Dear Santa

I have this thing about waste. I don’t like it. I like things to be used – to at least within an inch of their lives. My kids toys are no exception.

And while I don’t believe toys come alive in the middle of the night (I’m looking at you Pixar), I do believe their souls live in children’s hearts. The love, the joy and happiness they bring, bring the imagination of any child to life and the adventures they take children on live forever. So seeing unplayed with toys when gifts of more toys are about to come round makes me do everything I do with useful clutter – I find new homes for them.

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The playroom is my kids’ domain – they are the princes of their realm and the toys their loyal subjects. It would be wrong of me to cast one of their subjects out of the kingdom without the abeyances of the reigning monarchs, so to speak. And like every good leader, even little princes should know the spirit of Christmas lies not in the receiving but the giving.

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So this Christmas, like all future christmases, we “shopped” in the playroom, for toys that go to homes where children don’t get visited  by Santa. Homes where Bobby and Ben get to be a part of the magic and open their hearts to other little children who may think they have been “overlooked” by Santa.

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I was so proud of my children, because I spent most of the time trying to “re-stock” the shelves. They put every last toy they had into those boxes. “Mommy, think of those kids. They need to play with Woody”. I re-stocked the shelf with Woody. Woody would be sorely missed. My heart broke, as my eyes shone with tears of admiration at the open and unbridled generosity of a child’s heart. I dare anyone to try playing “secret santa” with my favourite Ferragamos… There are somethings worth getting “25 to life”.

After the shopping trip, we got down to the serious business of writing a letter to Santa. Like me, Bobby is very much a perfectionist. With every error, a new sheet of paper was required because “I don’t want Santa to see it, mommy”. A small forest was killed, but eventually a letter worthy of Santa was produced. If you look closely you will note the conundrum.

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Yes, ladies, he wants a puppy. All four legs, fur, wagging tail AND beating heart. I say beating heart, because the great Puppy-debate of 2014 was settled with a very lovely battery operated iRobot dog. You turned off for the night and plugged right beside your phone, all ready to yap and not poop on my rugs the next day. Somehow, Zoomer wasn’t cutting the mustard anymore… And Bobby is five, the age at which they claim is suitable to have a pet.

Babycakes is not thrilled and to be honest after D’artagnan passed New Years’ Eve of 2010, neither am I. It still feels, too soon. And the Urn still has pride of place in our home. Would it be disrespectful to D’Artagnan to let some young tail-wagger play with HIS children? Would he approve of some young Fur sniffing around HIS mommy and daddy? Somehow I know D’Artagnan would not approve. And so the debate rages on in our house.

It somehow seems to be a trend among Bobby and his friends. I know many a Lipstick has purchased an iRobot dog as a pacifier. But alas, we have already used up THAT free pass… I had some of the Lipsticks over yesterday to pow-wow. After the necessary vino (Marko’s Vineyard Sauv Blanc), we enjoyed some Tassie smoked salmon, Triple smoked ham, antipasto tomatoes & peppers in spiced olive oil, feta & chive, Fresh baguette with whipped butter and to finish my Chocolate & banana Bundt cake. You know how I love to entertain. With the right Gal-pals, it’s always therapeutic.

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Oh before you go, did you see my new recipe? the Eton Mess Pavlova? Yes Hunnies, I made that. All those sad egg whites left behind after I’ve made my weekly ice-cream were reborn in creamy strawberry fluffy goodness…

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I’m Betty, and Butter is a story of a full-time suburban SAHM ( Stay-At-Home-Mom) who practices Medicine in her spare time. My life heavily revolves around Babycakes, my husband, Bobby and Ben, my children and an acerbic tongued pug D’Artagnan.

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One response to “Dear Santa”

  1. Alen says:

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