Sign of the Times

My daughter gave me her Christmas list yesterday. Well, first of all, she didn't "give" it to me. She forwarded it to me. From GoogleDocs.
Gone are the days of adorable Santa wish lists with misspelled, oversized words that slant down the page.
This was a neatly typed list, no spelling errors in sight, with hperlinks to the products requested that I might better view the items and have access to all pertinent ordering information.
While the efficient me loved the practicality of such a list, the mushy me was ready to cry reminiscent tears remembering back to some of the lists of days gone by. Lists that implored Santa to bring a Babrbie laptop and Barbie boots and a Barbie RV. Lists that asked for a jumprope and an Easy Bake Oven. Letters that inquired as to the health of Mrs. Claus and the elves, and wished Santa a safe flight. Little drawings. Sniff. Letters that smelled of purple crayon and spilled juice. Sniff, sniff.
I'll be alright. Just give me a moment.....

Just click the button and I'll be OK. Sniff.