I put up all the Christmas Crap today: tree, wreath, stockings, etc. If I wanted to, I could blog about Christmas light trauma, but I really don't want to relive it. To summarize, lights attached to the tree are a great idea--until the lights quit working.
Instead, here is Sophie's Santa letter, as dictated to E this morning at 6:30 while I was still asnooze in my bed.
Dear Santa Clause,
My name is Sophie Gene.
I want a (Like how she cuts right to the chase?)
1. Super Rocket Snowboard
2. Racer Scooter
3. Dinosaur set for Dad
4. Pom Pom
5. A baby like Bianca's
6. Polly Pocket set with a Jacuzzi, camera, and sunglasses
7. Music box
8. Magnet set that makes a cool monkey
9. Phone number set
10. Glowing Ariel that sings
11. Pom pom sister wig
12. Digging dinosaur bones set
13. Pop up elephant that pops up butterflies
14. My own sproinging Christmas tree
15. A green and pink basket for Bianca
16. My own carriage with real horses
17. Cleaning list like Cinderella's
18. Ariel Vanity
I've been good.
I'm afraid she's going to be pretty disappointed. Last year she played with most of her Christmas toys for about 1 day. The Disney Princess talking vanity was a total piece of shit. The Polly Pocket beading machine was worse than a piece of shit. It was a piece of shit with eighty-million pieces and a battery. She's getting a scooter, a couple of new Barbies, and the rest of her stuff is going to be well made, and learning/craft centered--not because I'm a good granola mommy, but because that's the stuff she plays with.
That said, Christmas is such a good influence on Miss Sophie Gene. I feel equal parts hella guilty (you know--because of the lying and coersion) and elated, but the "be good or Santa won't bring you any toys" works like a fucking magic charm with that girl. I'm serious. She's totally minding, picking up her shit, and did I mention, minding? This weekend was absolutely dreamy. It must be so nice to be the parent of a child that does what you say--like--all the time. Oh--and after she finished her Santa letter, she drew a picture for Mrs. Santa because, "Mommy, I bet Mrs. Santa doesn't get very much mail."
Today's best thing about being a mom:
Seeing Christmas through the eyes of someone who still thinks it's magical and wonderful and not a huge damn pain in the ass. Oh, and watching "The Grinch." Not the Jim Carrey one. The awesome old-school one with Boris Karlof.
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
Well I ever, ever be able to sleep in until noon on a Sunday again?