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It’s 12:05 a.m., December 25, 2011. I promised myself I wouldn’t stay up this late, but I am here anyway. Tomorrow I’ll be so tired and unable to fake a smile in front of everyone come afternoon. But I must get one thing under control before I go to bed.
I arrange all the kids’ presents neatly on their Thomas the Train table. I just finished wrapping the last one. The green Peanuts paper is for the boys, the Snoopy-covered red is for my little girl. They make a pretty picture on the table. I consider snapping a photo, proof of hard work and commitment in this season of emotional chaos, but I am too tired to grab my camera. I simply sit on the steps for a moment to let my thoughts settle.
As a high school freshman, I sat in the school counselor’s office, counting numbers backward. To test my aptitude, he told me a series of random numbers (36, 71, 42, and so on) and asked me to recite them backward. I got a perfect score every time. I didn’t understand why he was so impressed—my memory has always been strong.