Last year my mom wrapped 24 Christmas books and gave them to the boys to open and read one per night in December until Christmas day arrived. Katie and I took turns reading the books to them before bedtime. I think Katie took more turns. Possibly a lot more turns, but it's not like we were keeping score or anything.
This year, the boys alternate nights choosing a book from the now opened collection to have Katie read to them. I was curious how anxious they would be to hear re-runs of last year's books; the answer is very anxious. They've willingly taken their baths a half hour earlier each night, watched one pre-bedtime television show instead of two, and reduced my traditional hug, squeeze and kiss time to a token fist pump as they race by me on the way to settling into their beds for reading time.
It's a sacrifice I happily make.
I love that they find magic in books. And I'm grateful they have a mama who encourages them to find that magic. There's few opportunities to better see a child's sense of Christmas than walking in and catching the look in their eyes as they stare into the pages of a Christmas book.