Santa Baby

So for those who don't know, my parents sold our home, the only home I've known these past 28 years. But its ok. It's time for them to downsize and build a small energy efficient house. I'm excited for them. As a result, Christmas this year equals packing. And here's a true confession. .. I actually really like sorting, throwing out, packing, cleaning. . . so I guess its good I'm the daughter that still lives close to home. The best part is all the treasures you find. . . like the lock of my mom's golden hair from when she was five and got gum in her hair, to the sweet letter President Kimball wrote to my grandparents, and the best of them all so far. . . (drum roll) was finding my old letters to Santa. Now, let it be known I was and still am, a very trusting/believing person. I held onto the belief in Santa, despite my older sisters best efforts to dissuade, as long as possible. It was only when in third grade and I actually found the stash of my letters in my mom's drawer that I finally threw in the towel. But man, oh man did I write some killer letters. The following are two gems, and then a follow up letter in which I actually ask Santa to be my pen-pal (I was WAY in to pen-pals). Also note my horrible spelling, and the fact that I want a pound purry TWO years in a row . . . which I finally did get. So Merry Christmas all, may we rekindle our childhood belief in a fat man in a red suit who brings us our dreams in a bag. P.S. how awesome is it that I asked for a ghetto blaster? How the crap did I even know what that was? I grew up with no t.v. in a rural farming community???!!!