My very first hardcover—of any of my books, ever—arrived last Friday. I could have ridden that high for a little while longer, I think. (I lingered over every detail: the paper stock, the glossy textures applied to the jacket, the embossed spine of the book itself.) 

But then this happened: 

That's thirty hardcovers and fifteen audiobooks, for those not interested in counting. They arrived at our door after seven p.m. last night, on Christmas Eve Eve. The delivery man rang the bell and disappeared. Squish knows what a late doorbell means at our house. "I think someone put a package outside," she announced through a mouthful of peanut butter sandwich. Felicia went outside, expecting one of a couple of small packages she'd ordered, and found not only her packages, but a stack of boxes marked Penguin Random House. 

Christmas came a couple of days early. Hooray!