This year for Christmas, I’m not going to pretend like all I want is time with my family. I’m going to tell you what I really want. Here’s my Christmas wish list:
I want new yoga pants because I take my real pants off as soon as I walk in the door and then I get holes in all of them because I crawl around on the floor with my kids.
I want just one car ride without the Frozen soundtrack playing in the background.
I want one picture where everyone is looking at the camera and nobody is blurry or blinking. And I want to print it out and hang it in our living room so that people know that there was at least one moment in time when my kids had clean faces and matching clothes.
I want new earrings, even though the only time I can ever wear them is on date night since my baby pulls them until my ears are red.
I want a spa day so that I can actually feel like I’m a woman again instead of a mom-bun-sporting, yoga-pants-wearing, baby-food-in-my-hair mess.
I want a new white comforter for our master bedroom so that I can at least have one room in the house with something that is romantic.
I want gift cards to my favorite stores and a day of child-free shopping. And it wouldn’t hurt if I looked amazing in everything I tried on, either.
I want a year’s supply of chocolate. And I don’t want to share it.
I want planned and paid for date nights so that we actually go on dates instead of putting off plans until the last minute and ending up bringing the kids with us to Taco Bell.
I want a gift card for a massage because last time I went the masseuse told me I should get them more often. And that was before I had kids.
I want new perfume so I don’t always have to smell like baby poop and spit-up.
I want a new vacuum so I can try to stay on top of all the food and dirt the kids spread all over the carpets and actually enjoy using it.
I want a thoughtful gift that my husband has put time into that reminds me of why I married him in the first place.
I want a maid service to come and clean my entire house, and I don’t want to be there to see their looks of disgust when they find month-old food particles hidden by my toddler.
I want a gym membership so I won’t feel as guilty eating that third cookie after my kids go to bed.
I want a date where I don’t have to make the restaurant reservation or call and arrange a babysitter.
Get me any one of these things from this Christmas wish list, and we can talk about kissing under the mistletoe.