Santa, Baby

Dear Santa,

I hope you are doing well. It's been quite some time since I last wrote; in fact, at the time of the last letter I thought a semi-colon was simply a fancy comma! Ha! Yes, I know! It's been a very long time.

I usually send correspondence to your email address, but this is a last minute thing and I figure since most kids are sending emails, the regular mail might, ironically, get to you more quickly. Yes, I even learned how to properly use the term 'ironic' since our last chat.  Ha ha ha. 

I hear Rudolph's line of tanning beds is doing marvellously well-- you should really not be too upset with him for going out on his own-- it's not like it's super foggy every year and a deer needs to provide for his family. How does the ad go again?  "Unless you're a snowman, there's no need to go untanned. Let the red lights at Rudy's give you back your healthy glow!"

It's nice to know Rudolph's not the "buck-and-run" type-- he supports his fauns as any good papa should. We all know the mess Dasher got into Christmas '03.  Just sayin'.

How's Mrs. Claus? How's life in the North Pole? Sometimes, Santa, I complain that I don't want to cook another meal and can't possibly do another load of laundry or I will scream. And then I remember how far away from fast food that you live, and how Mrs. Claus surely has more cooking and cleaning to do than I do, and I stop complaining. Just keeping you fat and jolly would be more than anything I have to do here.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I need something for Christmas.  Oh, I know you've already read my mind and said, "No iPad!" but really, I need a new case for my phone. See, uh, it's had an accident.

I was changing Kiddo #2. We cloth diaper (as you know, because a couple of years ago I put some TotsBots diapers on my wish list since they're kinda pricey, and you came through for me!) so when Kiddo #2 does a #2, I have to kinda peel it out of the diaper and flush it.  It doesn't take more than a second, and I use a baby wipe as a barrier between my hand and the poop, and besides, that's not the point.

So there I was, holding my cellie in my left hand and the poop in the right hand. I walked over to the toilet, Santa, and plopped the not-quite-solid mass in. Did I mention, Santa, that Kiddo #2 has been teething like crazy (all four eye-teeth at the same time, and they're the only ones he doesn't have) and has been crying and clingy and has a super raw-butt? Oh, well, then I probably neglected to tell you that he's had the runs for over a week now, which is also really awesome.

So I plopped the junk into the toilet while my phone buzzed to tell me I had a text message. I, having dealt with the stinky thing, looked to my left hand, flipped my phone over so I could read the message. This, by the way, was the precise moment Kiddo #2 decided he needed to weave his gigantic baby body between my legs like a cat. Like a CAT, I say.

The dialogue sounded something like this:

Me: Uh, woaah. Woah. Wooooahh, Kiddo, woaah, Number, uhhh, ahhh, Two!
(close-up of phone flopping around in left hand like a dying fish)
Me: oohh, uh, oooooh!
(close-up of phone flipping, slo-mo up into the air, end over end over end over end)
Plop.
(close-up of my face, contorted, screaming, also in slo-mo, "Noooooooooooooooooooooooo.")

And, quick as a wink, before I could think, I plunged my hand into the toilet after my precious baby! Santa, remember how I used to send email after email about how all I wanted for Christmas was an iPhone? And how I promised to feed the dog every day if I got one? And how I promised to not complain about doing the laundry or making dinner if only I could have an iPhone?

Well, those were lies, but still, I love my phone. Really love her.

Into the poopy toilet I threw my hand, with no regard for my own personal safety. I grabbed the phone pulled it out of the toilet. I ripped off the leather case like a daddy pulling a boy off his daughter at the movies, and ran to the kitchen to perform CPR. And, by CPR, I mean "wipe it down with disinfectant while cursing under my breath" and then, I did what any hero would've done.

I, with great sadness and hope, ran downstairs and plunged my phone deep into the centre of the rice table.  I've heard that rice sucks out moisture (apparently it's maybe also good for arthritis? Try it out on your hands on the 25th and let me know if it works for you), so after testing my phone to see that it at least turned on, I buried it in the rice table for the rest of the afternoon.

(Don't wonder why we have a table of rice, Santa. We bring in the water table you brought last Christmas for the winter, and instead of just having it hang out with no purpose, I fill it with rice so the children can still play and if it gets everywhere, the dog can eat it.)

But, Santa. Oh Santa. Upon careful deliberation, I've decided the worst part of that whole scene wasn't the sticking-my-arm-in-a-poopy-toilet part. It was being without my precious phone for the better part of an afternoon. (and using that alone time to scrub "the crap" outta my arm. The shame of my obsessive-compulsive disorder is represented in the bring pink hue of my left hand to elbow. Sigh.)

So, lovely fat man, I need a new phone case. In the last week since "The Incident" I've lost my phone 5 times in the vastness of my (empty, pre-holiday, post-shopping) wallet. I'm not used to my phone being so streamlined and skinny. I need a big, chunky (poop-resistant?) case for her.

I know I'm getting down to the wire here, Santa, baby, but if you could hook me up, I'd be most obliged. I'll even leave those mint chocolate cookies from the Girl Guides out for you. And ORGANIC carrots for the reindeer.

Love,

Sunny




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