My oldest created her most unreasonable letter to Santa to date. It's hard to begin describing how delusional this girl is based on the items that she asked for.
First off, she asks for a tablet. She should know better. We're not a tablet family, we're a computer family. Hell, I gave her the Raspberry Pi I got from last year's PyCon and taught her how to write software on it! No tablet for you, little lady.
Item 2, 3, and 4 are easily acquired. Merry Christmas, my shining star.
Let's move on to number 5. Her current BFF's name is Anna Riley. So she expects me to find an elf and somehow genetically combine it with her best friend so that she can, what? Tell her best friend what she wants for Christmas and have it personally delivered to Santa? Dream on.
Number 6, her own computer. Um, so what is that thing sitting in the dining room that you and I have hacked on for the past year??? If you think you're getting another one, and thereby have one more computer than Daddy, you can think again, buster.
Item number 7. Seventy five dollars. Let's look past the fact that this dollar amount is oddly specific, and focus, instead, on why, on top of all the other crap she asked for, that she feels entitled to some cold, hard cash! What am I, an ATM? Sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart, but I'm not living in a world where you have more cash on hand than me.
Eight. Glitter. Please, for love of all the dead unicorns and mutilated fairies in the world, NO MORE GLITTER IN THIS HOUSE!
Now, my favorite. Number nine. She wants science. Now, I'm not sure if she wants to blind somebody with it, or if she's just thankful that science exists in general and kinda wants to keep the whole thing going. Y'know, she's a fan. Either way, I don't know what to do with that other than tell her that Santa is a firm believer in the scientific method, or that he looked inside his Gift-Wrapped Quantum Entangled Box of Wonders and found that, indeed, the cat was alive.
Ten got crossed of the list, so I'll pretend that never existed.
Item eleven, tulips. Sure, baby girl, if I can find some, they're yours.
Item twelve. I'm calling a penalty on this one. Two minutes in the box for Indecipherable Wish List Item. If I can't understand what you wrote, then you ain't getting it.
Unlucky 13. She wants obsticals. Well, my sweet child, life if going to throw so many of those at you over the years, that I think getting you more just for Christmas would just be rubbing salt in the wound. If the North Pole Elves want to give you only 80% of the presents that boys get, that's their prerogative, but Daddy's here to help remove obstacles, not throw more at ya.
Last, but certainly not least, she wants a swimming pool. Now, let's be clear about this before I very clearly say no. We have a neighborhood pool that is one stinking block away. We also have two gigantic pools, with slides and diving boards - the whole nine yards - at the local community center that her mother takes her to in the summer. If she wants another pool, then I'll be happy to fill up my old paint bucket with water and let her stand in it any time she wants.
Better buck up, soldier. Christmas this year is going to fall short of expectations.