Plucky Letters to US soldiers in Iraq

Tuesday, December 9, 2003


Dear Army Guys,

MERRY CHRISTMAS!! I am guessing you all celebrate Christmas, but maybe not, so…

HAPPY CHANUKAH!! JOYOUS KWANZA!! SUPER RAMADON!!
PEACEFUL MITHRA!! FABULOUS ATHEISM!!!
I am an equal-opportunity well-wisher. Enjoy your choice of our many fine holiday options.


I must confess that there is a possibility your gifts will be late. I know, I know, I should be more organized and prepared. I should have got it done last week. Nonetheless, I do have everything all boxed up and ready to go. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of visiting our local Post Office at 4:30 PM today. There were quite a few people in there at 4:30 PM today. I mean A LOT.

It was a horde, actually, and I found myself having one of my Wal-Mart reactions. I waited in line for awhile, but the mere presence of so many Post Office visitors got on my nerves. They were all doing this sort of “In-Line-At-The-Post Office-Shuffle,” which made my teeth clench. I was thinking decidedly non-holiday thoughts, and there was a strong possibility I might accost someone, so I had to leave. Also, I did not have the customs forms filled out ahead of time, which made me feel ill-prepared and rather naked. I don’t like filling out the customs forms while in line. I much prefer having it all done and ready to go so that I can concentrate on not yelling obscenities at my fellow Post Office dwellers. Nobody, including postal workers, needs their holiday season ruined by me screaming, “MOVE IT, ASSHOLE, WE DON’T HAVE ALL YEAR!!”

After all, many of the Post Office customers had small (poorly-behaved) children in tow. It’s a family-friendly federal installation, and I did not want to take the chance of introducing improper “sentence enhancers” into the growing vocabularies of innocent, though wildly misbehaving, toddlers. That job can best be done by their obviously incompetent parents.

I will be back at the Post Office tomorrow afternoon, early. There is much less chance of an agoraphobic meltdown if I do my posting prior to the late afternoon rush. And I managed to grab a stack of customs forms today before my cowardly departure, so I was able to fill them out in the privacy of my own home. If your gifts arrive after December 25, just pretend they are New Years presents and get on with your lives.


Personally, I am sick and damned tired of Christmas. I wish I could spend all of my money and time on you guys this year. Christmas in my family has become somewhat like opening a catalog business. Everybody makes a list of EXACTLY what they want, and it is everybody else’s job to make damned sure they get it. Nobody says, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I could use a new waffle iron or a pair of snow boots.” No, these people are incredibly specific. My dad even includes Xeroxed ad flyers and catalog 800 numbers!

In my family, you MUST buy whatever the person asks for, and there is no way around it. If you try to surprise the person with something you happen to think they will love, you are doomed. Even if they actually love the thing you give them, there will be a moment late on Christmas Night when somebody says, “Well, I got everything I wanted except that one item on page 44 of the Land’s End catalog that Suzanne was supposed to give me! Oh well, I guess I still have a birthday coming up, ha ha ha!”

There is one person on my gift list who does NOT participate in this demanding gift process, and that is my son, Dylan. He doesn’t want anything. Literally, you can ask him until you are blue in the face. You can show him catalogs, websites, and take him around to toy stores. His eyes will never light up with desire no matter how many trampolines and foosball tables he sees. You know why? Because he is the only truly satisfied person I have ever met in my life. He honestly believes he has everything he needs, and anything else he gets will be “fine.” I suspect there must be something wrong with him, but all the tests have come back negative.

My husband, Rudy, claims to not want anything. This is utter nonsense. When I suggested maybe we should get a large “family gift” rather than spend a bunch of money on stupid little things we would buy for ourselves anyway, he was out the door and in the nearest Best Buy looking at gigantic TV sets before I could finish the sentence. So I guess that means “we” are getting a gigantic “plasma” TV set for Christmas this year. Dylan and I could not be more thrilled, even though neither of us ever watches television in the family room. Dylan watches Cartoon Network in his room, and I just don’t watch much TV at all. I do like movies, though, so having a gigantic TV might enhance my Saturday night video experience to some extent. I’m a little iffy about the “plasma” thing, though.

Does that mean our TV set will be capable of giving transfusions if one or another of us springs a leak and starts to bleed to death all over the family room? What is this “plasma” business?? Do I have to yell, “Give me two units of plasma, stat!,” every time I tune in to watch Lifetime Television for Women??


I will be front & center at the Bloomington Post Office tomorrow afternoon, I PROMISE! I hope you took my advice and built yourselves a nice fake fireplace to create holiday cheer and a pleasant gathering place for your fellow soldiers.


The only lasting gift I can offer you this year is to tell you just how much I love you guys!!! Each and every day, you keep me & my family safe from harm, and that is the greatest gift a man can give. Each of you is the best of the best, and I will NEVER forget any of you!

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!


Much Love,

--An Army Mom