It’s been a lot of years since I have been with my family on Christmas day. In fact 14 years have come and gone since I have been in my parent’s home for the joyous holiday.
However, for the last 7 years, my daughter’s and I - on occasion, Mr. Mom of Many Hats too, have taken the trek out west on the 26th of December. Early in the morning, we stuff the car full of gifts, left-overs, cookies, newly acquired Christmas toys, and of course the dog. In then darkness of the AZ winter morning we hit the highway and drive for six hours. The entire time anticipating spending a week of shopping, family festivities, and New Year’s celebrations. It’s sort of a second Christmas.
I love this tradition that we have.
No matter how old I get, and how much I enjoy the holidays in my own home, I still long to be home for the holidays - my family home. I don’t know if because at some level, I still feel like a kid at the holidays, or if the business of the holidays makes me want to retreat into the safety of the shelter and comfort that only mom and dad can provide.
What I do know is that from the moment I pull into the driveway of my childhood home, I feel relief, joy, happiness and refreshment. I know my kids, and even the dog feel that too (ok, maybe that’s because my stress level drops a couple of notches .) I know that inside the front door is a place of unconditional love. I know that here, it is my turn to enjoy partaking in the festivities instead of facilitating them. Most of all, I know that there is no place like home.