I Hate you, Stupid Santa.

I have some serious contempt against you tonight, Santa. You big, red punk. I might hate you. I may or may not be planning your coming out party. Or at least orchestrating an elite plan to blow your stupid cover.

This is your very last year to take all the credit while I look like the mean mom who always says no. You just swoop in and save the day and leave a mess of cookies – that I decorated, mind you.

I’ve had just about enough of this. More than enough.

You might notice that I switched a few gift tags. The socks, toothbrushes, and underwear are from you, you little jerk.

I’m giving them the digital gaming systems. So there.

“From: Mommy. xoxoxo.”

I’ve done this to light the path to your exit, that they will like you just a bit less by the end of the day tomorrow.

I’m tired of paving the way, shelling out cash, making miracles happen, while you remain ever elusive. I’ll do every single one of those things for the sweet boys who will cheer and fall all over one another with boisterous joy in the morning.

But not for you, Santa. Not. For. You.

So, live it up, Santa. Your days are numbered around here.

Merry Christmas and a Happy Screw You.

Red. White. Blue.


Stripes. Radishes make me think of Gone with the Wind. Strawberries going bad in my refrigerator because I bought too many. Felt Tip Pen my teacher used for grading. Cap of the syrup bottle, sticky. Petunias Robb planted on my most pregnant summer. Lego logo on the kitchen table, as Tyler builds a garbage truck. My favorite shoes, a goodwill find. Too many of my scarves, and yet I am drawn to more. Blood on their elbows from falling in the cul de sac yesterday. Spicy Jelly Beans, the cinnamon kind from Jelly Belly. My reading glasses that I wish were my everyday glasses because they’re cuter than my everyday. My favorite crayon in the kindergarten box. Knee socks I wore with my school uniform. The Elmo cake I made for Tucker’s second birthday, the immaculate image of Elmo himself, still so accurate it impresses even me. Red Draw Two, UNO. Dangly earrings that make noise in my ears. Anger. Fury. Rojo. Sleeping bag that’s never quite rolled up the right way. My home, the best lot in the area, nestled between two cul de sacs. My favorite accent color, always.


Stripes. Clouds. Milk filling half the glass, never fully finished. Daisies drooping in the vase on my table, so thirsty for more water. Sport socks that I need to buy more of for the boys. Underwear that is folded and yet not put away, following the natural course of laundry at my house. Elmer’s Glue. Eyeliner for girls who are not me. The letters on the UNO Wild Card. The coffee cup I love most for the inscription: A wish for laughter on your lips. My grandmother’s table cloth. The paper behind the words. Roses. The throw pillows on my bed. Blanco. Purity. Stars.


Behind the stars on the flag, the stars in the sky. Tyler’s lego jammies. The coffee cup I love most for its shape, how it feels in my hand. The bottom of the swimming pool. A sundress from target. My favorie flip flops. Blue Reverse, UNO. The ADT sign that has no power in itself but helps me sleep through the night. A color I avoid relentlessly at the nail salon. Robb’s lips. And his favorite color. Azul. Loyalty.

Red, White, Blue.
The foundation of my comfort,
and the details of my life’s free choices.