and every mother's child is going to spy to see if there's a ferrari in the drive

Every November, I turn my sons loose with a sheet of paper and a pen and tell them to give me their Christmas list for the season. My only suggestion for them is to dream as big as they wish, but please, be realistic, for like the little drummer boy, I am a poor boy, too. Or something like that.

As you might expect, their papers are returned to me with some truly pie in the sky requests. Things even I don't have (Hello, illusive iPhone 4s. How you doin', trampoline)! In case my mother has found my blog and is reading this, I'm still waiting for that Barbie Dream House, thanks. I've been a very good girl this year. And the 43 years prior.

I love their lists for this very reason, but I tell them it's like going to our McDonald's, where smiles are listed on the menu board as being free. Each time I go there, you better believe I ask for a free smile, but I've yet to get one, so sorry, my lovelies, but Santa won't be bringing you your much desired Playstation 3 this year (which, yes, sucks because even I want to play Call of Duty MW3 on that thing).

There is one thing on my youngest son's list, saved for the very last, I'm hoping to give him, though, and in the spirit of the season, I hope you're all getting it, too.

May you all enjoy a good Christmas! Not only because you deserve it, but mostly because you can't get a gift receipt for it.

(p.s. - if you were good enough to get an iPhone 4s or trampoline, don't come bragging around my kids, m'kay?)