Christmas Eve

I think the magic of this night is that much more intense for how fleeting it is.  This moment in time, where time stops. Presents wrapped, carefully arranged, candle light and tree light intermingled and dancing on the glitter of ribbons and bows.  It will never look like this again.  And I can't capture it on film, as hard as I try.  There is no one media that can hold and store and re-present all of it at once. The smell-- candles and pine and paper and tea-- the sound-- a clock, hushed voices, Corydon's breathing, the night settling in--and that amazing half-light that is somehow bright as day and celebration but soft as a newborn asleep.  Mystery and magic and timelessness.

The world in solemn stillness lay...

Our children are snuggled in sugar-plum beds and the stockings are stuffed and I am giddy with the anticipation of their faces as my little ones snuggle their new stuffed animals and delight in the joy of three Tootsie rolls for their very own.  (We overdo Christmas, we really do.  The stocking presents alone are such a bounty....)  But the tree!  The tree!  What would Christmas be without a completely ridiculous pile of presents under the tree?  We know Jack and Ivy will be too overwhelmed to actually appreciate half of what we have given them. We know this, but still we give it, and wait eagerly for morning...

Jack said  he is not going to close his eyes tonight.  He has the curtains pushed back to keep watch for Santa.  He carefully helped to pen a note to the big guy and selected three of his favorite cookies to set out.

It's a daunting responsibility, and an amazing privilege, to be a part of creating the magic of Christmas for this little boy of my heart.

Off now to soak up a few more moments of light and stillness.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.