Christmas walks.

Each holiday season, we sprinkle in a couple of these between the gift-giving and leftovers.

On Christmas night, we walked to the end of our neighborhood and witnessed a spectacular home light display. This year, it won best in our city.

Tonight, as we gathered in Norfolk, twenty-one of us strolled downtown by the USS Wisconsin.

She’s a monster.

Launched in 1943 and built for speed and power. Among the fastest battleships ever to sail, she served in World War II, the Korean War, and the Gulf War.

But today this mighty vessel is retired and berthed just a few blocks away from Mia and Papa’s home. And the city has wrapped her in colorful lights.

That’s 887 feet of twinkle. Or two football fields placed end to end.

A warship now carries light. A titan of combat, radiating peace.

Hmmm… feels like the perfect image of Christmas.

Two.

That’s where it started in 1998, our first Christmas as a family. We had been married for nine months.

By 2000, we had grown to three.
By 2002, four.
By 2004, five.
By 2006, six.
By 2013, seven.
By 2024, eight.

And 2026 promises the addition of another to our crew.

Each year, December 25th brings me perspective, plus a long list of gratitude. The undeserved blessings have piled up fast.

Yet, for all this counting, the Christmas math is really simple. It always circles back to just one.

The one swaddled in a manger. Heaven meeting hay.

The gift no calculator can measure.

Growing up, Christmas Eve had an address.

Everett Street.

It served as the North Star, because that’s where my grandparents lived in Burlington, N.C. On Christmas Eve, our family would gather in their front room, which was hardly ever used.

But the space came alive with its main job each year.

A big meal always started the night. Then my brother and I would beg for the gift-giving, and once everyone had their seats, we’d pull presents from under the tree and deliver them to each person. Afterward we crowded around the TV. The local news reported the mysterious blip on the radar, following Santa’s whereabouts.

Fast forward four decades later. I’m still spending this special evening at the home of grandparents, just different ones now. A new generation. My kids’ turn.

We attended a service at Wave Church in Virginia Beach with the fam (all our clan, plus Mia, Papa, Chad, Michelle, Jack, and Carter). Then we drove back to Norfolk for dinner at Mia and Papa’s home.

Christmas Eves have come and gone many times. The cast has grown, and new characters have been added.

But the love is always the same.

In 1933, John D. Rockefeller Jr. opened a theater.

Yep, the guy who started NYC’s Radio City Music Hall around the same time. But this specific venue, now known as the Kimball Theater, debuted in Williamsburg, Virginia.

Located in the colonial cobblestone part of town, and nestled among restored 18th-century buildings, it still carries magic to this day.

Tonight, after dinner at Craft 31, we took the whole fam there to watch the 1946 film It’s A Wonderful Life. Many of our kids had never seen it before.

For two hours, we enjoyed the building’s charm while viewing the black-and-white classic.

After the final credits, we walked out into the crisp night as Christmas lights twinkled on the historic streets. And everything felt right with the world.

An old film in an old theater… a timeless holiday experience.

And remember, every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.

Christmas morning starts on the stairs.

This is a tradition since the kids were small, with their pajamas and bedhead. They sit on the border between the ordinary upstairs and the magic Santa left downstairs.

We take annual pictures, and of course, my role is to amp the moment up.

I go back and forth to the room full of presents, talking about how they won’t believe what’s in there, saying things like, “If only you could see what I see” or “Hold on tight, your jaws are about to drop.”

For those few minutes, time slows down. The world is just the creaking stairs and the wonder around the corner. Like shaking a soda can and bracing for the explosion.

Yeah, this doesn’t work as much now that they’re in their 20s. Their past excitement has turned to humoring their dad.

But still, once the green light is given, we video them coming down for the big reveal.

One of our many little traditions.

If you need a hype man, I’m your guy.

I woke up holding a shotgun.

Well, not exactly. But early this morning, Luke, Jake, and I met Will and his dad deep in the woods. The crisp air carried the scents of pine and damp earth.

And using shotguns, we aimed at skeet, shattering the clay targets in the sky like fireworks.

Luke and Jake were natural shots. Will and his dad displayed the skills of seasoned pros. And I… perfected the art of the near miss.

But that’s okay, because after grabbing lunch, we enjoyed our annual Bake Day with Mia and Papa.

As NFL games played, our Christmas Elves (Jess, Mia, McKenzie, and Kate) baked amazing treats, filling the house with chocolate and sugar.

After ordering pizza, we tore into presents, then had the kind of wonderful talks that jump from topic to topic and somehow last for hours.

The day started loud and ended just right.

A historic day.

