This is just a little literary (belated) Christmas card to all of you who have supported all my stories and my writing throughout the year. I appreciate and love you guys so much! Merry Christmas! I promise more fun things to come.

This hops ahead a few months, but don't worry, I'll go back to the story as we left in the last chapter again.

🎄🎅🏼☃️❤️⭐️❄️😘

"'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..." I read to my family from the fine aged parchment of a leather-bound first edition. The fire is going. A featherlight snow falls outside. And Ana and all four children lie tucked around me on our big, floppy couch. Matching snow people pajamas and cocoa and blankets abound, as they listen to me recite this Ye Olde Christmas tale under the sparkling lights and baubles from our towering evergreen boughs.

"Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse..."

Well, maybe one errant rodent...

Like a playhouse lead on cue, Chester—in his sock footed Grinch print onesie and long candy cane striped silk sleeping hat, pops his head out of Phoebe's front pocket, just sniffing for mischief. After a yawn, he looks left and then right and then left again, before he spots his next prey. Like a flash, he scampers off of her shoulder, flies to the cushions, and then scurries to the coffee table to take down the succulent grab—the red discarded bow tie of a gingerbread man.  

"The stockings were hung by the chimney with care..."

I glance up at the roaring fireplace and the names of the most important people in the world all stitched in script on the dangling knit socks. There's Teddy's blue and Phoebe's sparkle pink, with little Archie and Olly's red and green check brand new to the mix. Taylor and Gail have gained place up there, too. As have Chester and Boone —or should I say Liberace's more flamboyant rodent brother and The Bachelor of The Barn? And then there's Ana's and mine at the center of the glowing hearth. Mama and Papa and their babies beside. Every year, when I look at this glorious Christmas born scene, I pose the same question. Each time with a little more wonder and a lot more awe.

How did I end up with a mantle so full?

I do notice the toe of my sock has casually crossed over Ana's and I can't help but smile. Even my stocking can't keep away from hers.

"In hopes the Saint Nicholas soon would be here..."

"Is he almost here, Daddy?" Phoebe asks, looking up at me with a smile just like Ana's and eyes like my own. But hers are filled with a kind of magic and wonder that I never knew existed until I knew her mother. They hold the kind of faith that has no second thoughts, no crossed fingers and toes. That believe because believing is all that they've ever known.

"He'll be here soon," I say and then kiss her head as she tucks into me close.

"The children were nestled all snug in their beds..."

I look down at my Olly, who's nestled snug across my chest. He has the littlest button nose and pink pouty lips. And there's the softest curl of strawberry hair peeking out from under his winter blue striped baby hat. I then look to Ana, who holds our other small son. Archie coos and smiles in his dreams as he sleeps safely held in his mother's arms. It's hard to believe we didn't know these little wonders last year. Now, I can't remember life without double onesies and double socks and taking quadruple the time to get from this point to that. I don't remember a time before we were six. Or when we were just two. Or a time, so long ago now, when I thought that forever I'd be just one.

"As visions of sugarplums danced in their heads..."

"What's a sugarplum?" Teddy asks.

"It's when you wash off the plum and keep it all wet and then roll it in sugar," Phoebe says.

Well...

"We'll go with that," I say and Ana giggles.

"And mama in her kerchief..." I look to Ana and smile. Lord, is she heavenly in the light of the fire right now, rocking our baby boy. The flush in her cheeks and the sparkle in her blues. There is nothing more beautiful than her as a mother. The best gift I ever received was her tumble through my door.

"And I in my cap, had just settled down for a long winter's nap..."

"Why is he taking a nap if he's going to sleep?" Teddy asks.

"Because he was so excited for Santa to come that he couldn't sleep all the way through," Ana says. She's always so good with the quick answers.

"Me, too! Me, too!" Phoebe says. "I could just nap t'night so I don't miss the good stuff." She's been insistent for weeks that she'll be awake to see Santa Claus. But even as she says it she produces the biggest yawn.

"When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash. Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash."

