During the fire season last year, I became particularly agitated about the threat of fire. I couldn’t sleep at night, obsessing about my perpetual state of disorganization. When we were evacuated during the landslide, I grabbed all of the wrong things: stuffed animals, pillows and food. Then I lost my car keys. Nothing like having a police cruiser in front of your house, using its bullhorn to belt out orders of immediate evacuation.

Heeding the call to become the Queen of Organization, I recently took out every photo album and pulled out the photos. (What in the world were we thinking when we put our photos on that glue paper?) Staring at the photos, old memories of a previous life flooded my senses, a smell, a sound or a conversation. Sitting in a Chinese village drinking tea with a villager as he explained to me that true love was Deng Xiaoping (the leader of the Communist Party of China during the 1980s). In the picture, I look so young and alert. Although obviously not alert enough when I was in Egypt. My girlfriend and I hired a man and his camel to take us past the pyramids for the perfect photo. After we dismounted to take the photo, a mile from the pyramids, the man refused to take us back unless we gave him more money, which, of course, we did.

My attempts at the great scenic shot of the Royal Thai Palace or the Leaning Tower of Pisa with my thumb right in the middle of the shot make me laugh, as do my various outfits. There was my hippy phase, English polo and, my favorite, Italian fashionista.

But my hairstyles tell the best story. Photos from church camp in my home state of Kentucky show the hours I spent rolling my hair in sponge rollers in hopes of having uncontrollable curls. Once I got out of college and could pay for a perm, I fried my hair every which way. My travels through Europe and Asia showed various stages of curliness. The Italian root perm that looked like Tina Turner post-tornado sealed the deal that curls were not my look.

The super short buzz cut, an attempt at a feminist statement against beauty standards, highlighted my adult acne. During grad school, I slipped backwards and got another perm that had to be ironed out when I played a prostitute in a local play. Once I moved to Los Angeles, in pursuit of a Hollywood career, the bangs were snipped like Sandra Bullock in “Speed.” And when I met my husband at a trendy Los Angeles restaurant, I had started with the highlights, an attempt to regain my sun kissed look from my two years in Hawaii.

Post-partum with my first daughter, a big blonde skunk-like stripe framed my face, letting everyone know I was not the typical mom. Fourteen months later when my second daughter arrived, ponytails and stained clothing in every photo show my complete lack of me time. (Although I seem to remember visiting the hairdresser and inquiring about yet another perm!)

Nowadays, it’s just straight hair that is probably too long for my age and colored to take out the gray. No longer wanting for curly hair, I am now obsessed with my fat arms; thus, the photos of me either hiding behind my kids, wearing long sleeves or both. Fat arms or not, the pictures of my kids and family are my favorites ones in the pile of over 2,000 pictures.

True love is not a Communist leader or a great perm, but the little faces that grow and change each day. Getting organized has made me realize how rich my life has been. Which is a good thing, because the amount of paperwork waiting to be organized is enough to make me want to scream, “Fire!”

Dear Santa,

Dear Santa,

I know you are wondering why I am writing to you. It’s just that my holiday candle is already burnt out and could use some magic. As for the question of whether I’ve been naughty or nice, I would have to say ‘nice.’ True, the year has been filled with transgressions. I did lie to a stranger about my age, but that was after my seven year old asked me, “Did they have grocery store carts in the olden days?” There is no shame in being thirty-four, yet again. As for taking things that are not mine, I put on five pounds or so from a necessary vitamin (a.k.a chocolate). I am more than happy to give those pounds back and throw in a few more for goodwill.

As for being nice, I cooked my family over 540 nutritious meals. Okay, I cheated 50 times or so with Wahoo’s but sometimes that stove knob will not turn. Laundry was done on an adequate basis with the occasional dip into the dirty hamper. As for addressing those teaching moments and practicing patience, let it be said I did not yell when my Mad Men episode was erased for the latest Wow Wow Wubbzy show. Nor did I bust a gut when my favorite coffee mug, that had magical awakening properties, was broken in two.

