7 Dream Gifts for Moms This Holiday (That May or May Not Exist)

Image Source: Thinkstock
Image Source: Thinkstock

Holiday gift guides may steer you towards throw pillows and scented candles. They’ll tell you I want a scarf, or large plastic jewelry, or a new Keurig. And all of these things would be welcomed.

Pinterest might encourage you to cross-stitch your own “I LOVE EWOKS” piece, which I would accept with aplomb.

You could even make me a bubble bath concoction in a jar. I like things in jars, like bath bombs and cake and cookie mixes.

I’d also say thank you for a funky Etsy T-shirt or some string art.

Or you could go a different route …

1. A maid

With three small boys, two large dogs, one husband, and me, my house generally hovers two steps north of Social Services intervention.

Dinosaurs litter the floor of the den.

LEGO® bricks have been lobbed all over my dining room.

Dog hair covers every upholstered surface, and the kids have left plastic swords in the hallway — again.

And this doesn’t even begin to touch my kitchen or bathrooms.

This Christmas, eschew the hipster T-shirt and pay for someone to clean up this joint. She could even like, scrub out the inside of my microwave and wipe down the baseboards. And wash the floors. Oh, to have clean floors.

2. A new car

No one really loves a minivan, except, perhaps, my father-in-law, who drives one despite his lack of small children. He’s the only person alive who doesn’t die a bit inside when they tool down the highway in a mom mobile. Minivans are the cheapest solution to multiple children and a need for more cupholders.

But I’ve heard tell of other solutions: cars that can seat up to seven or eight, with a LATCH hook in every seat. These cars look like normal SUVs. They don’t scream “soccer mom.” They don’t come with an obligatory stick figure family. I want one of those cars. I don’t care about the gas milage.

3. A magic coffee robot

This magic coffee robot would preternaturally sense my waking five minutes before it happens. In these five minutes, it would turn on the coffee machine, then skitter to the fridge for creamer. Robo-pinchers would grab my favorite mug. Then it would mix everything together with a precise amount of Splenda and my perfect coffee would wait for me to shamble, crazy-eyed, out of the bedroom, and mainline its sweet, sweet nectar.

If coffee robot also emptied the grounds and cleaned my microwave, I wouldn’t complain.

4. A room where no one can go but me

That includes my husband.

I can’t poop without people barging in to tell me about their LEGO® creation or demanding to sit on my lap. I put on my makeup in a bathroom full of three children and a dog, and try not to stab myself with eyeliner when I yell at someone to stop standing on the toilet. Someone always wants to sit next to me on the couch. All night, I’m touching either my husband or the baby.

I want a room of my own. I don’t care if people stay out under penalty of death or because there’s a forcefield or whatever. But I want my own couch, a snuggly blanket, a Kindle, and a cup of tea. No one will jump on my couch. No one will steal my blanket or drink my tea. This room must be soundproof.

5. Someone to purge my kids’ toys, and then tell them about it

I can purge the toys on my own, if I have to. In fact, I’d likely have to supervise the process, because some stranger wouldn’t know that stuffed toy dinosaur is the beloved Dr. Spinosaurus. But my kids need to lose at least half of their toys, including dinosaur and Star Wars figures, and probably three-quarters of their stuffed animals.

What I really want is someone to explain to my kids that we’re ditching their toys. That person has to deal with the rage, the tears, and the “but I love that stuffed grasshopper so much even though I haven’t laid eyes on it for a year and a half.”

Basically, this person is my whipping boy, and once the tears have stopped, he bags up everything and hauls it to Good Will.

6. Gift certificates to all the takeout places

Sometimes you just don’t feel like cooking. Or, actually, most of the time I don’t feel like cooking. It’s a pain and it gets my kitchen dirty, which I have to clean before Social Services shows up. So we call 555-CHINESE.

If someone wanted to subsidize my avoidance of cooking, thus allowing me to avoid more cooking, I would be humbly grateful. This will preferably come with delivery.

7. A destroyed TV … and a suitably absorbing replacement activity

Before I had kids, I would have taken my TV out in the backyard and shot it. I could do that now, if someone would give me a way to entertain my kids the same way. This activity needs to keep them busy for up to 15 minutes at a time, which is enough to scrounge a decent shower or an adult phone conversation. The activity also needs to create virtually no mess. And preferably, it’s educational. Don’t suggest books. They only give the 4-year-old five minutes.

What do you really want for Christmas?

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