MERRY CHRISTMAS

Just five more days until Christmas. (I’m writing this on Saturday, with fingers crossed and cookies cooling.)

It has been a month. Our weather has delivered three-inch downpours more than once, with relentless rain and wind in between. Three “atmospheric rivers” have swelled rivers and lakes beyond their banks, forcing evacuations and triggering landslides on major roadways. Mt. Hood—unthinkably—has no snow.

I had an eye checkup this week following laser surgery to clear some post-cataract haziness from a few years ago. The weather was wicked enough that I nearly canceled. By the time I reached the door, I was soaked through, my umbrella having lost a fierce battle with the wind. Hip waders would have been the correct footwear for crossing the parking lot. HORRIBLE. I’d planned to stop for deli food on the way home, but there was no universe in which I was going back out. (Dinner was mac and cheese. Comfort food counts.)

We are fortunate that our condo sits uphill from the Willamette River, which is cresting at record levels. The water is so high—and carrying so much debris—that the beloved Christmas Ship cruise has been canceled for the first time in 70 years. To add insult to injury, two thousand gallons of raw sewage spilled into the river yesterday. Ho ho no.

This morning I woke to darkness—no power in my room or the boys’ room next door. Thankfully, it was just a flipped fuse, and light, heat, and internet were quickly restored. Meanwhile, the family is vacationing near Mt. Hood (a Christmas gift), and they’ve been without power since arriving Friday night. Holiday adventure, Oregon-style.

And yet… Christmas is still on its way.

I’ve made Chex Mix and sugar cookies, with hopes of squeezing in another variety or two before they return on Christmas Eve. Wrapping must begin soon so I can safely navigate my bedroom without risking a holiday injury. And the kidults pulled off a small miracle: they convinced the teens to take a photo with Santa. Same Santa as last year—and wow, does that man know how to coax a great pose out of the typically non-smiling set.

Despite the rain, the wind, the outages, and the general sogginess of it all, the spirit persists. Cookies are baked. Gifts are coming together. Christmas, as it always does, finds a way.

MEAN GIRLS

 Mean Girls Don’t Age Out — They Just Get Louder

This past week reminded me that Mean Girls don’t age out — they just get better lighting and better sound reinforcement.

I had a few uncomfortable run-ins that felt oddly intimidating. It made me think about how kids must feel when they’re targeted, and how quickly confidence can wobble when someone decides to flex power instead of kindness.

And then — just as quickly — the week righted itself.

By Friday, things were back where they belong. Mr. 11 brought home a flower from science class that didn’t make it into the dissection tray. I cooked a dinner that filled the house with good smells and better energy. I finished my holiday shopping (mostly local), sent my sister flowers for no reason at all, and remembered exactly who I am.

Earlier in the week, I was expected to clean up someone else’s work for a meeting I hadn’t even attended. When I declined — politely and repeatedly — the situation escalated. It didn’t go the way the instigator hoped. At the next Council meeting, when the spotlight turned to her to give her report, there was a long, quiet pause. Others spoke up. Clarity arrived. The moment grew… awkward. For her.

It passed.

Another meeting followed a similar pattern: pressure to name names rather than focus on improving process. I chose not to. Boundaries held. Silence, too, can be a decision.

Here’s the thing I keep relearning:

• I don’t need to win.
• I don’t need to explain myself endlessly.
• I don’t need to match negative energy.

• I can write it out (and not send).
• I can cook it out.
• I can walk away intact.

Mean Girls don’t win.

The win is walking away with your joy intact — and maybe a flower on the nightstand and family dinner from the kitchen.

Countdown Chaos: My Life in 24 Tiny Boxes (Times Two)

The holidays have a sneaky way of pouncing on me like a cat on a laser pointer — one minute it’s Halloween, and the next thing I know I’m knee-deep in 24 tiny boxes, microscopic toys, sugar-free treats, and increasingly creative ways to surprise two very opinionated grandsons. Last week’s blog post didn’t happen because I spent over two hours wrapping minuscule trinkets and stuffing bite-sized treasures into Advent/Countdown calendars — not once, but twice — all while wondering why on earth I didn’t start this project sometime back in July.

Kate adored Advent calendars growing up. Back then the big thrill was getting to eat a little piece of candy before breakfast — the height of childhood rebellion. The calendars themselves were simple: flimsy cardboard with tiny perforated flaps. But then the grandsons arrived, and suddenly my job description expanded: I was no longer just “Gramma,” I had become CCO (Chief Creative Officer of December).

In my Maui years, I mailed the boys letters with photos of me and Poppa (so they knew who was writing), and their parents would read my notes aloud. Braeden’s first Advent calendar theme? Fisher-Price Little People. Then came Paw Patrol, Disney, and LEGO — each year a new chapter in my self-appointed mission to delight small humans one tiny surprise at a time. When Deacon arrived, the workload doubled. And honestly, at this point I should probably start calling them “Countdown Calendars,” because I’m not convinced either boy knows what “Advent” means.

This year I repurposed a heavy-duty See’s Candy box with perfectly sized compartments. I didn’t want to rely on candy — one grandson is cutting back on sugar — so I got creative. The boys love $2 bills, so I called my bank and ordered fifty of them. (Yes, the teller paused.) I added temporary tattoos with positive little messages, friendship bracelets in “manly” colors, flavored floss (Gramma knows the dentist), chapstick, Tic Tacs, gum, and of course a bit of candy because tradition still matters.

Of course, holiday magic is never without complications. Thanks to Braeden’s thriving online resale empire — where he sells used clothes, deposits the money into my account, and then cashes himself out at the Bank of Grandmother — several of my neatly stacked $2 bills had mysteriously vanished. So this year some days include a $5, a $10, and one early golden-ticket day with a $20 so the boys can “go shopping like real men.”

And because kids shouldn’t have all the fun, I found adult countdown calendars too. Kate gets a daily scented votive with an inspirational message. Jesse is unwrapping a beard-care extravaganza that includes oils, crème, and a tiny comb that looks like it belongs in a dollhouse.

The truth is, all this chaos is worth it. These little rituals make December sparkle — not because of what’s inside each box, but because of the joy of making someone smile each morning.

What about you? Do you have any holiday traditions, big or small, sweet or slightly ridiculous, that mark the season for you?

P.S.  I asked AI Max to use my FB photo but have me holding a glass of wine after all my teeny tiny box stuffing.

I think he added a bit of lipstick!  And smoothed that wild hair. How did he change the way my face is pointing?????