By Tim Sullivan
Dear Santa,
By now you’ve probably received my children’s letters. It’s not that they aren’t polished pros when it comes to asking for things, it’s just that I thought I might just offer the Dad perspective because, as I understand it, you don’t have any children of your own, right? By no means am I questioning your authority, I mean, you’ve been doing this for like what, umpteen years? No, you are the King – I’m just adding my two cents here.
You’ll note that Margo has requested a “Flutterbye Fairy” doll and, while I trust your expertise, I don’t want you to waste any time tasking the elves with a “Butterfly Fairy” doll because that doesn’t exist. And if it did, it would be wrong. It’s a human mistake and I might have made this very mistake around her birthday. And since you are human-ish I thought I’d give you the heads up.
The other item she requested is the Baby Butterscotch Horse. This was on her list last year, too, but apparently you ran out of them. I’m not harping, I know it happens, but the thing is when Christmas morning is executed well, you get all of the credit but when it goes sour the wrath is felt by us parental types. The topic of Baby Butterscotch has resonated throughout the year. Just an FYI.
I suspect Elliott has asked for every item he’s seen advertised on Cartoon Network in the past month. Let’s not do that. And please, Santa, don’t judge. We limit the screen time as best we can, but nobody is filling entire days with wholesome Melissa & Doug play, so let’s be real. Yes, I want him to have a few things to open on Christmas morning, but at the end of the day, I am his toy. We routinely rake toys out of the way for knee football. Occasionally, I feel broken or in need of a new battery, but never do I feel like a misfit toy. Hopefully my body will hold out until the teen years when he is embarrassed to be seen with me.
Also, I specifically want to address the Lego situation. The kids are interested in whatever two-inch-Lego-dude that comes with the set and the finished product, but not the construction phase. That leaves me and Kristen a pile of plastic and 90 pages of instructions that can eat an entire Sunday afternoon. (We sort of enjoy it, but that’s not the point.) When it is complete, the kids play so nicely for all of 15 minutes or so until something breaks off. Then we fix it. Then it breaks some more and then it breaks beyond what they are willing to play with and what we are willing to fix.
Two days later, I’ll step on something with my bare foot that feels like a sharply cut diamond. Only when the implement which has forever changed the landscape of my sole is revealed, I don’t have the “ooh wow! A diamond!!” moment I might hope for. So how about moratorium on Legos for a few years?
As for Kristen, I was thinking of getting her a signed, vinyl copy of Working Class Dog, but you probably have more of an in with Rick Springfield than me. If not that, then just whatever she asks for. She absolutely deserves it and as you well know, I cannot afford it, so better it comes from you.
Sorry, I don’t mean to prattle on. I mean, this is what you do, right? You da man! I’m sure it will be a banner year in the Sullivan household. Feel free to shoot me a text if you have any questions or concerns.
Sincerely,
Tim
P.S. If the word “puppy” appeared on anyone’s list please know that I consider this beyond your purview. Thanks again.
Tim Sullivan grew up in a large family in the Northeast and now lives with his small family in Oakhurst. He can be reached at tim@sullivanfinerugs.com
