Dreaming of a white Christmas

Our Christmas was practically perfect. We went to bed on Christmas Eve with presents beneath the tree and sticky-bun dough waiting in the fridge. I still felt a bit heart-broken that we didn't have even a flake of snow on the ground, but the excitement in our house was such a treat. The boys fell asleep in their beds with visions of sugar plums in their heads, holding perfectly still to hear the tinkle of bells on Santa's sleigh. At about 4am, Micah tiptoed into our room. 

"Mom, wake up!" he whispered. "There's a surprise out your window! Look! It's snowing outside!"

I don't know why he was awake and peering out his window in the middle of the night, but I can just picture him waking up, and hoping for a glimpse of that jolly old elf driving his sleigh across the sky. Instead, he saw snow. Perfect snow! White and thick, clean and beautiful, light and warm, cold and heavy and everything Christmas morning should be. 

When Grey woke, he whispered "Mom, do you think Santa came?"

"I don't know! Why don't you go check and see?" 

He tiptoed out of the room slowly, and came sprinting back a few seconds later, "HE DID COME! There's a bow and arrows for me, and my stocking is full! Quick, wake up Micah! Come on!"

After presents, we headed to Travis' parents house where the snow continued to fall thickly and left us with the perfect White Christmas. We had an amazing week since, and I promise to post more about it this week. Happy New Year. Merry Christmas. Auld Lang Syne.