Dear Santa,

I haven't been particularly good this year, but seeing as you like to spoil children who couldn't possibly be any better than poor little me, I figured I still had a shot. First and foremost, I'd like to remind you what I must put up with so that you'll understand my goodness (it's all about perspective, you see).

Number one is approaching sixteen and talks of nothing but driving and dating, with which neither am I entirely comfortable, but I have managed to not lock her in her room or disgrace her in front of her friends. A good deed if ever there was one.

Number two has made excellent progress over the years, even in the face of teen-age hormones. I drive him to school every day and take him to the library on a regular basis (though I must draw the line at letting him live at Borders). I allow him turns on the computer (a big deal, believe you me!), and the fact that he has not turned into a homicidal maniac shows a great deal of effort in the mother department, does it not?

Number three is hyper-active and moody and must be hitting puberty rather early, which is entirely unfair, but do you hear me complaining? Have I beat him senseless? No. This should prove something. He may yet turn out well, but I will hold judgement until after he turns eighteen. There was the incident with the broken dining room table, but I've already apologized for that.

Four has tyrannical tendencies that I've done all in power to squash. She is mostly good, though slightly annoying, and gets very good grades. I know, I had nothing to do with it, but cut me a break, would ya?

Five... well, sure I love him, too. Yes I do. I can still talk, which means I have not screamed myself hoarse in the face of number five. He has not banned me from his room, even though I make him bathe, so that MUST mean he forgives me... you can follow his example and cut me a little slack.

Six is trying to kill me, and himself, I'd wager. The high speed pencil up my nose, if you'll recall, and multiple beatings with pencil-swords, Lego-swords, stick-swords, and other types of swords--balls and other toys thrown at my person, and multiple acts of two-year-old violence have not yet induced more than an occasional growl on my part. While I cannot claim sole responsibility for keeping him alive--the dresser he scaled did not crush him when it fell, the passing driver did not kidnap him as he wandered down the street unsupervised, and the big knife he pulled from the dishwasher to wave around like a (you guessed it,sword!) killed and cut no one--there are countless other disasters I've helped to prevent...

Perhaps, in light of all my goodness, you can overlook my evil tendencies and selfish hiding of the good chocolates. I do keep The Horde in relatively clean condition, fed and watered and moderately well dressed. The winter vermin infestation is not my fault. And if I let the cats play with the mice I catch in the live-trap, is that so bad? What I ask for is a very small miracle, the kind that would not put you out in the least... I've already petitioned God for the big stuff, so maybe you can get this while he finds me fortune and glory... I would really like a quicker way to make those carrot muffin waffles.

P.S.-- Godivas are good, too.