I can’t help but recall all of the Christmas Eves when my husband and I were up far too late. Hiding out behind the closed door of our bedroom, there were presents to wrap, bicycles to assemble, stockings to stuff. We’d be engrossed, trying to see our way to the end, hungry for sleep.
And then, from out of nowhere, would come a soft knock on our bedroom door. A pained little voice on the other side would moan in sheer agony, “I caaaaaaan’t sleep.”
At the first pass, he or she would get a heartfelt parental response, “I know, I know but Santa can’t come until each of you is asleep. Go back to bed.” But by the third or even fourth round of knocking, our patience would be beginning to fray. The door would open and that tiny soul would look up into my eyes. I’d issue a stern “go to bed” and escort that sad little tike back to the bedroom. Oh, the agony of waiting for Christmas morning!
As you will see from this week’s column, all of that has now changed dramatically in our house!