Dear Santa;

I know it’s been a few years since I’ve sent you a letter. I can tell you that I’ve been very busy and awfully good; I’m just sorry it’s taken so long since my last letter. I hope you, Mrs. Claus, the elves and all the reindeer are doing well.

But, enough with the small talk, let’s get down to business, shall we?

My Christmas Wish List:

• A well fitting bra that holds The Girls in place - high and proud. No underwire to protrude into my chest, or my armpits and maybe even has the ability to transform The Girls into luscious and full boobies rather then oranges hanging out in the bottom of nylons.
• Bladder control - not in the form of Depends undergarments either. I mean, the honest to God ability to hold in my own urine while sneezing, laughing, coughing, and throwing up. There is nothing more demoralizing for a young woman than being perched in front of The Porcelain God, spewing forth all one’s eaten throughout the day while having the complete and utter inability to not pee her pants. Not to mention how mortifying it is see the look on her husband’s face when he sees her grey jogging pants, urine soaked.
• A Spa Day. A day to clean up the past three months of neglect I have bestowed upon my body. Eye brow waxing, a cut color and style, a manicure and pedicure as well as a GREAT massage complete with NO guilt.
• A HUGE supply of soother and sippy cups. I can’t believe how fast those things disappear - and at the most inopportune times.
• I would also appreciate immunity from poo diapers. I believe it’s only fair that Mom’s have done all the hard work of growing and nurturing, then pushing a child into this world, we should be immune to changing shit filled diaper.
• Banishment of morning sickness. Enough said.
• Oh, and I can’t forget the stunningly beautiful laptop I’ve been longing for over the last six months.
• How about throwing in a nice big stunner of a diamond ring because I’m worth it. Wait. Isn’t that a L’Oreal tag line?

Please tell me why the slowest most incompetent people seem to work in fast food. Explain it; because after all these years I am still baffled by the number of orders mixed up, the slow service and incompetence of many of the employees.

People, it’s not hard to build a burger, put it in a bag with some fries and press the damn button for some pop. It even has PICTURES to help you out!

At the local fast food joint today:

Man orders a hamburger combo and would like cheese added to it.

Lady making burger misunderstood THREE times that the gentleman would like all the regular toppings AND cheese.

Man: Classic combo with cheese, french fries and a coke.

Lady: Cheese?

Man: Yes, with cheese.

Lady: Only cheese?

Man: No, cheese as well as regular toppings.

Lady: plain with cheese?

Man (looking around store - I presume for the hidden camera): No. The classic hamburger, with all the toppings, and cheese on top of that.

Lady: That costs more.

Man: I’m aware of that, please… the hamburger.

Lady: Just the hamburger?

Man: No. The whole combo. Hamburger. Fries. And pop.

Thank God I had another server or I would have ran out of there screaming like my hair was on fire.

so I won’t tell you that I feel better. I won’t say that some days are still crappy and others I feel like I’m 110% human again.

I won’t mention anything about not having to throw up or the fact that I may have even had dinner three consecutive nights.

I wouldn’t want to ruin the off chance that morning sickness is slowly moving out of town by telling you that I cleaned my kitchen from top to bottom, even scrubbing the finger prints off the kitchen chairs.

Nope. Not me.

I’d never be able to live with myself had I mentioned all that and found myself praying to The Porcelain God once again this evening.

I’m just saying.

By the way, this US Turkey Holiday? Seriously why don’t y’all just take the entire week off? Four day weekends? Pftttt.

And I wanted to apologize once again for being such a horrible blog citizen these past oh, I dunno, 14 weeks. I haven’t been commenting at all nor paying much attention to comments here. I really enjoyed responding to all your comments through email and on the site, so I WILL get back to it soon. Swear. And my commenting on your site? Will start again SOON! Just know that I am reading!

Just waiting for that unmentionable sickness to take a hint and realize it’s not welcome here.

Carter has an obsession. It came on suddenly and with vengeance. Sure he’s had strong liking for Dora and Diego before, but this is MORE then that. This car, Lightning McQueen, now rules the roost.

[For those unfamiliar with McQueen, he's the lead character of the Disney Pixar movie Cars. ]

I mean, sure the movie’s cute and fun, even for adults, but when it comes to watching it over and over Every. Single. Night. after dinner, it’s a little much. I swear on Baby Jesus I’ve seen the movie more in the past 2 months then I’ve seen Anything! in my life. Being couch ridden in the evening has no helped my plight; I’m trapped!

After dinner each night Carter washes his hands and asks politely, “Wah McKeen?” (Watch McQueen) repeatedly until he gets the answer he so desires.

Ignore him and the questions come as one long string: “WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen?”

If I’m holding him in my arms when he finally senses that I’m ignoring his question he will softly hold my face in his hands while contorting his head to look me in the eyes and say:

“WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen, Mommy?WahMcKeen?WahMcKeen?Mommy, WahMcKeen?”

A trip to Costco this week, for new tires, resulted in a complete and utter melt down in the toy aisle because I failed to scour the store for any Christmas toys of this fair automobile.

There he was, gleaming in his nice crisp windowed box, a remote control McQueen. Carter was all over that shit like a fat kid on a Smartie. Attempting to pull McQueen into his tiny, yet ruthless grasp, he nearly toppled the entire display.

While he jumped up and down pointing and screeching “McKeen! McKenn! McKeen!”everyone smiled as they passed. But! Once I had enough of standing in the aisle pretending to be as excited as the little ankle biter, all HELL broke loose. As the tears trickled down his face, the customers smiles faded and were replaced with looks of horror. The aisle cleared faster then a public washroom after someone drops a deuce.

Where was his father you’re wondering? Well, in the car and tool aisle of course.

Funny how everyone LOVES your kid until they have a meltdown.

Seriously? Do they have a support group for these obsessed little toddlers?