Santa Baby...

This week Jack officially "helped" write his first-ever letter to Santa. For a three year old, he certainly has a very specific grasp on what he wants.. no, expects to see under his tree come Christmas morning.

The mustang! The red one! That I drive it!

Translation: Red Powerwheels Mustang from Wal-Mart that costs about $250 and that he would outgrow in about a week. Needless to say, we're hoping he somehow receives a very small but specific blow to the head in one of his many many falls (boy inherited his grace from me, quite obviously) which will magically remove any memory of the red plastic monstrosity.

So now that we're beginning to get this whole holiday shopping ball rolling, T asked me if there was anything specific I wanted for Christmas this year. Which is one of my least favorite questions, up there with "do you have dental insurance?" and "is that a girl or a boy?"* It has been many years since there was a single item that I so lusted after that I could triumphantly state of a certainty that "THIS! This is what I want for Christmas!"

I found myself pondering the question. I realized that I do, in fact, have a wish list. It just happens to be of the non-commercially-available variety. And so I present, for sake of posterity, my Christmas Wish List Top 5.

1) A hot bath. In a tub big enough for a long-legged amazon such as myself to stretch my legs comfortably and still have enough room to lay back on one of those terry-coated inflatable bath pillows. There must also, of course, be bubbles up to my nose, misty candle-light, and my favorite "mellow mix" playing softly in the background. The lights will be out, the water will be hot and - other than the aforementioned musical sedative - the room will be silent.

2) An evening alone with the man, wherein he is required to watch the black-and-white classic cinema selection of my choosing whilst we share a jumbo-sized box of soft-centered, hand-dipped chocolates. Especially the ones with fruity centers. And big mugs of something hot.

3) An entire day to spend in bed, with a stack of novels and a bottomless cappuccino. The sheets would be freshly washed and pressed, my pajamas would be of the crisp cotton variety, and the interruptions would be nil. Just slip a tray under the door at mealtimes and keep the biscotti coming.

4) A long weekend in Las Vegas with Dr. Allie. Texas Hold'em, horrible concerts, and two old girlfriends marveling at where the time has gone. A BSG marathon would be a must, and the chocolate chip cookie dough would be copius enough to choke a camel. (Thank heaven for pasteurized eggs.) Walks along the strip, long conversations on the "Robert Jordan vs. Terry Goodkind" debate, and laughter to the point of puking.

5) A campout with T in the mountains. The colder the night, the better - we have a sleeping bag for 2. A raging campfire, cooking hotdogs on a spit, and of course making s'mores. Wool socks, thermal underwear, wool caps, and lots of snuggles. The peace of mind of the kids being someplace safe and warm with someone who loves them while we hike around the woods and fish in icy cold water. And more snuggling. And talks about where we've been, where we're going, and what we'll do when we get there. A chance to remember why it is all worthwhile in the first place.

So skip the sable this year, Santa. Forget the platinum mine, and maybe just give me one perfect moment for Christmas this year. I just want a brief snapshot of time in which to forget all the trials of the past few years, the heartbreaks and family breakups, the medical and mental, the space between friends and loves. I just want one moment in which to stop time and enjoy the here and now.

Of course, I still wouldn't say no to the 54 Convertible, too. (Light Blue.)