I open my eyes to the urgent sound of “Mommy.” My daughter stands beside my bed, a hopeful expression on her beloved face.

Climbing out from beneath warm covers, I take her hand and we head for the stairs. Behind us, my husband stops to pick up our small son chattering away in his crib.

Halfway down the stairs the tree comes into view and my daughter can see Santa has come. Her intake of breath is audible, her excitement palpable. Both prompt a giddiness to squeeze my chest.

As the children rush the tree, my husband rolls the video camera he carefully staged the night before. My eyes drift to the island in the kitchen. There my laptop stands sentinel most nights, waiting for me to lovingly caress it each morning. There are always words to be typed. It wants them as much as I need to give them.

Ignoring the call, I turn back to my family. It’s easy to do for they are the inspiration for all that I am and all that I write. Words fade into the background as the Christmas spirit firmly takes hold.

Later, my husband asks if it’s time to put the turkey in the oven. We’re having too many people over for dinner, but at least it’s potluck. Going into the kitchen, I’m drawn once again to the laptop sitting on the counter. I need to move it. There is no time to crack open the lid. The five minutes I promise myself would undoubtedly turn to thirty and that turkey must go in the oven.

Relegated to the office for the day, I’m sure my laptop is miffed. Or it would be if it were a person, I guess. It hears so many of my secrets and sees so much of my soul, it seems a shame to leave it out of the holiday celebration. On second thought, that’s just weird and all of the guests would think so, too.

Frivolity ensues and before I know it another Christmas is waning. We put the tired, sated children to bed, favorite new toys clutched against their bodies as they drift into slumber.

Descending the stairs once more, I see the dishes in the kitchen. I had help cleaning earlier, but there is always more. My husband sits on the couch and pats the spot next to him. Turning my back on the mess that will be waiting for me tomorrow, I sit down. We enjoy the silence a few moments before he inevitably picks up the Tivo remote. “Are you going to watch TV?” I ask. I’m a little surprised because his new Martin acoustic guitar is surely calling his name as loudly as my laptop ever does.

“For a bit,” he responds.

Knowing he understands my compulsion, I go to the den to retrieve my laptop. It was a Mother’s Day gift from my husband. Yes, this man gets it.

At last, I curl up on the couch. The warmth of my laptop comforts me as I settle in. The words flow onto the page with ease. It’s only a paragraph or two, but it’s enough. Satisfied, I set my dear friend aside and thank the stars for this blessed gift.

This Christmas short is posted with permission from Darcy Burke.

She and everyone at Romantic Inks wish you and yours a very happy holiday season! Merry Christmas!