Real Christmas magic and miracles come from families

I've been pretty cranky at work lately. Oh, it's nothing really, just lots of tension in the office - tight deadlines, lots of projects, fraying tempers.

The gray skies, bumper-to-bumper traffic and constant drizzling rain haven't been helping my mood much, either. But when I walk in the door of my house, that all changes. No, I don't have a fancy house - not at all. But I'll come in, crabby and bedraggled, and my husband will greet me like a princess; he'll have dinner already started and the dog walked and fed, to boot.

My kids will rush over to show me their school projects, not even noticing I look like something the cat dragged in. They'll chatter excitedly with each other and giggle and wrestle while I peel off my purse and my boots and my bookbag, and every time they laugh I'll feel my mood lighten.

By the time I walk upstairs to change my clothes I feel like an entirely different person.

I just finished a little Christmas book of short stories recently. It's called Magic, Miracles & Mistletoe. I started it on a whim, deciding for no good reason to start a project about holiday magic. The dedication was the last and easiest sentence I wrote:

"This novella is dedicated to my family: Without them, there'd be no magic at all."