I am not going to make any New Year’s resolutions. To me, they just add stress, especially if you don’t stick to them exactly. I just hope this year is better than last because frankly, 2025 was miserable for me in so many ways. I spent most of it sick and stressed.

But let’s not focus on misery. I’ve always liked the saying, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” I haven’t always adhered to this advice, but I’m trying to. Huh, maybe that’s a resolution? I prefer to focus on finding the humor in things.

Since I have spent most of December sick with an autoimmune flare, I didn’t get as much holiday baking done as I would have liked. Good for the waistline, but not for the cookie jar. Just a few days before Christmas, my mother, my daughter and I channeled our holiday elf selves. With Mom as the head elf, we whipped up dozens of green, red and gold spritz cookies. Tray after tray of the delectable delights lined the counters, waiting to go into the oven.

I was in the living room when I heard a giant crash, a scream and an “Oh no!” The handle had somehow fallen off the oven door while my mother was trying to take a tray of cookies out. The oven door slammed and the front facing of it fell to the floor, along with the handle. No one could open it and the cookies were trapped inside.

Hubby to the rescue with his tools! He was able to grab onto one of the door’s bolts (which were blazing hot) with a pliers and pull the oven door open. The cookies were saved! They were a little burnt, but I actually like them that way. He was able to fix the door and handle and the cookie assembly line resumed. The family’s boy elves were pleased with the output and devoured cookies almost as fast as they were done.

On Christmas Eve, the oven debacle safely in our memories, we decided to make chocolate covered pretzels. Instead of putting almond bark in a saucepan on the stove, we decided to melt it in the microwave, a little trick that has worked well in the past. The ceramic bowl was scarcely in there a second when sparks began shooting out of the microwave, along with black smoke and zapping sounds. I shut it off and unplugged it as we watched smoke roll out of it. This has happened before, but we’ve never figured out why. There was nothing metal in the microwave or even near it.

A few minutes later, Mom tried to heat up her coffee in the microwave. It was fine a few seconds, when the same thing happened again. Sparks, smoke and zapping sounds. Carolina ran shrieking from the kitchen as I leapt toward the microwave and yanked the plug out of the outlet. Ethan carried the microwave down to the garage to await transport to its final resting place. Luckily, Hubby had a nice microwave in his school classroom, so that will tide us over for now.

After the oven door and microwave deaths, we decided holiday baking could take a rest. We finished the pretzels, much to Lincoln’s relief (he ate about a half a pan before I swatted his hands away) and to be safe, bought a pie from the store. After the vacuum and our charcoal grill also died during this timeframe, we decided enough was enough. Maybe we should have gone out to eat at the Chinese buffet like Ralphie in “A Christmas Story.”

I wish all of you a wonderful 2026 full of joy, laughter, health and functioning appliances.