I’m a little partial, but I believe our hometown is one of the most beautiful places to stroll during Christmas.

Tonight, Jess and I — along with Luke, Jake, McKenzie, and Will — walked the bustling lantern-lit streets of Colonial Williamsburg. Imagine cobblestone paths and the scent of woodsmoke. Like walking through a holiday greeting card.

Then we stopped by the Williamsburg Lodge to see a gigantic real gingerbread house. As we warmed inside, sugar and spice filled the air.

We followed that up by coming home and watching possibly a once-in-a-lifetime college football game. JMU (where Sam and Jake attend, Luke is an alum, and Jess and Will are former Dukes) made the national playoffs. We cheered with purple and gold pride.

All this under Christmas lights and music.

Historic.

Christmas 2017.

Go ahead, ask the kids. They still talk about the gift.

That morning moved fast as wrapping paper flew everywhere. After a couple of hours, everyone leaned back, certain the surprises had ended.

But there was one more they didn’t see coming. Keeping this secret hidden for two days required master-level parenting.

To set the moment up, we played the dog-barking version of Jingle Bells. As the soundtrack blared, we went upstairs and returned with Carolina.

An eight-week old Golden Retriever.

Love arrived on four clumsy paws. The stunned silence lasted only a second before turning into pandemonium.

Screams bounced off the walls. A celebrity had entered the room, greeted with hugs and belly rubs. The unwrapped gifts were ignored as this fluff ball explored her new home.

We’d never had a pet unless you count a few fish. But that all changed in an instant. Her tiny little heartbeat turned our family of seven into a family of eight.

I’m convinced the best presents come with fur and a wagging tail.

Carolina forever.

Years ago, we received a Christmas book from a friend.

The thick hardback, with an angel on the front and back cover, contained a hundred blank pages.

She told us, “This is where you can capture all your Christmas memories.”

Though grateful for her gift, we didn’t jump at the thought. It was destined for a forgotten box or to be regifted to someone else.

But miraculously, the little journal hung around.

And the next Christmas, when the kids were small, I pulled it out a few days after the holidays. Shrugging my shoulders, I grabbed a pen.

And created the first entry way back in 2008.

This began the annual tradition of writing down what we did for Christmas, including the gifts we received.

Some excerpts:

• McKenzie loves her Baby Alive — it pee pees!

• Luke is crazy about Webkinz and his Leo the Lion

• Jake loves his drum and wants to play basketball at UNC

• Kate got a Hello Kitty umbrella

• Sam loves to toss and catch balls

As the kids grew older, they would add entries and sometimes place dollar bills or gadgets on the inside, tiny surprises to uncover the next Christmas at breakfast.

To make it fun, I always end my section with, “Now, Dad has to give Mom a big fat kiss.” Which always brings groans from the kids.

But my favorite part is asking questions that can’t be answered yet. And a year later, when we read them, knowing the answers sparks loads of conversation.

Some have included:

• Where did we go on vacation?

• Do the kids do swim team this summer?

• Did Mom make us dress up like cows again on Chick-fil-A day?

• Will I still have braces?

• Will I be over 5’ 7”?

But as the years passed, the questions changed:

• Where will McKenzie go to college?

• Did Luke go to Boston for an internship?

• How is Jake’s senior year going?

• Did Kate and Sam get their driver’s licenses?

The cover is worn, but the binding remains strong. There’s only a few pages left, and in another year or two, the contents will be full.

What was once empty is now priceless. Our young family grew up, all recorded in this little book.

A map of our Christmases together.

A memory wrapped in cardboard.

The Lifesavers Christmas Story Books. Remember these?

Lifesavers are hard candies with a ring shape resembling a life preserver. During the holidays, the company needed a way to stand out from chocolate companies.

And that desperation spurred the invention of their nostalgic Books.

Multiple rolls were packaged like a storybook, turning sweets into a fun event. Early versions contained 12 rolls, with a mint side (Pep-O-Mint, Wint-O-Green) and a fruit side (Cherry, Orange) to satisfy both adults and children.

Whenever I’d see them in stores, my brain flipped into Christmas mode. The essential stocking stuffer.

Another cool tidbit: kids back in the day used the empty cardboard shells as safes to hide money or small toys. Once you’d eaten all the treats, the container became a secret storage unit.

It all points to a masterclass in marketing. The book transformed a snack into a story.

That’s why you don’t need complex tech or crazy expense to create joy. A simple idea, perfectly executed, can become something iconic.

Standing out beats blending in.

BTW, the fruit side is still better than the mint.

It all started with a fire-breathing dragon.

In middle school, my sixth-grade project required writing a short play. So I created one about a dragon. To my shock, my teacher and classmates actually enjoyed it and gave me tons of encouragement.

