Letters to Santa- Part 1.

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Dear Santa,

I’m not going to ask how you are because I’m 1 1/2 and I really don’t care. I really don’t care about much of anything these days except eating waffles in the morning (THE MINUTE I WAKE UP) and flushing things down the toilet. That taco was pretty awesome on it’s way down. I wish Mom would’ve let me finish flushing her maxi pads, that was getting wild.

I’m kind of confused by what’s actually happening here. I was told by really bossy older siblings to ask for some things I want for Christmas. What Christmas is? I don’t know. Who you are? Don’t care. Presents, you say? I’m in.

A number of things have come to my mind already. It’s a really tough line to tow, being the third kid and all. The baby of the family. I could really use the gift of speaking English that way I don’t have to growl and punch the couch like the Incredible Hulk every time my parents can’t figure out that I want the blue sippy cup instead of the yellow one. Also. My parents. What is with them? Is there like an exchange policy or something on them? They are weird. Constantly washing my hands like I’m a hotbed of contagion. All the smooching my cheeks and hugging and tickling . I can’t breathe. And they are always asking me to “use your words” like I’m pantomiming to them for fun. Is there a Rosetta Stone or something for parents of toddlers? Get them that.

One other thing that would be so great are some edible markers. And chalk. I’m sick and tired of eating Goldfish. So colorless. So boring. Rainbow colored edible markers, so Mom will stop freaking out on me would be the bomb.

As for those two other weirdo kids I live with. Listen, you didn’t hear it from me but the boy….he peed his pants on purpose today. And that girl, you know the one that’s like mini-Mom  on pixie sticks? Well, I totally heard her telling her friends how she thinks picking her nose is fun.

Just some food for thought, in case you wanted to check that list twice or anything. I have plenty of room in my crib for extra presents.

Ok. Thanks. I mean, no not thanks. I deserve this. I’m the baby.

-Little Guy



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