It was an early night. Bruce, Santa’s gift wrapping helper, fueled by a French dipped sandwich, red wine and grappa, was done early this year before midnight. Less presents perhaps? Who knows. A friend told me his 10 year old daughter found Santa’s wrapping paper in their car a couple of days after Christmas. She was not upset because she found out there was no Santa but felt sad that her mom and dads’ secret was over. That’s the hard part around here. Keeping the magic alive year after year for a pack of boys ages 6-18. When all was said and done, and I settled down for my long winters’ nap and the birthday fairy (just getting over bronchitis) was putting the final touches on the dining room for Ollie’s birthday on Christmas day, I thought I heard sleigh bells.

While visions of sugar plums are dancing in the boys heads along with the deal we struck with them that nobody comes downstairs till sunrise at 6:47 we hear a stirring at 6:00. Footsteps, plumbing sounds and finally voices.  ”Sam, wake up.” “It’s dark outside.” “No, the sun is almost up it’s just cloudy.” “It’s Christmas!” “Sam, get up!”

We can’t hold them back any longer. Permission is granted to come downstairs. Christmas has come once again. Santa has brought, 2 girl guinea pigs for everyone, (we hope they are both girls) a manual typewriter for Sam, a Kindle for Ollie, a skateboard for Theo, a knights outfit for Simon and clothes for Henry.

It’s fairly civilized this morning with a fire going and Christmas music playing on the stereo. I start the espresso machine, put a pound of bacon in the oven and look into the downstairs bathroom and see Phoebe, Simon’s kindergarten pet dwarf hamster who we are taking care of over the holiday break, running briskly on her treadmill. I’m thinking the sound of her on the treadmill sounds a bit like the sleigh bells I heard last night.