Something clicked.

A few years later, my church youth group staged a Christmas production. We all offered ideas, stitching them together into a big story.

I put lots of work into my assigned scene. And the imagination spilled out. When I heard the congregation laugh in the right places, I felt that same warm jolt.

I certainly didn’t consider myself a creative person or a writer. Those labels belonged to others. But those two events served as a sneak peek into my future.

Which has me thinking. Paths seldom show up as maps. They appear as fragments that you recognize only when you think back.

Want to know what to do with your life? Search your youth for clues. Your childhood often drops hints long before your adult self figures things out.

It’s like finding your favorite radio frequency after years of static. Or watching a movie for the second time, where the random plot twists now make total sense and you yell at the screen, “How did I not see this?”

Your calling rarely announces itself with fanfare. So look carefully, then connect the dots.

Follow the dragon.

One of my favorite Christmas gifts as a teen.

And yes, this blog will show my age.

As a kid, I loved my uncle’s 8-track tapes and his crate packed with LPs. Elvis and Elton John dominated the stack. In elementary school, I had my own little stash of 45s, including “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar.

Back then, records lived on shelves like trophies. And we’d spend hours at record stores, flipping through bins and asking for recommendations.

Soon, I graduated to cassettes, playing Huey Lewis and Men at Work on repeat until the tapes shriveled in my car stereo.

And then, Christmas 1986.

I got a CD boombox. Oh my goodness, the future of sound. Like a spaceship landing under the tree.

That boombox served as my gateway drug. The warble of cassettes vanished, replaced by shocking silence between tracks. And what… no rewinding? Skipping songs with a button felt illegal.

One of my early albums was from the B-52’s. I remember tenderly handling those discs, polishing every smudge, terrified of the dreaded error message.

My collection ballooned. I subscribed to Rolling Stones magazine and a mail-order club, further growing my music tastes.

Of course, today everything is digital. Just endless streams at our fingertips. Vinyls, tapes, and CDs are now only vintage items.

Back when Spotify came out, I became an early subscriber. And guess what playlist I created first?

A Christmas one, packed with 1980s vibes.

New tools can still carry old feelings.

Oh, the trampoline.

One Christmas when the kids were young, Jess and I decided to surprise them with a trampoline.

Great idea on paper. But reality arrived in a box the size of a small car.

We shoved that contraption into hiding and plotted a secret assembly under the Christmas Eve stars, right after the kids drifted into sugarplum dreams.

Of course, children don’t go to sleep easily the night before Santa. So, my mission finally launched around midnight.

When I opened the package, there must have been 5,000,000 items. Springs and poles and bolts.

And I had never put one together before.

It was like trying to assemble a dinosaur skeleton, with the instruction manual requiring an engineering degree from MIT.

Plus, the temp felt about -20.

So there we stood in the dark, shivering in the yard, surrounded by a bazillion metal pieces. The DIY equivalent of climbing Everest in flip-flops.

Four hours later, a trampoline rose tall. We had won a survival show nobody filmed.

Most importantly, the gift was a huge hit.

But I’ll never forget that long winter night of frostbite and little sleep. And the silent pride that followed.

Great memories often hide inside the toughest moments. You’re capable of far more than you realize, so never underestimate stubbornness.

The best stories — and family legends — are forged within challenges. Think about it… if the trampoline had been a cinch to assemble, I wouldn’t be telling this tale.

The things you’ll remember most vividly aren’t the easy wins, but the hard victories.

Especially when you do them for others.

The Ralph Lauren Christmas aesthetic.

I didn’t know this existed until Jess told me about it.

From what I’ve learned, the style goes for a cozy and warm glow, like a holiday spent in a rustic mountain lodge or an English manor.

There are deep color schemes, such as forest green and burgundy alongside cream and ivory accents. A wintery counterpart to coastal calm.

Everything is soft on purpose, like wrapping your home in a cashmere sweater. Instead of flashy glitter, there’s candlelit mantles and old brass. A sprinkle of holly berries and pinecones. Close your eyes and imagine spruce mixing with woodsmoke.

The mood whispers leather novels and slow mornings, as a fire crackles and a Golden Retriever sits at your feet. And for music lovers, this slice of Americana also has a Spotify Christmas playlist.

Beyond December, this look carries a reminder. Create places of relaxation. Atmosphere changes how you move through your days. A room’s feeling matters just as much as its purpose.

And according to Ralph, knowing what to leave out is equally important as what to include.

Your space tells your story.

Santas are disappearing.

The giant yard ones. For whatever reason, this season’s stock was way down.

