In a way, we’re all weird.

I’m pretty sure it comes with the territory of being human.

Once upon a time, Portland, Oregon, like so many other large American metropolises was a normal, vibrant, family-friendly city.

There’s nothing like the holidays.

And when it comes to traditions, seeing them through the eyes of children means capturing the wonder, the excitement, and the humor in the rituals we hold dear.

Looking back, our kids were barely old enough to talk when they began scrutinizing our holiday traditions.

As a mom of seven kids, I thought I had time management all figured out.

I could awaken our household from a dead snooze, get them clothed, fed breakfast, teeth brushed, and in the car ready for the day’s outings, with all necessary backpacks, water bottles, and electronic gadgetry to arrive on time to any given appointment—give or take a sock.

We all love a good mystery.

One evening, early in December, Mike and I were home decorating for Christmas when the doorbell rang. Mike got there first. When I came up from downstairs he said, “Come and see what was left at the front door.”

It was a perfect Thanksgiving.

The weather had been a bit nippy and rain clouds loomed, but that was to be expected in November in Oregon.

How we ended up with the world’s driest turkey?

Well, that was the cat’s fault.