Gingerbread Warfare

December 18 - 21, 2025

We rolled into Phoenix this morning with a dual purpose. First, to be near the airport so we can catch our flight to St. Louis in a few days. Second, a client meeting—which, in hindsight, may have been the more dangerous of the two. Our meeting was at an airplane hangar where our client both works and stores many of his cars.  When you’re a car addict, hanging out with other car addicts, expecially wealthy ones, is dangerous. This does nothing to help George's problem. 

Exhibit A: Several years ago, this client invited George to attend the Barrett-Jackson Scottsdale Auction. If you know, you know. If you don’t, imagine a place where reason goes to die and chrome wins every argument. Fortunately for our long-term financial health, this client spends most of his time at his Arizona home—far enough to limit George’s exposure to temptation. 

After the meeting, we swung by our client’s home to check out the house for sale next door. After all, we’re casually, theoretically, someday, possibly looking for a place to relocate when we finally retire. Sadly, it wasn’t a match. The search continues. So far, we’re still smitten with Flagstaff, and we also really like Tucson—but only during the cooler months, because we are not built for living inside a convection oven.

That evening, we headed to the Mesa Arizona Temple Lights, which were genuinely stunning. We were also stunned by the sheer number of children running everywhere. Everywhere. It hit us that our era of people stopping us in public to say, “Wow, you have how many kids?” is so far in the rearview mirror it feels like a different lifetime. Hard to believe we once rolled seven deep and survived to tell the tale.

We wrapped up the day by camping in our client's hangar parking lot. Fortunately, it wasn’t a Harvest Host situation—because the idea of “supporting the business” by purchasing a car, a plane, or even a casual ride in a plane felt like a financial commitment well beyond the spirit of the program.

Day two in Phoenix had us driving clear across town to work from a library near Alan’s in-laws. This library came with an unexpected perk: peacocks. Not a peacock. Not some peacocks. Peacocks everywhere. Strutting. Pooping. Owning the place.

Naturally, I did what I always do—I googled it. Turns out these peacocks are descendants of two original peacocks purchased at the 1933 World's Fair. Nearly a century later, they’ve multiplied, taken over the local park and library, and are now considered messy and destructive. The city is currently contemplating how to remove them, which I assume is politically complicated.

It’s the in-laws’ year for Christmas, so Alan and his wife, Celeste, are in town. This creates a delicate social dance: visit them, but not too much—because you don’t want to intrude on in-law time. Especially these in-laws. The same in-laws we once overstayed with (though they insist we didn't) and ended up borrowing their car. History looms.

We stopped by anyway to pick up packages we’d shipped there, quietly hoping this would turn into a “stay and visit for a bit” situation. Instead, we received a dinner invitation to go with everyone to an authentic Korean restaurant. Which was way better than we hoped for. Except I left a little hungry due to my strong aversion to anything even remotely fish-adjacent. Still, it was a fun and memorable experience, made even better by good company and the knowledge that trying new things builds character. Or at least in stories.

That night, we slept at the hangar again.

The next morning, as we were gearing up for a bike ride, airport security paid us a visit. Apparently, sleeping at a secure airport is not allowed. Even if your client owns one of the hangars. We explained we’d leave right after our ride, which—shockingly—was accepted.

We rode 34 miles along canal paths, where people were actively fishing. Out of canals. Naturally, I googled that too. The fish are stocked by the Salt River Project to control weeds. Practical. Efficient. Mildly unsettling.

After the ride, we packed up and left as promised. We declined the in-laws’ generous offer to stay at their place again and headed to the place we stayed before: Cave Creek Regional Park.

Last time we stayed there, availability was plentiful. We figured the weekend before Christmas would be even emptier. We were spectacularly wrong. We rolled in confidently—only to be greeted by a sign that read: "Campground Full." 

Luckily, the ranger at the booth took pity on us and suggested we drive around anyway. If we found a site without a yellow tag, we could claim it. And miraculously, we did—without having to surreptitiously remove any yellow tags like campground criminals. A Christmas miracle.

The next morning, we headed to church with our son Alan and the in-laws. As we drove through the early sunrise, hot air balloons floated across the sky in every direction. 

After church, we spent the day with Alan and the in-laws, slowly working our way toward the Big Event: The In-Law Dinner. This is a special gathering for all the parent-in-laws of all the Erikson kids. There were three full sets of in-laws present, including us. One of the in-laws is a Cuban immigrant, and we got to hear his genuinely inspiring life story. 

 

Then came the gingerbread houses. These were not your casual, slap-some-candy-on-a-box creations. These were architectural statements. One was Hagrid’s Hut, complete with Hagrid and his creatures. Another was Hogwarts, complete with a moat. The third was an unidentifiable structure featuring a striking blue Jell-O pond.

Alan’s three little nieces served as team captains, which meant things were going to get ugly. Because one of the upcoming Christmas activities was this: each team had to build a contraption designed to launch an object at the other gingerbread houses in order to destroy them. This meant the real goal was to secretly engineer your house to be indestructible.

Hagrid’s Hut was reinforced on the inside with Rice Krispie treats. The unidentifiable structure had a block of cheese at its core. Hogwarts? No structural defense whatsoever—but it was still undeniably cool.

I have it on good authority that when one of the houses was destroyed, one of the team captains—the  four-year-old—wailed in a way that suggested lasting emotional damage. Someone also singed his beard with a potato launcher. Christmas memories were made. 

That evening, we picked Lucy up from the airport. She slept on the couch at the in-laws’ house, while we once again parked in their cul-de-sac. But because it was only for one night, it felt less like freeloading and more like a carefully calculated move, given that the next day we had to put the camper in storage near their house and then head straight to the airport.

It was a special gift to see Alan and Celeste when it wasn't even our year for Christmas.