Thank goodness dogs can’t write to Santa.
My delightful, smart, perfectly imperfect friend Cathy was on the phone with her husband, in frantic discussion: what to get her children for Christmas.
Her younger son’s letter to the chubby guy is lengthy and specific, albeit with some creative spelling. She’s a lawyer with a keen eye so she didn’t have to check it twice to see everything could be found on-line or in Toys R Us.
Her older son, however, is seven years old. He is fighting the evidence and the bigger kids to hang on to Santa one last time. He had a single item on his Christmas list.