Talk about throwing up a sash—Chester's now scampered on top of the packages. I see the flurry of his scurry amidst the gold ribbons and candy cane bows. A blur of pajama clad rodent wherever he goes.

"The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below..."

"The moon has boobs," Teddy says and he and Phoebe laugh.

"It's not boobs..." I say. "It's the breast of..." They continue to laugh. "Never mind." I shake my head. I'm not getting into moon boobs tonight. I swear, he sounds just like Elliot.

"When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer..."

"Rudolph!" Phoebe yells out, arms up, Frosty slippered feet out. She sprung forth so excitedly, I'm surprised the babies didn't wake.

"With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick..."

I'm anticipating the kids excitement for the arrival of Santa Claus to the poem, but all I'm met with is blank stares.

"Who's Nick?" Teddy asks.

"Santa Claus," I say.

"Why is he called Nick, then?" Teddy asks.

"Because that's his real name," I say.

"I thought it was Santa," Teddy says.

"It is... but before he was Santa Claus he was Nicholas." I think.

"But they said on my one show his name was Kris Kringle 'fore he was famous," Phoebe says, scrunching her nose up just like Ana does when I'm especially full of shit. "And he had strawberry hair like my baby brothers and he had brothers, too, who was Ringle and Tingle and Dingle and Wingle and Zingle. And Miss Jessica is his wife, and she was the teacher and they got married in front of all the cutest animals."

What the hell kind of Christmas show was she watching?

"Oh yes, that's right. He goes by a few names," I say. Hell, I forgot Santa went by so many aliases. I won't even get into Father Christmas or Papa Noël.

"I'll bet he's really a cool super spy!" Teddy says. "'Cause he goes all over the world, sneaks into bazillions of people's houses only after they go to sleep, and you can only see him when he's at the mall."

I'm not sure what mall outings have to do with super spy activities, but he seems convinced.

"Yeah," Phoebe adds. "And he knows everything you do. Like when you throw paper at boys and if you sleep for real or just pretend shut your eyes at your naps, or if you eat all the veggies on your plate or just hide them under your taters. And he makes lists about it. And if you're bad you get a bag of rocks." She thinks about it. "And not the good kinds of ones."

"He's not a spy," I say, but they certainly gave me something to think about. He is kind of stalkerish about eating and sleeping and secretly obtaining information about people. And he has a strict list of rules to obey. But, he means well, brings a lot of gifts and he can fly...

Hey wait, he's basically me. 

Mind blown.

I am Santa Claus.

Well, if he had a trainer.

"Santa is a very important man," Ana says. "And important people have a lot of different names. Like your father is Daddy to you and Christian to me and then he's also Mr. Grey." She gives me a subtle wink and a light nibble of her plump plum lip.

Wow, what was that about? Maybe I could be Mr. Grey for her later. Or Santa Claus, as we now know we're practically one in the same. Except he only comes once a year.

I think the real spy in the room is Chester, now standing on his hind legs, eating a piece of popcorn he's nabbed off a string from the tree. He's trying to act casual, but I see him swaying from foot to foot, attempting to sneak a peek at his packages. The little rat knows he has a Versace leather bomber jacket coming—in bubblegum pink—and Dolce and Gabbana suede pants with the boots to match.

I feel the kids are getting lost in the semantics of this poem. I need to make it more exciting, more theatrical, more magical, so I attempt to amp up my performance, without waking the babies of course. The last thing we need at the moment is a screaming set of twins bringing down this Christmas Eve show.

"More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, and he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN! on, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONNER and BLITZEN! To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall! Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

"Where's Rudolph?" Phoebe asks, popping up, alarmed that a terrible tragedy has occurred. "They could crash without his nose."

"No, it was only gonna crash that one time 'cause it was the foggiest night ever," Teddy says. "That only happened once before, like with the dinosaurs, Santa said."

He did? I don't remember that show, either. Maybe that was on A Flintstone Christmas.

"This poem was before Rudolph was even born," I say.

"Oh yeah, that's when his daddy Blitzen was still doing all the big flying," Phoebe says and then sits back, tucking tightly under my shoulder again.

