The invitation came nearly a year ago. It was our turn to have the kids for Thanksgiving and our son, Carl, invited us all to Milwaukee for the holiday. We were quick to accept.

It’s a tricky game. Marrying off the kids and sharing them with the in-laws can be complicated. We should know, we went through it ourselves as young newlyweds. I remember well that first Christmas, traveling home to be with family. The good news was that both sets of parents lived in Duluth. The bad part was we spent Christmas Day ping ponging back and forth between houses trying to be everywhere at once. Not a wise idea.  The year we stuffed the car full of gifts for the trip home with the tricycle wheel spinning over one of the carseats, we reached our limit.  Christmas would be at our house in the future.

Those memories compel us to try and make it easy on our kids, allowing them take the lead and let us know what works for them. Fortunately, for starters at least, they have all managed to land on a common schedule. Thanksgiving with us one year, Christmas the next.

By now we’ve experienced both holidays “kidless.” It’s not so bad, really. The key is not to dwell on their absence, but to strike out and do something new. Viewed as an opportunity as opposed to a loss. Good friends become family for a day. Or we take ourselves somewhere new for a treat. Different yes, bad no.

This Thanksgiving marks the first time we have been guests, not the hosts for a family holiday. It was a change, but adapting was oh so easy. Carl and Chelsea set a beautiful table and produced a bountiful turkey. The rest of us brought our favorite side dishes and desserts, all prepared ahead of time. I have to admit I watched in admiration as Chelsea calmly puttered over those labor intensive last minute sides of potatoes, gravy and vegetables. It brought back memories of my anxieties over gravy that would not thicken. Potatoes that took longer than expected. And getting greatly flustered over the whole bit required to bring it all together at once. I was happy to turn it all over to younger, very competent family members. Sure, we all pitched in. But someone was in charge and holding the reins. And that someone wasn’t me.

What a pleasure to sit at Great-Grandpa Hoeg’s long dining room table lit by his candelabra, surrounded by our family now numbering 11 and friends. We are now the top of this family line, and it is humbling to think that this fine array of individuals are the product of our own marriage 33 years ago. We are truly blessed.

I’m not entirely ready to give up hosting for good. I still crave gathering my family at Grammy and Grandpa’s house.  I still love anticipating their arrival and hugging each as they arrive and fill up all our available space.  It still feels right to have them all come home.

We have another invitation for Christmas, even though its technically not “our” turn. But who can resist waking up Christmas morning in a house filled with our grandchildren?  I’ll readily pass the torch for this one too. I just may ask for it back now and then.

It’s always a whole lot more fun to decorate the house for Christmas than it is to take everything down.  Getting out each ornament and remembering its history.  Finding each decoration’s special spot where it is always placed.  Positioning them just so and deciding how much is just enough.

I admit that in these latter years I’ve been trimming down my decorations.  I no longer feel the necessity to display every single Christmas item in the boxes.  It does streamline the process.  But there are some that are too special to omit.  The knitted snowmen, made by a friend dating back to junior high.  The corn-husk angel holding a Christmas wreath, another hand made item that was a prize for selling the most wreaths in a fundraiser.  The cross-stitch bird and musical horn ornament, one I made for my Mom years ago that recently came back to me.  The detailed nutcrackers, given to us by Rich’s parents in the early years of our marriage.

At this end of the holiday each item gets carefully wrapped and placed in its box and stacked in containers, the same way every year.  The tree, denuded of its decorations, garland and lights, is carried out the door trailing a telltale path of dry pine needles.  The house once again resumes its normal appearance, no longer decked out in red and green.

We may have stripped the house of its Christmas decor, but the memories still linger.  Sitting on the couch extracting trinkets from our Christmas stockings.  Gathering around the table for a big family dinner.  Eager little ones finding their names on presents under the tree, and always looking for more.  Joy and laughter as presents are exchanged.  Just being together with family, and talking on the phone with those who call from afar.

The Christmas boxes are once again stored away.  In Rich’s words, the house has been de-Christmasized.  There’s a bit of peace that comes with the transformation.  Yet I’m already looking forward to doing it all again.

Mellow is just not in my nature. I have pretty much one gear – Go Go Go. Particularly in the mornings. I like to get up and get going. An early morning run is my favorite, getting in a good workout before settling into the day. Even at the cabin, I require my run and a brisk swim before hanging out on the dock with my coffee and magazines. In winter, I chomp at the bit waiting for it to get light and warm up enough to go out skiing. Intellectually I know conditions will improve as the morning goes on, but my heart wants to rush out the door.

The holidays change all that. Having a house full of family brings its own pace and set of priorities. There is nothing like the dim light of morning, when the great room is lit by only the Christmas tree, the fireplace and a few strategic lights. It oozes quiet and relaxation. Little grandkids wake slowly, snuggling in my arms or someone else’s as they gradually come to life. Each member of the family rises on their own schedule, but tend not to sleep in as late as they once did. I set the coffee brewing in the corner and start making the first of many batches of pancakes and bacon.

Even once fed, pajama clad family members linger on the couches. Reading is a favorite pastime, as is playing with 2 1/2 year old Ben’s newest toys. Recounting moments from the previous evening’s games is a popular topic. Routines have all been left behind, and no one feels the urgency to move on. Not even me.