Fall on my Knees.

It is the second anniversary of Notes today, and I kept thinking I would get to sit down and write something beautiful for you for Christmas Eve. I wanted to tell you what this night means to me; what it is, this year especially, to wait through the dark night for a miracle. What it is to find one where and when you'd least expect it. I thought I'd tell you about the service of lessons and carols last night in the Cathedral, the one I never miss, and I never take the children or Patrick to, because it is my moment alone in the wings, just before the red velvet curtain comes up on Christmas.

I wanted to tell you how my Mom can clean a lobster like nobody else on earth. How much I've hated shopping these past few days, and how grateful I am that I could. How I was on the verge of complete mental collapse just now in the supermarket when a girlfriend hugged me and told me to remember I am a kickassmotherfucker, and how my Christmas wish for you is that you have someone like that in your life. A potty mouth angel.

I want to tell you about Kirk who knew me when and who calls me every Christmas Eve without fail, and how I am jumping to grab the phone every time it rings.

I could write a book about how much I miss my Dad.

I thought I'd clean the house, wrap every gift, make a nice supper, take my children for a walk, go to church. It is ten minutes to five, and the list has shifted from what must be done to what must be let go. The best I can do will have to do.

Including this.