When I was young, my sister and I would get so excited about Christmas. We would think about it for weeks on end and look forward to its arrival as we counted down the final days leading up to Christmas day. We would tear through the house at the crack of dawn Christmas morning; my parents were lucky to convince us to hold off until 6:00am. We would usually burst into our living room to examine the tree and gifts, hunting for our names on the tags and the traces of soot and ash boot prints that Santa left for us. We’d also examine the cookies and carrots we left out the night before to make sure that Santa had his fill and that the reindeer were full and happy as well. Once we had checked these boxes, my younger sister and I would dash back into my parents bedroom, to pounce on them as they rested bleary eyed and exhausted from a long night of wrapping and taking care of the aforementioned evidence of Santa’s visit to our home. Read More...