Actually, all I want for Christmas is Mom.
You see, she's been day hunting so hard that she gets home very, very tired. (I wonder sometimes just what she's hunting.)
She doesn't do much. She makes dinner, and is too tired to clean the pots and the pans. (so I can't just jump on the counter any time I want.)
She sits in the recliner and watches stupid stuff on the picture box. (She doesn't play with me as much.)
She hasn't worked in the sewing room since before the Big Turkey. She yawns great big yawns. So big she looks like a lion. (I wonder if she'll swallow a fly?)
She hasn't put any presents under the Christymas tree. She hasn't mailed the stack of Christymas cards she has. (Too busy to buy stamps.)
The hot-as-hell box hasn't had a workout yet. The Christymas stockings are -empty-. (Even mine)
My stash of stinky goodness only has two cans left. (Two).
I dunno what got into my Mom (or what has gone out of her), but I want my busy, noisy, energetic Mom back. (I don't think that's too much to ask.)
(I don't want to run out of stinky goodness, either)