December Magic

My childhood Decembers feel like a dream I still return to every year: singing Christmas carols in the car, performing nativity plays with my crazy cousins, waking up to the glow of white lights and the smell of something sweet in the oven. It was chaotic and cozy and perfect in all the ways that really matter.

Me and my sweet mom, 1983

But like many families, things have shifted. Some people are no longer around the table. Some stories feel harder to tell. The joy is still there, always, but it shares space now with a kind of quiet ache. If you feel that too, know you’re not alone.

And still, there is so much to hold on to.

Now, as a mom of three girls … 16, 14, and 10 … I do everything I can to give them that same sense of wonder. Not through perfect plans or curated moments, but through presence. Through laughter. Through traditions that make them feel loved.

We spend the holidays in Tahoe, where we (if we’re lucky!) get a white Christmas. We’ve had the occasional power outages that turned into candlelit dinners. We host grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We watch every holiday movie ever made, bake too many pies, play games, do puzzles, go to the spa, and sit around the table sharing what we are grateful for and what we hope for in the year ahead.

Zach's favorite past-time, Monopoly 204

This year, my brother will be there too, with his sweet wife and their little boy, Beckham. Watching him light up around the tree reminds me that the magic never really goes away. It just finds new faces to shine through. It’s a treat to have their family with us because Chris is usually working a game for the Thunder and can’t sneak away. We’re all so excited to be together.

Last night, Zack and I took a little respite from the holiday madness and walked from our house to Sushi Bar in Hermosa Beach. It’s about 45 minutes by foot, along the ocean, through Manhattan Beach, which is so beautifully festive this time of year. Holiday lights in every window. A golden-pink sunset on the horizon. It was simple and perfect. We talked about everything … the girls, their dreams, our families, our work, the rhythm and chaos of daily life.

Sushi Bar Stroll

We’re both entrepreneurs, so the conversation is always layered with creativity, pressure, ideas, and support. One of these days, I need to write a “week in the life” post about running Saint Jane. It. Is. Crazy. Zack is such an incredible support system in every way.

The dinner was steeped in storytelling and curation. Sushi Bar is omakase-style, the kind of experience where the chef gives a layered back story with every bite. Where the fish came from. How it lived. The cultivation of the salts. The garnishes. The season. It reminded me so much of what I love most about Saint Jane. The storytelling behind every flower, every formula, every detail. I think sometimes I assume people know the care we put into everything, without always saying it out loud. I tend to be omakase too. Trust me. Without always explaining why.

Hand Crafted Passion Fruit Bursting Beads on Hirame with Sea Salt from Big Sur

That is something I want to do better in 2026. To slow down and tell the stories. To give you the why behind the rituals. Because that is what Saint Jane has always been about. Skincare as healing. Stillness as luxury. Care as a sacred act.

This brand means so much to me, and it will always be an homage to my daughters.

Wherever you are this season…surrounded by chaos or calm or something in between… I hope you feel the warmth of tradition, and the softness of presence.