Nothing says Christmas Eve quite like watching Anchorman with your parents.

Our Christmas Eves change from year to year. Most years, I go to church, and come home to light the bayberry candles. It's a tradition in our family, one that is sacred. The flame helps us remember those who can't be with us, in person, or in spirit. Then I like to watch It's a Wonderful Life whilst wrapping stocking stuffers. 

That's the perfect evening. But as so often happens, plans go awry. Hence - Anchorman.

All that really matters to me is being able to hang with my family. One of my brothers is here, and Randy, and the kittens, who insist of being the alphas of the house, and keep parading into my parents' room to torture their cat. We lit the candles, and I had that moment of peace I have every year, a blessed moment of unity and thankfulness.

But the rest of the day was nutso. I put nearly 4 miles on my FitBit running last minute errands, and rushing up and down the stairs, moving presents from place to place. I'm stuffed full of chocolates, I dropped my phone in my perfect pumpkin pie, and I'm still hurting from the man at the Publix this afternoon who needed money and offered to do yard work for it - God, we are so blessed. I hope he has someone tonight who is thinking of him, and a warm place to sleep. At least I know he has a few extra bucks in his pocket because of our meeting.

Like I said, a strange day. And I somehow managed to get 1000 words down, and did 1700 yesterday. Writing in the middle of Christmas prep is the very definition of insanity. 

So the day winds to a close. The house has grown silent around me. I can hear the waves breaking in the distance, and the candles' flame grows low. Christmas is nearly upon us.

Whether it's finding out about angels getting their wings, or watching Ron Burgundy french kiss Baxter; watching football or kneeling in church, getting goosebumps and tears from hearing all the wavering voices sing Silent Night; walking on the beach and writing; realizing one stocking stuffer is missing in action and there's probably a hundred things I've forgotten - it's all Christmas to me.

On this slightly non-traditional Christmas Eve, I leave you with one of the completely irreverent songs from my childhood, one I've been singing all day. I can't seem to escape it; perhaps by writing it down, it will leave me alone. 

Jingle Bells,
Batman Smells,
Robin laid an egg.
Lost a wheel,

And the joker got away - hey!

Merry Christmas, everyone, and sweet dreams!

J.T. Ellison

New York Times bestselling author J.T. Ellison writes dark psychological thrillers starring Nashville Homicide Lt. Taylor Jackson and medical examiner Dr. Samantha Owens, and pens the Nicholas Drummond series with #1 New York Times bestselling author Catherine Coulter. Cohost of the premier literary television show, A Word on Words, Ellison lives in Nashville with her husband and twin kittens.

For more insight into her wicked imagination, join J.T.’s email list at jtellison.com/subscribe, or follow her online at Facebook.com/JTEllison14 or on Twitter @thrillerchick.