And a black market emerged for St. Nick.

Fewer shipments meant more chaos, creating a resale frenzy. Whenever a Santa was found, people paid over seven times the original price.

It’s a cautionary tale about supply chains and consumerism gone wild. And a reminder to beware the herd mentality.

Never confuse your true needs with artificial urgency.

Convenience costs extra, and panic even more. FOMO creates perceived value, not necessarily real worth.

Christmas spirit runs deeper than an inflatable lawn ornament.

Skip the stampede.

Do you need to preheat the oven?

Is it really necessary?

Actually, the first few minutes are critical because that’s when the food’s structure is set. Starting in a cold stove changes the process and can alter textures and flavors.

Preheating also ensures a safe internal cooking temperature.

But enough kitchen talk. What does this have to do with a blog?

Ah, the life lessons.

Preparation is often invisible, but the results are not. People admire the perfectly baked product — the successful career or solid relationship — but seldom see the time spent preheating and preparing.

The Success Rule: focus on the necessary but unseen work.

Don’t judge a process by its most boring step. The waiting period is frequently where the essential magic of readiness happens.

Skip the prep and you compromise the final shape. Structure forms early in most things, from habits to projects.

Shortcuts usually cost you way more in the end.

No preheat, no party.

I was waiting for something extraordinary to happen but as the years wasted on, nothing ever did unless I caused it.
-Charles Bukowski

Destiny prefers motion. Waiting for the heavens to part is like hoping your dog will pay rent.

Action is the only thing that counts.

Enough with the years of planning. Make the call. Buy the ticket. Send the email.

Strike the match.

Intention is only Monopoly money. The grand adventure kicks off when you toss the map out the window and punch the gas.

Inaction carries a steep price tag: a life of “what ifs.”

And those two words will haunt you more than any failure ever could.

Never quit.

Right! Right?

That’s actually terrible advice. Sometimes you need to walk away. But wisdom is required to know when.

There’s a difference between a setback and a dead end.

I began college as a pre-med major, but discovered after several semesters it wasn’t a fit. So I switched, which led to two transfers and an extra year of school.

But looking back, I made the right choice.

It’s okay to outgrow goals or realize you were wrong about what you wanted. That’s called growth, not weakness.

Not everything worth starting is worth finishing. Bravery sometimes packs a suitcase.

Do a regular life audit and make sure you’re not watering a plastic houseplant. Maybe you should stop what’s killing you to fully commit to what’s calling you.

Persistence is only a virtue once you’re on the right path.

One of life’s simple pleasures.

Growing up and living in the Mid-Atlantic/South has a big winter advantage: when the snow flurries come, the school doors close.

The southern equation goes something like this: 2 inches of white stuff = 24 hours of freedom.

Core childhood memories involve sitting around the TV at night, watching for school closings. Oh, the agonizing suspense of the alphabetical scroll at the bottom of the screen.

And then, the moment we saw the cancellation… INSTANT PARTY.

A gift from the heavens.

If snow visited overnight, we'd get up early in the morning and peek out the windows to a winter wonderland. “It’s sticking!” we’d yell, jumping from the bed to grab our coats and gloves.

But often, just the forecast would keep us home. And sometimes, the storm never came. Yes, the glorious phantom snow day where the meteorologists got it wrong and gave us a guilt-free Tuesday of doing absolutely nada.

Does it get any better?

Today, Williamsburg got about 3-4 inches. Offices and schools shut down. The city went quiet. Even as an adult, the dopamine jolt coming from the ‘Office Closed’ email makes me feel like a kid again.

And it’s so pretty sitting here in the living room, gazing at the Christmas tree and the snow. A living holiday card.

The rare joy of an unscheduled slow day. The sweet surprise of an empty meeting calendar and reduced to-dos.

It’s nice to have forced timeouts.

Never let the simple pleasures expire with age.

7 years and counting.

The 7th annual Genie Jar Marketing Christmas party. What a night here in Colonial Williamsburg, with all the classic holiday sparkle.

To kick off the festivities, Jess and I (alongside old friends Tom and Wendy) strolled through the Williamsburg Christmas Market. Think Hallmark movie vibes, with vendors offering roasted nuts and handmade ornaments.

Then we snatched a curbside spot to watch the parade. Marching bands, horses in bells, kids waving from floats. The whole heartwarming show.

Afterward, we walked to the Williamsburg Inn for some fun snacks under fancy chandeliers. Then we made our way to King’s Arms Tavern for a candlelight dinner, where the walls whisper stories from the 1700s.

The best nights come from planning experiences, not just events. Something magical happens when you take time to slow down.

Looking forward to year 8.