Frankly, Santa, I would rather give than receive. Not because I am some altruistic person, but because if we get stuff, I have to find a place for it to live. How many places can I stash a doll baby stroller and skateboard helmets? There are, however, a few random things I could use if you and Mrs. Claus happened to have a surplus of some holiday magic:

#1, Opaque Slip. This Halloween, I had no idea my groovy disco dress was see-through. Not until I saw the pictures taken with a flash. Hello, Spanxx! There was one leg rolled up (think I did that during the crab dance), another leg rolled down. Various patches of color revealed way too much about my anatomy. Complete horrified, I remembered the professional photographer took my picture. A lot. I thought it was my fabulous dance moves and fashionista outfit, while in fact; it was a cry for an opaque slip. If you wouldn’t mind also just grabbing those negatives from the photographer’s house while you are visiting his kids, I would be truly appreciative.

#2, Pantry Systems Operator. I must confess, Santa, that my kitchen pantry and cupboards are an absolute mess. When I complained to a friend, she said, “You need to find a system that works and stick to it.” System? That night, I moved everything around into some kind of categorical organization that hopefully resembled a system. Yet two days later, food boxes and containers had exploded into complete chaos. I was wondering if you could be so kind to loan me one of your elves, during the off-season, to keep my second office (a.k.a. the kitchen) at a functional level?  If he also liked to do laundry, I wouldn’t complain.

Item #3, Temporal Lobe Rejuvenation. I am in desperate need of a better memory. Obviously, brain surgery is not your forte, but you have the ability to remember long lists of requests from children around the world. Is there some way to give my temporal lobes a spa day so that they can awaken and start doing their job of remembering to pick up my daughter from dance and buy rice milk at the grocery store? It’s not like I am asking for a world peace or a clean mini-van, just the ability to retain a thought and not embarrass myself with a daily memory faux pas.

But then again, perhaps, you gave me memory loss last Christmas which is why I can’t remember my age. Or where things belong in the cupboards. I don’t know, Santa, it is so confusing being a mom in the modern world that I am not sure what I need anymore. Let’s just stick with my request for a good slip. And eradication of that little lice bug wouldn’t hurt either.

Warm hugs and hot toddies to you and Mrs. Claus,

Christine

and I agree. I can not wait to see this movie. If I could just get a swine flu, performance free moment without a child (or husband) whining by my side, I am out to the theaters. I recently saw The Proposal and while Ryan is hot (brava Scarlett!) I am LOVING Sandra Bullock and will follow her anywhere. Yes, that means to the movie theater.

Here is my BFF Thelma's review which verifies my intuition:

http://www.ivillage.com/blind-side-salute-do-right-woman/1-c-66940

Check it out!

Dear Mothering Heights,

With the [Demaree] family losing their children to Child Protective Services [for two weeks] for printing bath time pictures of their babies at Wal-Mart, is this something we should be concerned about? Should we resist taking pictures of them in the bath?

Ashley H
Black Hills, SD

Dear Ashley,

Nothing like a family vacation to San Diego, a few pics of the kids in the bathtub and then boom--Wal-mart turns you into Arizona Child Protective Services and your children are taken away. Talk about post-vacation blues. Eventually, all charges were dropped and the kids were reunited with their parents, but what a nightmare! The Demaree family is now suing Wal-mart and the State of Arizona for what I am sure will be a sum worthy of a six-month vacation at the Montage.

So, feel free to take all the pictures you want of your kids, just don’t take them to a store for processing. Wal-mart has an ‘unsuitable print policy’ that allows them to police your photos. I am sure most photo processing places have similar policies. Honestly though, do you want other people and possible weirdoes checking out your family photos? If you want to do the cute baby in the bath pictures, invest in a photo printer. In the long run, it’s cheaper and worth the peace of mind.