In this gift-giving season of life, I’m at the point where I don’t really want them and I definitely don’t want to shop for them. While it’s normal and expected to say, “Oh, I really don’t want anything,” the same is not true for saying, “I really don’t want to buy you anything.” Because brutal honesty isn’t generally appreciated, I soften it a bit with a happy medium — homemade gifts, preferably consumable.

I can’t be asked to cross the threshold of a fluorescent-lit store packed with lines of people sweating in their coats, but by golly, I’ll gladly putter in the kitchen all day coming up with something I’d be delighted to receive. I choose to believe my recipients feel the same, said every footie-crocheting grandma ever. That’s just where I’m at. I’m in my footie-crocheting-grandma era

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