WE'RE ALL AWAKE

Dear Spike:

Merry Christmas.

You woke this morning at 5 a.m., whining and slapping your hands wildly from side to side.

As soon as your mother and I were both up, you quieted down. It was as though you were saying, “well folks, so long as we’re all awake now...”

And so I got up and made some hot cocoa and orange rolls while your mother fed you. I lit some candles while she found your Santa hat. I flipped the switch on the Brio train that circles around the tree and turned on our Bing Crosby album. She gathered a blanket and set it down by the mantle.

We all converged at the foot of the tree.

Bing crooned, “I’m dreaming...”

Outside, two-foot icicles hung from the roof.

And inside, we set to work opening our gifts.

Your mother made me a book with 12 months of family activities. In April, we’ll take a hike up Immigration Canyon. In May, we’ll take a family raft trip on the reservoir. In September, we’ll visit Arches National Park.

For her, I painted a picture of the two of you, working from a photo that I took when you were just a few months old.



You gave me a drawing — your very first with color crayons. (Someday I’m sure I’ll be able to sell it for a million bucks, but I won’t.)



I gave you a book, my first work of fiction (well, other than all that drivel I write for the newspaper each day.) It’s not quite complete yet, and my goal is to have it done by your birthday. In the meantime, I’ve given you a draft of the first six chapters. Another 20 chapters are in my computer, waiting for some minor revisions. And there’s still nine or 10 chapters in my head, waiting for inspiration. Writing this story has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. And keeping it a secret from your mother has been nearly as difficult.



Your mother made you a blanket, silky on one side, fleece on the other, with ribbons and tags of all shapes and textures on the edges. You love it!



But the best gift of all was the joy we felt, sharing this day with you. I've always enjoyed Christmas, but never so much as I did this morning with you and your mother.

Thank you, my precious little girl. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

It’s 7:30 a.m. now, and we’re all back in bed. Bing has run through his entire Christmas repertoire. The Brio train has run out of steam. The candles have been snuffed out.

You’re curled up in your mother’s arms with you new blanket. She’s reading your book.

And I’m ready for a nap.

Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.

Love,
dad