"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, with the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too."

I envision the faces of my children in the morning, bounding down the staircase and racing into the den. It's my favorite scene. They'll rip off the paper and wear the discarded ribbons and bows. There will be an explosion of Christmas and in its aftermath they'll fall fast asleep, holding dolls and trucks, wearing smiles and cookie crumbs as they dream. I'll sit here, right on this couch, snuggling with Ana, as we gaze out onto the happy mess in our happy home. And I'll make sure none of it gets cleaned up too fast.

"And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my hand, and was turning around, down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound."

"We have to put out the fire," Teddy says, pointing to the fireplace. "Santa will get his butt burnt."

"And Rudolph!" Phoebe says.

"No one will get butt burnt on Christmas. I'll put it out as soon as you're in bed."

"Dad said butt burnt," Teddy says and the kids laugh. I think even a sleeping Olly cracked a smile.

"Could we open the barn, 'cuz maybe Rudolph and the other flying deers would like to have cookies and tea with Boone," she says. "He likes out of town visitors."

"I'll have Taylor unlock it and keep watch." I say.

Crap, I better remind Taylor to leave evidence that Rudolph was out there. If I know my Phoebe, she'll be searching for hoof prints and half eaten cookies first thing.

But what kind of teacup does a reindeer use?

"He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot, and his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; a bundle of toys he had flung on his back, and he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow..."

"He sounds so beautiful," Phoebe says.

"Boys aren't beautiful," Teddy says.

"They are if they're Santa!" she says in reply.

"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, and the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath..."

Santa's a smoker?

"He had a broad face and a little round belly, that shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, and I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself."

"He's not an elf, he's a Santa," Teddy says.

"Uh huh, the Kringles took him as a baby and they was all elves, so he was kinda an elf, 'cause they were brothers," Phoebe says. "But you shouldn't laugh at elves."

"Fair point well made, Miss Grey," I say to her and then smile at Ana.

"A wink of his eye and a twist of his head, soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, and filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, and laying his finger aside of his nose, and giving a nod, up the chimney he rose."

Okay, here's the climactic end.  I clear my throat to ready my voice. Make it exciting, Grey. Infuse it with the spirit of the season. Make this a denouement to the famed Christmas poem that the kids will never forget.

"He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, and away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight:

HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT!

I look up from the book, anticipating Teddy and Phoebe's beaming faces, eyes lit with excitement for Santa Claus and all that's to come on this eve night ahead. Instead, I find my two snowman slippered Christmas angels fast asleep. Each of my shoulders, a pillow for their heads.

"That was beautiful, Daddy," Ana says as Archie coos.

"They didn't hear the ending," I whisper to her.

"I have a feeling they'll remember this night for the rest of their lives," Ana says, leaning down to kiss Archie's soft little head. "Well, half of them will anyway." She smiles, and then reaches over to brush Olly's pink cheek.

"I think you remember first Christmases," I say and she gives me a quizzical look. "It's when your eyes are first opening to the world. It means something that someone tried to fill it with magic."

She smiles, a little teary, as she strokes my stubbled cheek. "You give us magic everyday."

"Back at you." I smile, looking down at my children covering me, and then again to my stunning wife. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Grey."

"Merry Christmas, Santa Claus," she says. There is no mistletoe, but she still gifts me a kiss, before resting her head right next to Phoebe's on my shoulder. When I look down just a few moments later, I see she's fast asleep, too.

Chester, with a belly to rival Old Saint Nick or Kris Kringle or whoever his sleigh driving license says he is at the moment, rejoins the family fold. Back in Phoebe's pocket, he finds slumber with the rest of the house. I shake my head. He sure is a little shit, but he's our very own.

As I sit fixed beneath the pile of my family, I don't sleep. Like Phoebe said, I don't want to miss the good stuff. I look out at the tree and the fire and the presents beneath. The house that we built and the home that we keep. I know I should wake everyone and get them up into bed, but I don't just yet. It's Christmas and this is the only gift I want. And I want to enjoy it for just a little bit more.