Happy Christmas Grinches!

Christmas came early this year… far too early. The days leading up to it were swallowed by deep cleaning… kids room after kids room, corner after corner, unearthing things that had been shoved away in moments of chaos. It felt endless. By the time we finally decorated the tree… later than we ever do…the spark just wasn’t there. What used to feel magical felt like another task on an already heavy list. I was drained before the season even began.
And then Christmas arrived. Quietly. Almost apologetically.
It came, and just as quickly, it was gone.

We tried to chase the magic anyway by visiting the reindeer, spotting Santa look‑alikes, driving through neighborhoods lit up with other people’s joy. Elijah had his Christmas concert. We went to our usual Christmas Eve service. We met up with friends. We baked cookies and had a hot chocolate night. We did all the things we were supposed to do. And the kids… they still found the wonder. They still laughed, still sparkled, still soaked up the pieces of Christmas that were left. Thank goodness for that. Childhood should be full of magic — even when the adults are too tired to feel it. But underneath it all, there was this quiet sadness. A sense that the season slipped past before I ever had the chance to hold it.

And just like that, Christmas was over. The lights came down, the ornaments were boxed away, and the house felt strangely hollow as if the season had slipped through our fingers faster than we could hold onto it. We packed in silence for our next adventure… California. I know what you’re thinking: Weren’t we just there?
Yes. We were. But Luca wanted to go back for his birthday, and we still had one last day left on our pass before it expired. So we went. Down, down, down the state… chasing a little more magic, hoping the holiday glow might follow us.

We stopped in Sacramento for New Year’s Eve, choosing Fogo de Chão as our celebration spot. I wish I could say it was festive. I wish I could say it felt special. Instead, it was one of the worst dining experiences I’ve ever had. We were ignored, talked down to, and somehow made to feel like we didn’t belong in the very place we were paying to be.
The manager tried — really tried — to fix it. But the damage was already done. The bitterness lingered, and not just from the food. The whole night felt heavy, uncomfortable, and painfully confrontational… everything I try so hard to avoid. The server’s abrasive, classist attitude hung over the table like a storm cloud. He lied to us multiple times.

I’ve never wished for anyone to lose their job, not once in my life. But he was… awful. I keep telling myself he must have been having a terrible night. I hope that’s true.
Because I know we did.

Happy Who Year, everyone! The calendar flipped to 2026, and we rang it in with a little adventure. The previous night lingered but we still had a shred of hope left. We cruised down to Burbank, tucked ourselves into a cozy AirBNB in the heart of NOHO, and played tourist for a few days just strolling the Walk of Fame, soaking in the sparkle and chaos of LA’s iconic corners. But the crown jewel of our trip? One last glorious day at Universal Studios Hollywood.

It was pure magic. We wandered through the park watching Waterworld splash into action, high-fiving Uncle Grinch (who was delightfully grumpy), and hopping on all our favorite rides. We sipped butterbeer like wizards on holiday, devoured Grinch-sized donuts, and munched popcorn until our fingers were salty and happy.
The park was set to close at 10, but at 9:55 we squeezed in one last child switch, and they let us ride anyway. The ride hiccupped with technical issues, so we waited, chatted, laughed, and finally re-boarded. And then… like a little gift wrapped in theme park kindness — they let us ride again just because we had to wait the first time.
That moment? It stitched itself into our hearts. A tiny act of grace that turned into a treasured memory.
Universal Studios is our favorite theme park by far. It’s not just rides and shows — it’s a feeling. That night, it felt like Christmas. Christmas finally came… a little late but it was there waiting for us where we least expected it!

Before we headed back to Sacramento, we made a magical little detour to one of my favorite places on Earth: The Last Bookstore. Oh, LA… how you tug at my heartstrings. I miss you fiercely. If dreams were dollars, we’d still be nestled in your sunshine and chaos, rain or shine.

Inside the bookstore, time slowed. We wandered through winding shelves like explorers in a paper jungle, each corner whispering stories and secrets. The kids found treasures of their own… books with bright covers and curious titles and I, of course, couldn’t resist gathering a couple for myself. Books are my sanctuary. My happy place. My quiet rebellion against the rush of the world. It was beautiful. Soul-filling. And then, with hearts a little fuller and bags a little heavier, we drove back to Sacramento carrying our prized stories with us, like souvenirs stitched in ink and held close to our hearts.