My Grown-Up Christmas List


You know that treacly* song called Grown-Up Christmas List where Amy Grant makes completely and totally unrealistic requests of Santa?

If you said no, you are NOT listening to enough Christmas music on the radio. Get in the holiday spirit, Goddammit.

Let me just review Ms. Grant’s wish list for you…

  • No more lives torn apart
  • Wars would never start
  • Time would heal all hearts
  • Everyone would have a friend
  • Right would always win
  • Love would never end


Not even one of these is remotely doable. Does she think Santa is an effing Miracle Worker? Wait, I guess he kind of is. But still, don’t you think she’s putting just a TAD too much pressure on the guy?

Some might argue that Ms. Grant is a bit more selfless than I, (especially given that she is best known for her Christian pop music) but I’m just thinking of Santa here! If I had a direct line to the Big Guy, my list would be completely more reasonable.

Wait. I know where he lives. (“Santa! I KNOW HIM! <– best movie ever. If you can’t immediately identify that line, shame on you. And that’s coming from a girl who’s never seen Caddyshack.)

So with that, I present to you my own Grown-Up [Sort of] Christmas List.


Dear Santa,

My name is Krissy Mac. Perhaps you may remember me from the Willowbrook Mall in Wayne, NJ? Well, that’s going back about [ahem] a lot of years, so I’ll forgive you if you don’t.

I know you’re a busy guy, so let’s get straight to the point. I have been very nice naughty tired this year. Please reward me with the following:

  • A FDA-approved, pediatrician-recommended sleeping pill for kids. It would preferably knock them out around 7:00pm and keep them sleeping soundly until about 7:00am, at which point they would wake up happy, but not TOO chipper because that’s really effing annoying, too.

Side note: I feel compelled to confess that the Loud One and the Nibbit have actually been sleeping later than they ever have before. (Knocking 1,000 pieces of wood.) But as luck or Murphy, would have it, the second they started sleeping past 6:00, Happy Dude decided 5:30 would be a good wake-up time for him. He was all, “I CANNOT BELIEVE I WAS MISSING OUT ON THIS GLORIOUS 90 MINUTES… WHERE IT’S STILL DARK AND MOMMY AND DADDY WALK AROUND WITH THEIR EYES MOSTLY CLOSED!” And he also decided that the best way to fall asleep at bedtime is to climb out of his crib repeatedly and scream for about 20 minutes about how he “wants to pway cars and twucks!” before passing out. Good times!

  • A Robot Babysitter (think Rosie, from The Jetsons, or Alice from The Brady Bunch)
    • Bonus points if he/she/it could also handle potty training. And make dinner. And every other meal.
  • Calorie-free Cadbury Mini Eggs
    • NOT the big, gross ones with the “crème” inside. Ew. The small, delicious ones that only come out at Christmas and Easter. If you manage to achieve this, I’d also like them to be available all year-long.
cadbury eggs



  • Patience. More patience. A lot more patience.
  • A Hangover-Preventing Margaritano explanation necessary, am I right?
  • More yoga pants – (Shut up Santa, I know I don’t actually “do yoga” <– air quotes)
  • A world in which people would stop pitting Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie against each other. Because that story is as tired as I am. Bah dah bum.
  • A Kardashian-free existence – what? You made Paris Hilton disappear, didn’t you?
  • A Parenting Remote Control that would allow me to do the following:
    • Pause during those awesome moments that fly by too quickly
    • Rewind immediately after the laugh-out-loud quotes
    • Fast forward through the I-can’t-believe-you-are-doing-this-here-and-now meltdowns
    • MUTE. I MUST be able to mute. I’m sure you understand.
  • OK, sure I’ll throw Peace on Earth and all that ass-kissing stuff on my list as well, if it’ll make the haters happy. But you should know that I completely understand if that’s beyond your capabilities. I’m not a total idiot.

Love your old friend,
Krissy Mac

PS. If all of this is just simply too much to ask for, please, just work on the Margarita thing. That one is REALLY. REALLY. IMPORTANT.


No hangover? Heaven.

No hangover? Heaven.

*Has anyone else always thought the word treacly sounds like a descriptor for unattractive sea life? As in, “Jack caught a treacly sea urchin in his fishing net.”

Now THAT shit is treacly.

Now THAT shit is treacly.


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