This last month, we celebrated our very first Christmas here in Mississippi. While it was far from what we were used to back in California, it still managed to hold a quiet kind of magic—despite being wrapped in tissues, cough drops, and lots of soup. Jim got sick first the week before Christmas, and one by one we all followed—me, then Roslynn, then finally Siena. We joked it was the “gift that kept on giving.”
Still, we squeezed in a few festive moments before the sniffles set in. We celebrated Jim’s birthday and enjoyed a sweet afternoon in town filled with Christmas festivities, snapping photos with Santa and the Grinch—quite the pair. Siena also attended her school’s annual Christmas Banquet, a longstanding tradition that holds a special place in my own heart. I found a photo from my first banquet back when I was her age—it was surreal and wonderful helping her get ready, knowing that I once stood in her shoes, in that same small-town school. She looked so beautiful, and it warmed my heart to see her little sister helping with the finishing touches.
As the week of Christmas arrived and the girls began their winter break, I also started my own little tradition: taking the last two weeks of the year off. It’s something I began after the girls came to live with us. It’s become sacred family time—a space for rest, reconnection, and all things cozy and bright.
We baked… a lot. We watched Christmas movies…. a lot. We played countless rounds of Monopoly—which, much to everyone’s frustration, I somehow always manage to win. It’s become a running joke in the house, but what I love most is watching the teamwork, deal-making, and playful competitiveness that brings us all to the table day after day.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, our home felt just a little too quiet. We missed our sweet parakeet, Blue, who passed away last month. Her cheerful chirping had filled our days. After some searching and family discussion, we decided to bring a new little bird into our lives—a 4-month-old cockatiel we named Trixie. She’s curious, affectionate, and endlessly entertaining. Her presence feels like a gift and a gentle nudge forward.
As we turn the page into this new year, we’re holding onto hope and gratitude. So many of you responded to my last blog post about feeling like an outsider here. I was honestly surprised by how many others have felt the same—struggling to find belonging even in a small, seemingly tight-knit community. Your stories touched me deeply and reminded me that we’re never truly alone in these feelings.
Yes, Mississippi is different from California. Yes, our holidays looked different this year. But in this simplicity, in these quiet days at home, and in our little traditions old and new, we’re building something beautiful.
2026 is just beginning this week, and we’re stepping into it with faith, intention, and a renewed sense of family. Here’s to new traditions, new friendships, and the slow but steady bloom of roots being planted.
Coming Home to Dixie 
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