take comfort, Jenny, inspiration in such a gifted soul as yours will return.  Just turn out the light.  Sleep.  Rest.  When you're body is ready, your spark will be too.