Dear Santa (please don't hate me)...

Dear Santa,

I am writing to say "I'm sorry". We are really trying to be in the utmost Christmas spirit this year, but continue to have several challenges. So in my quest to "keep it real", here is a list of some of the things I'm very sorry about.

I hope you can forgive me, and somehow find it in your heart to put me on the "nice" list.

1. My four kids seem greatly unappreciative. When it's this difficult to think of what to buy each of them, doesn't that mean they just have way too much shit? I truly think this is the case, however, I am having a hard time making them see the light. Instead, they just circle catalog items such as a $4,999 youth jeep vehicle and a $1,950 Pottery Barn couch. Oh, and they also wouldn't mind a brand new orange corvette and three more computers with high-speed broadband service because taking turns to play on Webkinz is just not fair. I'm sorry on their behalf.

2. I have been swearing just a little more than normal. Little Sydney just yelled "Shit!" from inside her fort this morning because she couldn't get out in time to answer the telephone. And 5 year old Cooper repeatedly talks about his "ass" and "package". As I remind them how we don't use those types of words in our house, Samantha just mumbles "Jesus Christ" under her breath and Spencer proudly announces to the entire household that he wasn't the one to last yell "Asshole". I'm so sorry.

3. My attitude has been a little on the down side these days, since the announcement of possibly losing my job in early January came to fruition. And worse than losing my job, there's always the chance that I'll be the one chosen to actually stay in my department, while inheriting a territory that will bring even more hours of driving each day, staring at a windshield with nothing else to do but listen to self-therapy talk radio on Oprah and Friends XM Channel 156. My apologies for realizing today that no matter what happens next month, I will bitch and resent the upcoming transition, whether it is accompanied by a paycheck or not.

4. This one's the hardest for me to admit to. Yesterday, while taking all four kids to one of the local Christmas tree farms, my husband and I pulled a trump card. I only hope you can understand how long 35 minutes really feels like when traipsing through snow and ice in 17 degree weather, with four kids who would never come to an agreement on what type of Christmas tree we should bring home to decorate this year. I realize there are many things to consider in such a holy decision such as height, width, fullness, branch length, bushiness and don't forget the absence of any major holes in the center which would not allow for lights or ornaments to evenly flow. Actually, my husband and I thought we were doing quite well with our patience until my 8 year old suddenly shed real tears while insisting a particular 13 foot [biggest, widest fucking tree I've ever laid my eyes on] was the one we must get "...because the bigger the tree, the more presents you get...", we came to the end of our human rope. With that we threw [literally] all four kids in the car, screeched our minivan wheels backwards out of the dirt parking lot only to make a bee-line for our basement storage room where we pulled out a 4-year old fake as Pamela Anderson's titties tree which is now our staple in the family living room. I will not spare you more details.

5. I'm sorry about the Pamela Anderson titty reference above.

And while I don't have any specific items on my personal Christmas Wish List, here's a few things that would inspire me to smile:

• Daughters that brush their teeth a little more regularly.
• Step-sons that have better smelling asses at night.
• Ex-spouses that would move away to Japan. Or Africa. Or anywhere greater than a country length away.
• Support to all those that need it in this country with all going on. I mean the ones who really need it. Please give your energetic magical wishes to them.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year,

Susan