I’ve used my essential oils. I’ve recycled. I’ve made bone broth. In short, I’ve been a good crunchy mama this year. So I think I deserve some of the awesome loot I’ve been eyeing (among other things). Because I know it’s hard to shop for someone who reeks of patchouli, I’ve enclosed a list of things I’m pining for this Christmas/Solstice.
Chickens and a Chicken Coop
Santa, if you don’t bring me anything else, bring me this. Sure, the hens will get savaged by foxes, and every egg I get will cost me triple in feed and medication and care than those no-cage organic eggs I snag at Whole Foods. These chickens will be my friends. They will sit on my lap. They will happily produce eggs for my family to eat, who will happily consume them even though all the kids hate scrambled eggs and deviled eggs and hardboiled eggs and basically, eggs. Also, these eggs will come with chicken shit smeared on them. That’s the sign of true love.
Canning Books, Pots, Jars, etc.
Basically, Santa, I want everything you need to can because I am going to can the shit out of all the things. I am going to pickle. I am going to candy. I am going to render fresh vegetables into BPH-free, aluminum-free, never-frozen masterpieces. Just wait ’til peach season. I will can so many peaches, we’ll have to give them to the homeless. And I solemnly swear I won’t give anyone botulism.
Who am I kidding? This shit will take up space in my kitchen, mocking me through years and harvests, and never ever get used ever. Because botulism. And because I have a freezer. But it’ll up my hippie bona fides!
All the Waldorf Toys
I want that stupid fabric elf. I want the wooden rainbow. I want the treehouse, complete with organic wooden dolls jointed with organic hempen rope, tiny furniture, and tiny cat and dog. I want the super-expensive Bamboletta doll, complete with rainbow hair and brown skin and ring sling with its own tiny doll. I want all the wooden things. This is, of course, for my child.
A Year’s Supply of Nag Champa
In case you didn’t know, Nag Champa is a fragrance of Indian origin. Any hippie worth her all-natural deodorant crystals burns it as incense whenever anything stinky happens in the house — from diaper changes to pet accidents to cooking greens. It makes the house smell like a college dorm room whose residents are trying to cover up the pot smell, and maybe there’s some of that going on too. I don’t know what state laws you adhere to, Santa, so don’t ask, don’t tell.
A Woven Wrap
Bitch, I graduated from the Moby long ago. Now I want something handwoven with unicorn fur and elf hair in a twill weave with rainbow colors, please — running through the weft, not the warp — in a size 6 so I can do all the carries I like to do the best. I’d tell them to you, but your eyes would just glaze over, and you’d wonder how the fuck someone could put a baby on their back in that many different ways.
Okay, so I’d have to mail my milk to someplace that would, like, crystalize it or cryogenically freeze it or just somehow turn it into rock through the power of crazy. Then they set it in some jewelry, like a ring or a locket, and bam! You get to save your breastmilk forever. It’s like some kind of weird Catholic relic, only it’s yours. I must have this.
All the Menstrual Products
Screw pads and tampons, Santa. I want to bleed onto the unconventional. Give me a Diva Cup in all its silicon, oh-crap-will-this-spill glory. Give me sea sponges, which are Greek and all-natural and hence, better than all things. Give me crocheted and cloth and knitted reusable tampons, which might freak some people out, but not me! And then, for those heavy days, give me some handmade organic pads with many layers, including something called Zorb. Give me light-day pads without Zorb. Give me pantyliners that are basically just layers of flannel sewn together. I want to bleed like an environmentally conscious, Whole Foods-shopping, wheat-grass-growing hippie.
That One Diaper
You know the one. It’s got that print that’s super hot right now, and everyone wants one, but it’s a limited edition, because limited cloth diapers are a thing. This diaper will complete my collection and will look so cute on my baby. I will pray he doesn’t poop in it, thus staining it and lowering its market value.
Thanks for taking a time-out to read my list, Santa, and to help me realize my hippie dreams. I’ll be sure to leave you gluten-free carob-walnut cookies on Christmas Eve.
A Not-Quite-Hippie-Enough Mom