If there's one thing Christmas (I know it's completely outdated to say the word "Christmas," but I just don't celebrate "Holidays") teaches me each passing year it's this: I need kids.

There are a few reasons:

1) Unconditional Selfless Love (sure, why not).
2) Egocentric Need to Impose My Idea of How People Should Live On A Blank Slate (just admit it).
3) Perfect Excuse For Extricating Myself From Obligatory Social Engagements and Long Work Nights (definitely).
4) (And most importantly) Give Mom An Age Appropriate Person To Discuss Santa's Comings and Goings With (very bad grammar here).

It's not that I don't love being the object of Santa Claus' attention. (Ok, that sounded dirty). Let me try again. It's not that I don't love my stocking. I love that Santa shops at Long's and always gives me a pack of almonds and a tangerine (although, I just realized a horrible thing...I didn't get a tangerine this year). I even love the tradition of "you may not like it, but you will take it home with you and keep it in a drawer for six months" culture of presents that my family embraces. But let's face it, my relationship with Santa passed weird ten years ago. Ok, twenty. In the absence of grandkids or my younger sister, my mom is showering her Xmas love on me.

If I don't have my own kids by next year, I'm going to find me some. In fact, I may start a program of placing orphan poor children with people suffering from a lack of grandparentism. It just doesn't make sense to have so much spirit showered on a single middle-aged woman overidentified with her inner-child.

Just for today, I need kids.