Monday, December 18, 2006

Dear Santa:

When you come to our house, early this year, could you please find the sense of humor I seem to have misplaced? I would also like the ability to

a) turn myself off so that I smile politely but float in a happy place when people get off on topics that wind me up,

b) speak with grace and conviction on such topics before turning myself off,


c) enjoy myself in the moment while visiting relatives.

Please don't spoil Lizzie any more than she's already been spoiled. She gets everything she's ever wanted, either from me, her father, her family and friends, or you. You are her repository for transitory desires. Whatever she thinks she wants, in other words, she adds to a verbal list and promptly delivers to your proxy (me). And then, wha la, she gets it. How in the world is she going to deal with adversity? With desires delayed? Denied? Destroyed?

Maybe I should invent a reason to punish her? Make her suffer? Doesn't suffering build character?

That's what Dad always believed, anyway. And look how we turned out.

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