Inspiration

During the last session of our teaching workshop, participants were asked to state their personal goals for the immediate future.

One teacher vowed to update photo albums, another to lose weight. The goal that got the most response, however, was given by a slightly out-of-shape kindergarten teacher.

"I resolve to exercise until I can complete a 20-minute workout in less than an hour," she said.

Debbie wasn't home, and it was getting awfully late. Not knowing any of her girlfriend's phone numbers, her Mother fired-up Debbie's computer and saw a list of email addresses.

She sent a note to each name asking if they knew where her daughter was.

Within twenty minutes, she got back 16 replies all saying that she wasn't to worry, that Debbie was spending the night at their house and had neglected to telephone.

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned, and cuddled my two children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor, sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground and figured out how to attach nine patches onto my daughter's girl scout sash with staples and a glue gun.

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 after a day of chasing kids (in any color, except purple, which I already have)

and arms that don't flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to carry a screaming toddler 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 a car with fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays big-people 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 daughter doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with one potty-trained toddler, 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.

And please don't forget the Play-doh Travel Pack, the hottest stocking stuffer this year for mothers of preschoolers.

It comes in three fluorescent colors and is guaranteed to crumble on any carpet making the in-laws' house seem just like mine.

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 would 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; or if my toddler didn't look so cute sneaking downstairs in his pajamas to eat contraband ice cream at midnight.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is ringing 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 chimney and come in and dry off by the fire 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.

Your's Always, Mom

P.S. One more thing: You can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young!

Barbecuing - It's the only type of cooking a "real" man will do.

When a man volunteers to do such cooking, the following chain of events is put into motion:

(1) The woman goes to the store.

(2) The woman fixes the salad, vegetables, and dessert.

(3) The woman prepares the meat for cooking, places it on a tray along with the necessary cooking utensils, and takes it to the man, who is lounging beside the grill, drinking a beer.

(4) The man places the meat on the grill.

(5) The woman goes inside to set the table and check the vegetables.

(6) The woman comes out to tell the man that the meat is burning.

(7) The man takes the meat off the grill and hands it to the woman.

(8) The woman prepares the plates and brings them to the table.

(9) After eating, the woman clears the table and does the dishes.

(10) The man asks the woman how she enjoyed "her night off."

And, upon seeing her annoyed reaction, concludes that there's just no pleasing some women.