CJ wrapped his arms around me in bed this morning, me, rumple-haired, rumple-naked, rumple-snoring, and said oh-so-quietly, “You’re better than Christmas”. I smiled. It widened. Couldn’t help it. I grinned. No choice. Was like a force unrelenting. Happiness bubbled, threatening to disrupt my slumber with laughter. Did I actually hear that? Maybe I dreamt it? I mean, really, better than Christmas? Wow. What else is better than Christmas? Lots of things I expect, including me apparently. Cool. A giggle ran up the back of my throat, raced across my thick tongue and wriggled through my dry lips. Couldn’t stop it. His arms squeezed tighter. Confirmation that he really had spoken? Who cares? When you’re better than Christmas, you have neither the time nor the need to sweat the small stuff.