Exploring Bremerton's Christmas Lights in the 2025 Kia Carnival

The sky was the color of a bruised plum as I wrangled the kids, Vanessa (bouncing in excitement with a bag of Goldfish crackers), Cindy (already clutching a lukewarm cup of hot cocoa), and my resident teen cynic Kelly (sulking in the back with AirPods firmly lodged), into our new 2025 Kia Carnival from West Hills Kia for our grand tour of Bremerton neighborhood Christmas lights. It gleamed a pearly white in the fading light, a stark contrast to our usual dented minivan.

The interior was surprisingly spacious, the seats upholstered in a luxurious gray fabric. Sliding doors whooshed open with a futuristic swish at the press of a button – a feature that elicited squeals of delight from Cindy. “Well, at least this is an upgrade from our usual torture chamber,” Kelly mumbled, removing a single AirPod.

“This is like a spaceship,” Cindy declared, dumping half her cocoa onto the pristine floor mat. Thankfully, the mats were rubber and easily wiped clean.

Vanessa, meanwhile, had already discovered the infotainment system. “This has Apple CarPlay! Can we play Taylor Swift?”

“Not yet, honey,” I sighed. “We need Christmas music for the lights.” I fumbled with the touchscreen, the voice assistant responding with a cheery, “How can I brighten your day?” in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Siri’s perky cousin.

“Maybe ask it how to dim your enthusiasm,” Kelly muttered, earning her a glare from Vanessa.

As the navigation chirped it’s perky directions, Vanessa chimed in, “Hey, this thing even has heated seats!" delight etched on her face. Kelly scoffed, "Of course it does. It's practically a limo."

The houses started subtly – a string of white lights outlining a roof, a plastic reindeer grazing on a plastic lawn. Then, things escalated. We encountered a house with a synchronized light show set to deafening Mariah Carey. "My ears!" Cindy shrieked, momentarily abandoning the goldfish.

"This is amazing!" Vanessa declared, nose pressed against the window. Kelly, with the air of a jaded critic, deadpanned, "Truly the pinnacle of artistic expression."

The Carnival handled the Bremerton hills with surprising ease. Its panoramic sunroof offered a dazzling view of twinkling lights that stretched across the landscape. We passed a house transformed into a giant gingerbread man, another adorned with inflatable Santas that looked like they'd ballooned after an unfortunate helium incident.

"Mom," Kelly began, the ever-present eye roll momentarily replaced with genuine curiosity, "Do you think people get along better at Christmas? Like, a truce from all the fighting?"

The question hung in the air. We'd been a bit on edge lately – the stress of the holidays, looming school projects, and the ever-present sibling bickering. "Maybe," I offered, feeling a pang of sentimentality. "Maybe they do."

Cindy, emboldened by the truce talk, piped up, "Can we get hot chocolate?"

Vanessa, ever the opportunist, chimed in, "With marshmallows! And sprinkles!"

Kelly sighed dramatically. "Here we go."

The squabble began. Was it hot cocoa or hot chocolate? Did it need sprinkles (absolutely not, according to Kelly) or were marshmallows enough? If I wasn’t driving, I’d have opted for a shot of peppermint schnapps in mine. Our “discussion” escalated with surprising speed, culminating in a well-placed goldfish cracker landing in Vanessa's hair.

The moment of sibling warfare was broken by the Carnival's built-in intercom system. "Attention, passengers," a soothing voice announced. "Please refrain from throwing food items."

We all burst out laughing. Even Kelly, the ever-grumpy teenager, couldn't help but crack a smile.

The rest of the drive was punctuated by bursts of laughter, singalongs (thanks to the Carnival's excellent sound system), questionable Christmas carols, and Cindy's persistent requests for bathroom breaks. We stopped by a particularly impressive light show, a synchronized display that danced across a whole neighborhood. Cindy, mesmerized, declared, "Santa is definitely coming here!"

As we drove home, the city lights twinkled in the distance. In the backseat, Vanessa and Cindy were fast asleep, bundled up and clutching their loot bags from a stop at a local candy store. Kelly, in a rare show of affection, offered to clean up the goldfish cracker mess.

Pulling into our driveway, I switched off the Carnival's engine and looked at my children, asleep (or pretending to be) in the backseat. This wasn't exactly a Norman Rockwell Christmas, but it was ours. Maybe Kelly was right. Maybe there was a bit of a Christmas truce in the air. Or maybe it was just the magic of a new spaceship of a car, a bag of goldfish crackers, and a whole lot of tacky lights. It didn't matter. Tonight, at least, we were all on the same page, our differences momentarily forgotten under the twinkling glow of a Bremerton Christmas.