Merry Christmas

As I sit here, it is still Christmas Eve - but only for another thirty minutes or so. I'm sitting here, waiting; waiting for a safe time to check Sam's night table to see if Santa has left him chocolates, and to be able to check it without him waking up.

Sam and Jake and Rachael and Helaina spent the evening making cookies, like they have every Christmas Eve. And before heading upstairs, Sam left his annual letter to Santa. 

There's a lot going on in that letter this year. There's a lot going on inside of him.

The stockings that were hung on the banister earlier this evening are now filled, and the presents are all under the tree. And I wait for it to be quiet upstairs. And I wait to be sure. 

This moment, I think, is my Christmas. To know that everyone is home and upstairs and safe - and that everything is taken care of, at least for one more night. 

At least for one more year.

In a few more minutes, I will head upstairs and hopefully find that Sam is asleep and I will hopefully see some candy on his nightstand - a sign that someone visited him tonight - someone that loves him and thinks that he's special. 

And I hope that he feels that love, and I hope that his brother and sisters do too - even though Santa no longer leaves candy on their nightstands.

I also hope that you have a very merry Christmas and I hope that the coming year is good and kind to you. 

Merry Christmas.