There's a stretch of Christmas morning that never makes the photo album. The presents are open, the wrapping paper is stuffed in a trash bag by the door, and the house finally goes quiet. Somebody starts a fresh pot of coffee, the tree lights are still on in broad daylight, and for about twenty minutes nobody needs anything from anybody.
That's where Santa lives on this mug. He's slumped back in a red wooden chair with his coat unbuttoned and his hat tipped down over his eyes, a cookie plate and an empty milk glass at his elbow. His big black boots are kicked off on the floor and his striped socks are out for everyone to see. One long night covering the whole planet, and he's earned every minute of this nap.
I made it for that quiet stretch, and for every slow morning between Thanksgiving and New Year's when the only plan is a refill. Pour something hot, put your feet up, and follow the big guy's lead.
