Drumroll please . . .

Day 12

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This morning I stumbled downstairs to make breakfast for my kids.  I don't do mornings all that well, so I stood for a moment gripping the counter and yawning a dozen times or so.  When I looked down on the counter, I stopped mid-yawn to read the adorable letters my kids had left there early that morning.

Dear Santa,
I have been good this year.  I hope I get Legos.  We left you some cookies.
Love,
Casey
(next page) *I didn't add that.  The note says, in parenthesis (next page).*

On the next page, I read:

Dear Santa,
I have been good this year.  I hope I get Kit's cookstove and produce and preserves set.  We left you some cookies.
Love,
Isabelle

Awwwww!  So cute.  So honest.  Hands down, the best reading I've done in a while.

The best gift you can give today to your reader friends and loved ones is something honestly good to read.  Write them a letter (not an email, not a text, and no tweets either - even if we have had to suffer with the twenty-three birds gifted during the 12 Days of Christmas).  Write them an honest to goodness letter and tell them why they are special to you.

Here is my letter from a reader to those who support my ungainly habit (notice I didn't say you couldn't blog your letter - ah, the loopholes!).

Dear Family,
I just want to take a moment to thank you all for your constant love and support.

To Mum Mum, whose house on the Cape was always stuffed with paperback novels and who never begrudged me borrowing them and then disappearing to the duck pond to ignore the ducks and disappear inside a book instead.

To PaPa Kelley, who had this amazing bookshelf.  It was a tall, dark wood shelf, tucked in a corner of the family room.  The top shelves were dotted with his baseball cap collection.  When I say collection, I don't mean the man had a bunch of hats that he liked to look at.  He wore every single one of those hats, probably in some elaborate rotation that I never thought to ask about, being too young.  The lower shelves were crammed with well-worn hardbound books with gold lettered titles, each more inviting than the next.  When I was too young to read them, I'd sit on the wooden chair by the bookcase and finger the weathered spines, wondering what lay within.  After his death, I chose a book and opened it to find his tightly scribbled notes in the margins.  Touching the pages, I felt a certain sense of happiness that at least he and I would always share the love of language.

To my own dad, who often sat in his big chair with a book in his lap.  It was comforting to know there was another big reader in the house, someone who understood that when packing for a trip, you need two pair of underwear and three books for each day you'll be gone.

To my dad's sister, who taught elementary language arts and was always ready to talk to me about the books I was reading.  I whole-heartedly suggest that parents read what their kids (and teens) are reading because those conversations with my aunt meant the world to me.

To my mom and sister, who may not love reading the way that I do, but never made me feel guilty for loving it so much.  I know it is hard to fake enthusiasm for a hobby you do not also enjoy.  I often find myself struggling to stay focused when my kids ramble on about something they find desperately interesting, but I just don't understand the draw.  My mom and sister never begrudged me the solitude and silence I craved, even though their natures may not have understood the draw that fictional worlds had over me.  Thanks for that and so much more.

To my kids, who have learned that mommy can be interrupted while doing many things, but if she has a book in her hand, you'd better be interrupting to say, Mom, my arm fell off.

To my husband, who actually took the kids away for twenty-four hours when the last Harry Potter book was released so that I could read it all before anyone had a chance to spoil the ending for me.  Who gives me books for Christmas, even though he thinks that's a lame gift.  Who loves me even when I ignore him because I'm involved with other characters somewhere else.  If I could write the perfect hero, it'd be you.

I'd leave you all cookies if I thought that could possibly thank you enough for all you've given me.

Love,
S

To keep reading the 12 Days of Christmas use these links.
Day 1 — 12 Days of Christmas
Day 2 — Two Turtle Doves in the Bag
Day 3 — Ooh La La Hens
Day 4 — Do Birds Get Cold Feet?
Day 5 — Finally, Jewelry
Day 6 — Geese Are Scary
Day 7 — Serene Memories of Books Past
Day 8 — Do Cows Make Wine?
Day 9 — Let the Words Dance across the Pages
Day 10 — Gifts from Scratch
Day 11 — Pipe Dreams and Deadlines