But there was one question that I gave a definitive answer to.
"Mommy," he asked. "Do you believe in Christmas Magic?"
"Yes! I absolutely do! It's all around this time of year."
That was weeks before Christmas and I had already accepted that Santa would only be bringing 4 gifts to place under the tree this year. One for Matthew, one for Caleb, one for Isaac, and one for Mom and Dad (which was really just another present for the children).
There was nothing wrong with the number. I was sure that the boys would be happy with their gifts. But they are such good boys, and I couldn't help but wish I could do something more for them. "Never mind," I told myself. "We'll count our blessings and be grateful for all our gifts--most of which could never fit under a tree."
And then, about a week later, the doorbell began to ring. I don't think it stopped ringing for the better part of two weeks. Mysterious bags of gifts, packages from family, treats from neighbors, Christmas money, and books suddenly appeared on our doorstep.
One night we came home and found a bag of boys' clothes and toys from a neighbor whose children had outgrown them. There was cinnamon bread and caramel popcorn, candies for the children, a bottle of champibble (a.k.a. sparkling cider), and yet another mysterious Christmas box.
Chris and I kept looking at each other, as if to say, "I didn't say anything. Did you?"
The night before Christmas, I was heading upstairs at last, and I couldn't help but notice the Christmas Tree.
Four presents from Santa. And more than a dozen from loving family and neighbors.
It wasn't the number. It was the overwhelming feeling of love and humility. Who are we, to be thought of and cared for?
My hand caught the banister. As I ascended the stairs, my mind replayed a scene from almost a month ago.
"Mommy? Do you believe in Christmas Magic?"
"Yes! I absolutely do! It's all around this time of year."
I know the children felt it too.
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