Letter lifted from a “feature” in our homeowners association’s monthly propaganda rag newsletter, received this morning.

Dear Snarky 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 son’s boy scout uniform 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 any more free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I’d like a pair of legs that don’t ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don’t hurt or flap in the breeze; but are strong enough to pull my screaming child 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 fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult 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 doll that says, “Yes, Mommy” to boost my parental confidence, along with 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.

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 my holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will 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.

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 door and come in and dry off 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.

Dear MartyrMommy,

Snarky Santa thinks the only reason she made it through this entire “letter” is because she needed to get her blood going this morning to get out to The Container Store for 50%-off wrapping paper.

Lady, you don’t need anything from Snarky Santa. You have complete control over your situation so don’t try to guilt Snarky Santa into your little hovel of misery. What you need is a good exercise regime, better eating habits and oh yeah, a backbone. As far as appreciation from your children for “all you’ve done”, sorry, that’s never been part of the parenting contract. If you didn’t know that going in, then Snarky Santa can’t help you with that, either.

You are so on your way way to either camping out in your front yard in Mommy Protest or cancelling Christmas. Do you not see that?

Don’t misunderstand Snarky Santa. She may be childfree, but she’s never been a parent-basher unless she reads things like your letter, which completely turned her stomach. She realizes this letter was probably written in jest, with the hope that all of the other moms just like you out there will frantically nod their heads in unified agreement, but these are the same women who like to discreetly tell Snarky Santa what she is missing out on by not having kids. No wonder you didn’t sign your real name.

News flash…you chose to have children. Snarky Santa is fully aware, at the age of 33, what parenthood would entail…both good and bad. But…she also has always been of the opinion that when you choose to do something, you take both the good and the bad and you don’t complain about the bad because, well, you chose to do it. Just because ten years down the road things aren’t the way you idealistically thought they would be, that doesn’t mean you get to ask for a bailout.

Sorry, no sympathy here. Snarky Santa will see if she has a spare backbone in her big red bag for you but (a) that was a popular item on Mom Lists this year and (b) if she can find one, you’re going to have to work for it.

All of the things you want Snarky Santa to provide in your letter are completely within your power. As soon as you realize that and take responsibility for yourself as a woman and a mother and quit asking non-entities for “help,” you may get the backbone. Until you can admit that you have complete control over the situation but you’re either too weak, too wussy or not assertive enough to exert that control, you will continue to get railroaded.

Radio playing adult music? Change the station.
Television showing non-children’s programming? Change the station.

Can’t brush your teeth and comb your hair in the same day? Nice. Did you use that same routine to snag your husband and get him to have sex with you to create your little prodigies? Snarky Santa thinks not. Get up half an hour earlier and show some respect for yourself! Believe it or not, kids don’t like sloppy moms.

And by the way, Snarky Santa’s mom sewed the patches onto her Girl Scout uniform. Staples and a glue gun? Are you kidding me?

Don’t tell Snarky Santa you were too busy because she bets a hundred bucks you’re a stay-at-home-mom. Her mom worked full-time and was able to do everything you did without whining to her local homeowners association’s propaganda rag.

Back in the snarky spirit,
Snarky Santa