A Memoir on Christmas in August, Smart-Home Planning, and Extremely Specific Instructions
Setting: August 2026 — Somewhere between summer vacation and Christmas morning
Yesterday afternoon, while I was at work, my phone buzzed. Caleb had shared a note with me.
Christmas wish list was the title.
It was August. I had not asked for a Christmas list. Apparently, neither of those facts mattered.
I opened it expecting the usual kid chaos. A bunch of random things. Something wildly expensive. Maybe something he’d forget he wanted by October. Instead, there were exactly three items: an Echo Dot Max in amethyst, an Echo Glow, and an Echo Spot in ocean blue.
That was it.
Honestly, the fact that there were only three things on the list alarmed me more than the fact that I had received a Christmas list in August. Three items? From a child? Suspicious.
So I texted him.
“What will you do with all the Echos? Put them in different rooms?”
“Yes.”
This seemed like a reasonable question considering he already owns multiple Echos. Apparently, however, his current collection was merely the foundation.
Then came the plan. The Echo Glow was a night light. The Echo Spot would go on his bedside stand. The Echo Dot Max would go in the living room. Holden would have his own Echo Glow and his own Echo for his room.
Apparently, Caleb had already completed the smart-home technology plan for a house we do not yet live in.
I asked what he would use them for.
“To play music and stuff?”
“Yes.”
Then, more specifically:
“I can use the Echo Spot to play my spa music at night.”
Naturally.
This is the same child who can turn nearly any piece of technology into a fully developed system before I’ve even figured out where the charger goes.
I looked back at the note. It wasn’t just three products tossed onto a list. There were direct Amazon links. Exact models. Exact colors. And at the bottom, one final instruction:
Make sure to check “This is a gift” when buying these items on Amazon!
Not because he was worried about preserving the surprise. Because if I didn’t, Amazon might automatically register the devices to my account instead of his.
Of course he had thought of that.
By the time I finished reading, I realized this was less a wish list and more a fully planned installation. Exact products. Exact colors. Exact rooms. Even instructions to make sure the devices ended up registered to the correct account.
This was, technically, a child getting excited about Christmas.
Nothing says childhood wonder quite like account-registration strategy.
This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.
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