The end-of-day wiggles and giggles weren’t out of their baby bodies yet. Even after shutting off all the lights, and sitting quietly with them, they figdeted, and tossed, and couldn’t quite settled. The tree twinkled, illuminating the living room, and I suddenly got an idea. “C’mere, kids!”
They jumped up and scurried over to me, now kneeling beside the tree. “Come lay right here, and look up.”
They flattened out on their backs against the carpet, and suddenly, they saw it. “Look at the ceiling,” I told them.
Their eyes lit up brighter than the tree itself.
There’s nothing quite as magical as staring at the ceiling from under the tree, watching the lights dance mysterious shadows about the room, as if they’re choreographing their illuminated rhythm all just for you.
No matter your age, it never gets old.
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