Maybe Christmas, he thought, was a little bit more.

This has been a weird Christmas season for me.

As long-time readers may recall, I usually immerse myself in Christmas classics and treacly Christmas movies throughout December. When I’m working on a film book, there’s a mix of book-related films and Christmas films. But I’ve never had a book wrapping up at the end of December before.

When I set that timeline last year, I was confident I’d have everything wrapped up by now and mostly be doing final edits and proofing. That didn’t work out. I should have known, because I don’t think I’ve ever done one that wasn’t a rush to finish. And I’m doing better than I did with The Aliens Are Here, where I had to ask McFarland for an extra month.

The rush to finish, plus all the extra pet care I’ve blogged about, means less social activity than I’d usually see in a month. No going out for tea, and our only party is my writer’s group Christmas party.

And yet it’s been a good Christmas season. I feel Christmassy.

We have a gorgeous tree.

I picked some great gifts for TYG. We have stuff to worry about (who doesn’t?) but no catastrophes. And I just feel very happy, really appreciative that I have an awesome wife, a home and our four adorable (if somewhat troublesome pets). That’s more than many people have at Christmas time (I have a colleague whose spouse died last Christmas).

Part of why I made a habit of so many Christmas movies was that I lived alone and spent a lot of Christmas mornings alone over the years. That’s no longer the case. I still enjoy flooding the zone, don’t get me wrong, but it seems I don’t need it.

Merry Christmas to me. And TYG. And our pets. And all you Whos out in Whoville. Contrary to Dr. Seuss, Christmas Day isn’t always in our grasp — but if it is, I hope you’ve been able to seize and enjoy it.

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