Dear Santa:

I have finally figured out what I want for Christmas. No, not my two front teeth. No, not a shiny new car parked in the driveway with a big, red bow on top. No, nothing that costs a lot of money. The thing that will be on the top of my Christmas list this year? One day without drama. Just 24 hours, from midnight to midnight, with everyone coexisting in the same house, with no tears, yelling, screaming, slamming doors, and everyone talking the entire 24 hours in a normal tone of voice. Too much to ask, you say? You could probably just go ahead and go shopping, 'cause this one wish even you can't grant. Why such an odd request, you ask? Walk with me back through the past 72 hours of my life...

Thursday was the Christmas parade in our neighboring town. We've never been to that one, because we always go to the parade in our town. But Oldest Child's dance team was dancing in the parade, and being the supportive mother that I am, I had to go watch her. So off we go, only to discover that the only route I know has the roads already blocked. Uh, oh. Don't know a plan B. Oh, wait...somehow we've found the back of the building where she needs to be. Of course, that wasn't good enough. That wasn't where she wanted to be dropped off. I should have known that was my warning of what was to come. By the time the parade got to where we were standing, all of the girls looked angry. And noone was, hmmm, dancing. Should have been clue #2. So when the parade was over, we waited for OC to come find us. And waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, we decide to go walk and try to find her. At long last, we meet up. The scrowl on her face should have been clue #3. I knew better than to ask her how it went. Every ounce of my being told me not to ask her how the parade was. Unfortunately, I didn't listen. You got it...I asked. And she proceeded to tell me how horrible, awful, rotten their performance was. The drama that ensued on the trip home is not even blog-able. Use your imagination.

So today was the Christmas parade in our town. Again, the dance team was scheduled to perform. After the fiasco that was Thursday's parade, the dance team decided to ride on a trailer and throw candy. Personally, I've dubbed it "the dance team that doesn't". They didn't dance, but they were speaking at the end; does that mean we call this a win?

Then fast forward to our house after the parade. Youngest Child casually asks, "Why is the cat dish outside?" Then starts bawling. Nevermind the cat bowl has been in the same exact place on the deck for the past week. Nevermind that Youngest Child hasn't asked about the cat since at least Sunday (how do I know, you ask...because that's when Dear Hubby put the cat outside). But for some strange reason, she chose today to inquire about the cat. We have been debating this drastic relocation of the cat for some time. We have tried everything we know how to try; we have used every remedy our vet suggested. But the cat still insists on marking his territory in my house but outside of his litter box. I kept trying to side with the cat because he really is a sweet cat. And Dear Hubby and I have seen the cat everyday this week, so we know he's still here. But when we came home from Thanksgiving and every bedpost in the house had been marked, that was the last straw. I, being the supportive mother I am, made DH do the dirty deed. I merely set the bowl outside; he did the rest. But today, for some strange reason, YC decided to inquire about Reggie. She has been in tears since. She missed a Sunday school Christmas party because she couldn't bear to leave looking for the cat. She only looks forelornley out the back window...and cries.

So you see, Santa, a day with no drama is all that's on my wish list this year. And if you could find that in your bag as you land on my rooftop on Christmas Eve, I will be forever indebted to you.

Sincerely, your BFF,
Fabthemayor