Dear Santa, (a very Chicky Christmas)

I'm not sure who you are or why I'm supposed to write to you but my mom (you know, the looney one who always asks for a puppy for Christmas, even though she's, like, a gazillion years old now and we already have two big dogs) insisted that I needed to leave you a note along with the cookies and milk on Christmas Eve.

First of all, listen, dude, that's my milk. Hands off. You're lucky I'm sharing my Snickerdoodles with you. And from all the pictures I've seen, you could really use some more vegetables in your diet. I know! You can have my carrots and broccoli! I'll save some for you. If the dogs don't get to them first they're all yours.

My mom has been trying to explain to me who you are and what you're all about, but I'm only 20 months so I hope you'll cut me some slack if I don't stand in front of you in awed reverence at some mall. I've made it clear that there will be no sitting on your lap so my parents aren't even going to try this year. However, I think they're conspiring for next year so I'll warn you - I might pee on your legs. I'll just say sorry in advance so we can avoid an awkward scene later.

Mom keeps telling me stories about how you come down the chimney (uh, what's a chimney?) and leave these things called "presents" under that green, sparkly thing I'm not supposed to touch. And I guess you leave more of those present things in that big sock with my name on it. Okay, big guy, I'm going to let you in on a little secret - socks are for taking off right before your mom or dad try to take you out of the house. You get bonus points if you give them to the dogs to chew on. Yeah, they love that.

I guess this is the time to tell you that I've been on my best behavior all year. Okay, so I pull on the dogs' tails and I throw toys at the cats... and maybe I throw a few tantrums a day, but I really do try to keep it down to one or two. It's just so frustrating to be a toddler these days, what with all the pressure and stress I'm under. My mom drags me to music class and playgroups. She doesn't let me watch Elmo whenever I want. And she tries to make me eat, ew, healthy food. What's so wrong about wanting to eat nothing but crackers? That's what I'd like to know. I'd like to think that my cuteness makes up for all my naughty days. I'm planning on riding this cute thing for as long as I can, so get used to it.



Okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty: The toys. My mom and dad would like you to bring me lots of wooden toys that don't require batteries and are supposed to be, um, educational? That's great and all, I like blocks as much as the next kid, but what I really want is one of those TMX Elmo dolls. That little red monster rocks my world. Can you make that happen, Santa? Dad said I didn't have a snowball's chance in H - E - double hockey stick of getting one (whatever that means) but I know you'll come through for me. Santa's my homeboy. Aw yeah.

(Actually, my mom would really like you to bring me a "vocabulary". Whatever that is.)

Before I go, please don't forget to share those cookies with the reindeer. I always share my food with the dogs, it drives my parents crazy but it just seems fair. You know? If those deer are pulling your fat butt around all night it's the least you can do.

Thanks, Santa. You're okay in my book.

Love,

Chicky


P.S. - You're supposed to be magic, right? Can you do something about getting me out of having to wear this horrible outfit?


No offense, Santa, you can pull it off and I'm sure your suit is much nicer, but this just doesn't work for me. If you make it go away I'll make sure Mom and Dad leave you something good under that cookie plate, if you catch my meaning. Buy Mrs. Claus something pretty.