‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,Anxiety was stirring—so much to fret about.The stockings were hung, not quite straight but who cared,Because perfection’s a myth we’ve all unfairly declared. The fur-babies were restless, pacing the floor,Awaiting their treats, always hungry for more.And Dad in his hoodie, and I in mine too,Sat quietly wondering, “How much more can we do?” When suddenly from outside there arose such a clatter,Our dogs barked in chorus, as if the world were in shatter.I peeked through the curtains, my pulse running high,And saw a lone courier under the moonlit sky. Packages stacked, he dashed to his van,As I muttered, “Another thing we…
