Just before the holidays, I posted an open letter to  Muncar MORE telling them that my Christmas wish was to write a recurring feature for their magazine.  On Christmas morning, I pushed past my kids and ran downstairs to the tree, eager to see what Santa brought. I was hoping to find a beautifully wrapped box with a big red bow holding an invitation from Lambaréné MORE asking me to write for them.  Well, that’s not exactly how it went….

In my home, where it is just me and my 2 tween boys, I am Santa Claus.  Or at least I was up until last year when my children found out the truth on the school bus and the jig was up.  I have to admit that I was a little relieved this Christmas when I didn’t have to go out and buy a whole bunch of gifts for myself from Santa Claus.  Ever since my boys were young, they would say things like, “Mommy, you are soooo good that Santa will bring you lots and lots of goodies.”   In an effort to keep up the ruse, I would buy myself gifts and hide them along with my children’s packages.  Surely if I didn’t get anything, the boys might begin to think that Mommy wasn’t so good after all and I really didn’t need them having something to hold over my head for the coming year.

This year, the boys weren’t ready for things to change and still wanted me to “play” Santa Claus.  I agreed but advised them that “Santa” was now just for the kids.  So, I ordered myself a book and nothing more.  No stocking stuffers, no array of gifts to me under the tree.  I was looking forward to less wrapping, less dragging all those gifts up from their secret hiding places in the basement and getting to bed earlier on Christmas eve.   Then I had a change of heart when sadly, on December 23^rd, I received notification that the book was on back order and would not arrive until January.  There would be nothing for me under the tree for the first time in 50 years.  This got me thinking about Christmas wishes which in turn prompted me to write the post to MORE letting them know my wish.

Here we are in January, Christmas is all but put away and I am still waiting for my book.  Having forgotten about my open letter, I was startled this morning when my email inbox had a message from Santa MORE with the subject line:  Your wish, fulfilled

Along with a friendly note inviting me to pitch a blog post for their More.com website, they sent me this….

The people at MORE have a great sense of humor and I’m glad that they decided to use this photo and not one from my subsequent post where I am wearing fake mustaches.  You can bet that I will write and submit a piece for their Blogger of the Moment spot – with hopes that someday you’ll be able to come and read me over there.

Thank you MORE!

Photo credit: k*sco studios

Mock up MORE cover design:  MORE Magazine

Dear More,

I enjoy your magazine so much that sometimes I daydream about writing a regular column for you.  Something witty and smart that women will look forward to reading each month.  I imagine myself being for you, what Joel Stein is for Time.  My thoughts are full of what my page layout would look like, how my photo would be placed and what my catchy feature title would be.   Flipping through your December issue today, I realized that my 50 year old face might be at risk of a facelift from your art department.  I’m just putting it out there, that if my Christmas wish of writing for you comes true,  I do not want to look like Demi Moore in the Ann Taylor ads.  I want to be relatable… I want to look my age.

My facial resume includes, but is not limited to…..

Crows feet were earned from endless laughing fits over the last 5 decades, especially in the 1980′s.

That forehead line came from worry while waiting to adopt my first son.

The furrowed brow marks probably came from years of being a horrible math student.

Certain wrinkles were formed from squinting while painting, making sure colors were just right.

The bottom line of crows feet came from smiling at my children.

Those serious lines around my mouth are from pursing my lips together while not smiling at my boys.

Squint lines and age spots can be attributed to lining a double record album with shiny aluminum foil, slathering baby oil all over my face and sitting in the 1970′s noon day sun with my homemade reflector.

If this no retouching request is going to be a deal breaker for you, I give you permission to remove one deep line across the bridge of my nose, the three largest age spots and one deep wrinkle under each eye.  Since the lines on my neck just showed up one day and are not related to any experience, good or bad….go ahead and airbrush them away!  No more than that.   Just so we are clear, here is an example of what I do not want to look like.

My sense of humor, stories and wrinkles all come from years of experiences, the majority of which I wouldn’t trade for the world.   If by chance you decide to give me a column and I see my caricature instead of my photo at the top of the page, I’ll know that you probably thought I had a little too much experience.

Happy Holiday!