Дорогой Дед Мороз, я надеюсь, что вы и ваша внучка хорошо в этом году.Я хотел бы спросить вас о чем-то. Я был хорошим мальчиком, в основном, за исключением лужи грязи и очистки курятник. Я не хочу это для меня на самом деле, это больше для мамы. Пожалуйста, возьмите спапой и Димитрий дом безопасным? Это все, что я хочу на Рождество.

Спасибо,

Илья Николаевич

Dear Grandfather Frost, I hope you and your granddaugher Snegurochka, are well this year. I would like to ask you for something. I have been a good boy mostly, except fo the mud puddles and cleaning out the chicken coop. I do not want anything for me really, it is for Mama. Please bring Papa and Dimitry home safe? That is all I wish for Christmas.

Thank You,

Illya Nickovich

The little blond boy folded up the piece of paper, and walking outside into the wind and snow, he let it fly in hopes it would reach Ded Moroz. He wiped the tears from his eyes, telling himself he was not crying...it was simply the wind as it bit into him.

Shivering; he stepped back into the kitchen to catch the glaring look of his mother.

"What is wrong with you Illyusha? Do you want to catch your death...it is freezing out there. What was so important that you had to go outside without your hat and coat?"

Illya squirmed as his mother rubbed his arms and back; the friction quickly warming him.

"Ummm, it is a secret Mamouchka. I cannot tell otherwise Ded Moroz might not grant my wish."

"Oh, ho...a letter to Grandfather Frost then, " Mama smiled, brushing her fingers through his long blond hair. "All right, I can forgive you just this once, but please Illya do not do it again. If you were to get very sick, there would be no money for medicine, and my herbal remedies are not that strong."

"I will be good Mama, I promise."

"Come," she usered the boy into the sitting room and there his Babushka, his baby brothers Misha and Sasha, along with little Katiya were all snuggled up, staring at the flames in the fireplace.

The room was nice and warm, and the fire crackled and snapped as the wood burned.

Illya lay his head in his mother's lap, dreaming of Ded Moroz riding in his Troika...filled with bags of gifts for little children. The gift he wanted would not fit in that bag though…

Mama sang, gently stroking her sons head, lulling him to sleep…

Котя, котенька, коток, Котя – серенький хвосток,

Приди, котя, ночевать,Нашу деточку качать,

Уж как я тебе, коту,За работу заплачу –

Дам кусок пирога Да кувшин молока!

(Pussy, little kitty, Kitty - little, grey tail.

Come to us and stay the night, To rock our little baby.

I will pay you, cat, For your job -

I will give you a piece of cake And a jug of milk)

Tanya Kuryakina leaned forward, kissing her little blond boy on the head.

"I hope that what ever you wished for comes true my son…"

.

Note: Please excuse any errors in my Russian...