The kitchen has been covered with a fine dusting of flour and glitter all week, and I found Frasier fir needles on my pillowcase this morning. (Climbing under the tree with a watering can has its hazards—I’ve been wearing pine all month.)

We were getting ready to take Christmas on the road. I confessed to the family after an hour or so of huffing about that it’s hard to shut down the house, topping off vases overflowing with holly and packing cookies into tins, saying good-bye to the dear sights of home until after December 25. Once I’m on the other side (at my parents’ house in the mountains), I’m more than okay with being away for Christmas. In fact, I’m delighted.

There are tins full of cookies I didn’t make, a Christmas beast waiting in the fridge, gifts under the tree, and all the homey touches and traditions I was raised on. Best of all are the faces greeting us at the door.

We got in the car this morning and sighed relief. Everything somehow fit. A lot of care (and work) was put into all the stuff blocking my husband’s view of the road behind. Presents picked out and wrapped, treats baked, dresses pressed, dogs bathed. Mom called as we pulled out, asking me to bring the chest of my grandmother’s old silver I’d absconded, so back we went. Sadie fell apart when Daddy went back inside. Maggie’s hair got pulled. Where to put said silver?

We left. Again. The Spouse said sarcastically,

“Merry Christmas.”

Simplicity indeed. Emma asked as we accelerated,

“Is it hard for the car to move when it’s this loaded down?”

I had to laugh. What a glorious mess.

And so we’ll make a mess at Mom’s meticulously kept place. Sippy cups leaking juice on the floor, crumbs in every chair, shoes and errant socks scattered. Dad will fuss about too many people crowding into the kitchen, and a total of four dogs will vacillate between vying for space on the sofa and barking madly at whatever catches their fancy out the window. Silent Night, indeed!

Would I have it any other way? At this point, anything goes. And tomorrow night after church, with the lights down low, we’ll raise a glass to the king, lord of all this mirth.