Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tomorrow morning I'm heading to the shopping mecca of Cleveland, Ohio for my annual shopping trip with my mom, sister, aunts, uncle and grandfather. I'm sure I'll have plenty of blog fodder when I return. In the meantime, I'm leaving you with a letter I wrote to Santa three years ago. Enjoy!
Please bring me a new cell phone. Now, before you dismiss my request as just another Northside prima donna with a penchant for the latest technology, let me tell you how my cell phone was lost in an act of maternal heroics...
We were driving home from Ohio last night (of course you know that because I assured my children numerous times that you were indeed on the watch for naughty—or nice—behavior). Somewhere just inside of 465, Robbie started crying that his tummy hurt. So I leaned back to calm him down and strategically place a plastic bag under his chin. A few minutes went by and he blessedly returned to sleep without tossing his cookies.
So I snaked my way back to the front seat, glad to have dodged the vomit bullet, when what to my wondering ears should hear, a sudden cry then retch. I sprang from my seat, plastic bag in hand, to catch the upchuck wherever it should land.
Unfortunately, my young boy has not perfected his upchucking aim and instead of the bag, hit me square across the arm and chest. (And since Santa, I know you've been watching, you know this was the THIRD time I've been thrown up on in a week!)
Santa, I'm hoping you left to go check out some other naughty or nice kids at that moment and didn't witness the 20 minutes that Robbie and I rode the rest of the way home virtually naked, except for our underwear. (Let me tell you that leather seats are cold on bare skin!)
And I hope you weren't flying too closely behind us because Mike took our pukey clothes and tied them to the luggage rack; they smelled way too bad to leave them in the car with us for the rest of the ride.
So Santa, I know that you are wondering why all this leads to my request for a new cell phone...
Well, when I sprang from my seat to tend to my son, my cell phone flew off my lap and into my husband's open Big Gulp of Diet Coke, only to be discovered this morning...
I realize, Santa, that this request comes late in the season. If by chance you don't have any cell phones left in your sack, reservations for one at a remote island resort would do just fine.