It is just after midnight on Christmas Eve. Little one and grandma snug in their beds. Cookies, carrots, and scotch left out for Santa and the reindeer. Soft mutterings and loud banging from the Ikea bunk bed assembly worker upstairs (aka my husband, who could use a whole bottle of scotch about now.)
I have always preferred Christmas Eve to Christmas Day. Much the same as I prefer Saturday to Sunday, because there is still something to look forward too. It is an unusual night as well, a time charged with so much expectation and emotion for most of us. The magic of virgin births and fat men that circle the earth and slide down chimneys. The loneliness of people who don't have families to celebrate with. The stress that family gatherings and obligations cause for others. The pressure of too much to do with too little time. The wonder in my son's eyes as he lies in his bed staring out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the magic.
As I walked around my neighborhood late this evening, I caught a glimpse of the magic too. Luminaries lit the walkways, each candle a glowing beacon in the night, leading me on to the next. A light dusting of snow. Complete quiet, not even a car on the road. It was a beautiful way to end the evening. In fact, I started my day before 7am with a similar walk. It's amazing how peaceful suburbia is when everyone is asleep.
However you spend this Christmas day, I hope you find a little bit of the magic. Be it alone or at a crazy family gathering. In the tear of a grandma or the look of wonder on the face of a toddler. In a virgin birth or a fat man in a sleigh. I wish you peace, love, and hugs, on this day and all the rest. Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.