The children, in church several hours before being nestled all snug in their beds under brand-new blankets crocheted by their great-grandmother. I sit here in front of a 6' tree fairly dwarfed by piles of presents, nibbling on Santa's caramel crunch cookie and the reindeers' carrot, sipping the former's frosty bubbly cocktail (what? Santa doesn't get a mimosa at your house?) secure in the knowledge that sugarplums have likely begun dancing in their heads and I may take a moment to blog.

After the 4 p.m. service we drove around a bit, looking at lights and meandering our way to a nearby Chinese place for dinner. The kids were amused by waiters wearing Santa hats and the restuarant's gift to us of a 2007 calendar - cool enough to warrant fighting over and the quick intervention by one waiter in rushing a second to our table. We took a little detour through Brainiac's childhood neighborhood on the way home and were charmed by luminaria in front of most of the houses. He tells me that this has been going on since he was quite young and he became both sad and joyous as we drove, enjoying his children's exclamations from the backseat while also remembering his late father's role in setting up the luminaria that his family displayed. It's an odd place in which we find ourselves, still feeling as if we ought to eat at the kids' table and not yet finished being parented but now also parents ourselves. Christmas seems to make this neither-here-nor-there quality bolder, somehow, more stark.

And now we are home. The carrot and cocktail are gone, the last verses of Barbra Streisand's Ave Maria have faded from my little Pandora set-up, and Brainiac is pouring me a Frangelico. So.

We most definitely did not have a silent night, although in many ways it did feel holy. The gift of the blankets made by my kids' oldest relative, remembering to them a grandfather they never met, eating dumplings together as part of a tradition their father and I started before they were born and now sharing a drink and cigar with Brainiac as we putter away the remaining hours of Christmas Eve...yes, there has been something very holy in the day we shared.

Sleep in heavenly peace.