For most married couples, the Christmas season is usually divvied up with time spent at both the "inlaws" and the "outlaws." I'll let you decided which category your side of the family falls into. For many, it requires copious amounts of shopping and planning to make sure everyone receives a present and that both sides of the family receives equal time.

My wife and I have but one child. We normally spend Christmas Eve with Karla's family here in "God's Country," and then travel the 175 miles to my parents' home Christmas day. It still takes at least one day of preparation, a trunk full of clothes, boots, presents, etc. (for only an overnight stay), and by the time we return the next evening, we're shot, frazzled, and very happy to see the rolling hills of Southeast Minnesota.

I don't know how my mom and dad kept their sanity at Christmas time. There were five Warner kids all born between 1953 and 1959. You do the math!!

Several days before Christmas, Mom could be seen flying around the house at an even more rapid pace than normal. Dad was a young newspaper publisher, and he spent close to 80 hours a week keeping the Brownton Bulletin afloat. Clothes had to be washed, suitcases had to be packed. Presents for Grandma and Grandpa Larson, the Larson kids, the Nelson kids, Grandma Warner, and aunts and uncles all had to be purchased, wrapped and made ready for the epic journey north.

I grew up in south central Minnesota...about 50 miles straight west of the Twin Cities. My mother grew up near the Red River Valley some 225 miles north and west. "Swede Country," as my father called it, was at least four hours away. The interstate highway system was just an idea back in the early 1960s. And there must have been 20 to 30 small towns we had to travel through to get to Mom's hometown, Lake Park.

When the Warner family blossomed to five children, Dad bought a brand new red and white Plymouth station wagon. It had big fins, pushbutton shift, three seats, and almost enough room to accommodate us for our annual Christmas pilgrimage. The back two seats were folded down, a large bed mattress was positioned behind the front seat, three of my sisters and I all piled onto the mattress (my youngest sister sat on Mom's lap up front), the presents, suitcases, and anything else Mom figured we'd need, were piled up way back against the tailgate and off we'd go.

Christmas in "Swede Country" was either held on the home farm my great-grandfather, Lars Larson, homesteaded a century earlier, or at the Nelson farm. After getting reacquainted with all the cousins, listening to Grandma and Grandpa tell us how much we'd grown, and checking out the presents under the tree, it was time for the Christmas meal.

I used to marvel at the way Grandpa Larson would arrange his meal. He'd lay a piece of lefse on a large plate, take a generous scoop of potatoes, construct a large divot in the middle of the pile of spuds, place a large, steaming, smelly hunk of luetefisk in the divot, and smother it with drawn butter. Then he'd fold up the lefse, cut the Scandinavian concoction up into manageable pieces, take a big bite and get the most peaceful look on his face.

Following the meal, sheer pandemonium broke out. It was time to open the presents, and with five Warner kids, six Nelsons, three Larsons, aunts, uncles, great -aunts and uncles, and my grandparents, things got a little congested.

Both the Larson house and the Nelson house were large enough to accommodate lots of relatives. We'd break off into smaller groups and play with our toys, while the adults visited, drank coffee, and started cleaning up the kitchen.

Then it was time for church. Christmas Eve services were held each year at a red brick Lutheran church, situated on a hill overlooking a lake. After traveling most of the day, getting wild with my cousins, eating, getting wilder during the present exchange, and then playing with the recently-opened toys and games, it was tough staying awake during church. I know I wasn't the only one to doze off as the minister told the Christmas story again.

We usually stayed at Grandma and Grandpa's house. The next morning we had to get up early, because our journey wasn't even half over.

After a hearty breakfast cooked up by Grandma Larson, some teary goodbyes, we were on the road again, heading east to Aitkin and Grandma Warner's house. Aitkin is located about 30 miles north of Mille Lacs Lake, some 150 miles from "Swede Country." So it was another three-hour trip to visit my father's side of the family.

Dad's side of the family was much smaller than Mom's. Things were much more low key at Grandma Warner's house, with just my grandmother, Aunt Nancy and Cousin Jeff.

My Aunt Nancy and Grandma would always have a large turkey cooking in the oven. We'd usually get to Aitkin around noon, and have a Christmas Day meal about 2 p.m. Then it was time to open more presents, play with the new treasures, visit with my cousin, aunt and grandmother, and then get ready for a 175-mile trip home.

It was usually dark by the time we headed for home. And my sisters and I were usually pretty well played out by then. The trip from Aitkin to Brownton was usually pretty quiet. It seemed like we were just pulling out of Aitkin when suddenly Mom and Dad were shaking me and informing me we were home.

It usually took a day or two to recover from the trip. The hours spent in the car, the food, candy, stimuli with the relatives all seemed to take their tolls.

I think Mom and Dad used to breathe a sigh of relief when we pulled up alongside our home. I really don't know how they did it all those years. But those family excursions at Christmas time are certainly etched in my mind.

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