Being home for the holidays reminds me of all the reasons I left. And all the reasons I return.

At one point today, my parent’s home was filled with every grandchild. As much as I love those kids, I have never once needed some “Jimbo time” more. A time when there wasn’t a Halfling of some kind pulling at my pant leg or a baby puking on my shoulder or a pig-tailed toddler giggling and screaming at me as I tossed her into the air to do it again! Do it again!

A nice time for an iPod and a closed door for sure. Unfortunately, closed doors don’t stay closed for long in this home, so I had to settle for a quick trip to the YMCA for a workout, despite the steady drizzle of snot from my nose these past few days.

In less than two days, the list of people in this house will expand to include every child, grandchild, grandparent, husband, wife, and more than likely, dog. And one uncle. And a very talkative bird. I’m sure my mother would bring the horses too if she could just find a place to fit them in the back yard.

I think this works out to two parents, four children, four grandchildren, three in-laws, one grandparent, one uncle, four dogs, and a parrot. I can't be too sure. I lost count a long time ago.

Keep in mind, nearly everyone in this house is Italian and related to me. And in this family, I’m the quiet, shy one. If you listen closely I’m pretty sure you can hear us in Oklahoma.

But regardless of the noise and the aggravation and the slobber and the tears and the shouting and the arguments and the noise and did I mention the noise I love these people more than anybody on the planet. And if it’s only for one week a year I don’t mind having to sleep in the study or having to share a bathroom and having to hear the same bellyaching from my mother that I hear year in and year out. The Charmin-soft orange puppy chewing on my hands and the smiles on my nieces’ faces and that linebacker-thick baby nephew of mine who smells vaguely of vanilla and Handi-Wipes and the seven pounds of fresh baked banana bread I have been stuffing into my face daily more than make up for it.

And for the record, I’m pretty sure that calories consumed during Christmas vacation don’t count. Denial takes a lot of exercise. Now be a dear and bring me another handful of those chocolate almonds. And another loaf of that banana bread. And tell Santa to bring me a Total Gym for Christmas cause Lord knows all of this is probably just gonna end up on my hips.