Turn their drawing into a Christmas storybook they will still have next year.

By the tree, a snowman stays awake. At the window, he watches stars.

Doors click shut. The house grows quiet. He stands more straight by the tree.

His head dips. He blinks quickly. He grips his scarf and waits.

Then, jingle jingle, on the roof. One red boot swings past. Morning shines, and he still stands guard.

On Christmas Eve, a present drops beside Rafi's penguin. Across the icy bay, the tag names one far house.

He skims past sleeping seals, then darts onto rough ice where cold cracks zigzag ahead.

He reaches the snowy shore and charges up a steep hill, but the box starts slipping.

At pink dawn, he sets the present down and waves, and the gift waits as bells grow faint.

Christmas kitchen. Gingerbread man bolts away. He dives into Elsie's red stocking.

He peeks out. Dog nose sniffs. WOOF! He pops from the stocking.

He scoots into somebody’s slipper. Uh-oh. A warm toe wiggles.

Up the branches he scrambles, higher, higher, beside the star. Best spot yet, atop the tree.

In the quiet living room, Nico's nutcracker stood stiff on the shelf beside the dark Christmas tree, the brass music box below him with its keyhole empty.

Down from the shelf he scrambled, and two toy soldiers rushed from behind a stack of presents, their painted faces wide with worry.

Under the fridge he found the key at last, guarded by a mouse who only wanted to hear the music too.

With the last hard push the key slid in, the music box woke with a silver tune, and the star at the top blazed above them all.