Dear Santa,
As I sit curled up on my couch in my silent living room admiring the little colored lights twinkling on my beautifully decorated Christmas tree, I can't help but reflect on the past year. I smile as Bing Crosby's melodic voice softly fills the air and the scent of freshly baked gingerbread wafts in from my toasty kitchen signaling the commencement of the holiday season. While my kids are sleeping soundly in their beds, I'm sipping creamy eggnog from a crystal glass and taking a few minutes to write to you.
I suppose I should start by saying that the whole first paragraph is a big fat lie. I guess you already know that, huh? What with you being Santa and all. I mean, if you know when we're sleeping and when we're awake, then I guess you know that my kids aren't sleeping soundly in their beds at all. One is passed out on the floor of the living room after throwing a tantrum because I wouldn't let her eat the gingerbread ornaments she made 3 years ago. Another one is playing Xbox in his room, the sounds of gunfire coming through his closed door.
CONTINUE READING HERE!
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