Christmas, for me, has always been (after bearing my own children) a very taxing/exhausting/frantic/lonely time.
A relentless race against the clock to
– check off (aka hunt down the far from attainable items) the special wishes (& spend every cent I’ve saved over the course of the year for this day) from The List,
– the grueling process of working my full days leading up to the holiday and never finding the opportunity to wrap this precious find a until the Eve of,
– and then of course…
– Setting the aforementioned gifts in a welcoming placement.

It’s 2:14am, and I’m finally done.  I feel my age more these days, so the weight of this year lies more heavily than previous.

That being said, in a couple hours I will be roused my a duo of anxious little girls that will succeed in making it all disappear, with simply their reaction to what they will walk into.

That feeling.
Its what I wait for.
Every single year.
Its one of the most rewarding moments I could ever ask for as a parent…

the sheer magic in their eyes, the awe, and last but not least… The beauty.
There is hope for this world.
It’s in the eyes of our children.

With Schizo Affection,
Humanity

#ToWriteLoveOnHerArms