Sky lightening and the moon full over the snowy landscape. It's Christmas Eve. Children and dogs still sleep; it's quiet. I write in each of their journals, one after the other, a Christmas entry:
To my youngest, this wrapping elf who sat last night on the dining room table amidst wrapping paper and secret surprises for others, and suddenly exclaimed: "This is the first time I'm signing 'Love Santa' on a tag!" She is full of the joy of knowing who Santa really is this Christmas.
To my oldest, I write about losses, letting go, new beginnings, unanticipated blessings and surprises.
To my middle child, this prodigal daughter, who volunteered to clean the kitchen at 10:00 p.m., and insisted despite my willingness to do it myself and my concern that she should get some much needed sleep.
Some day, long from now, wherever I am, wherever we all are, they will open the diaries, find - and have - the blessings of this special Christmas again.