Seven years ago, while pregnant with my son, I declared I wasn’t going to travel anymore on Christmas.

“If they want to see us, they can come here.”

This seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, seeing as my baby was due at the end of November.

But in actuality, I packed my 2-week-old up and drove and ferried to all three sets of grandparents’ houses and have continued to do so ever since.

This year, I am not pregnant (thank God!), but I am newly divorced, so I made the declaration again.

To say it is causing some stir would be the understatement of the year, but I’m not budging.

Any relative who wants to join us is welcome, but for once I am spending the holidays in my own home. Because at home, I can celebrate the way I want to.

My emphasis has always been on the lights, glitter and spending time with people I care about (as long as I don’t have to drive far to do so.)

The kids and I decorate the tree with as many tacky, shiny ornaments as we can find. I string lights in their room and the living room.

I’m too lazy to string them outside, but we are blessed with neighbors who perilously hang from their rooftops so we can sit in the comfort of our warm living room and watch the lights twinkle on and off.

Plus, we make several rounds to the land of Christmas light orgies, Olympic Manor, so my kids and I have our fill of sparkle and glitz.

We join friends on solstice to celebrate the days getting longer and otherwise use the holidays as an excuse to gather with friends to eat and drink as frequently as possible.

As far as the man in the red hat, he is rarely mentioned in my household. I’ve waited for the kids to show an interest, but it has yet to happen.

And yes, you remembered correctly, I have a 7 and 4-year-old. They have never made a Christmas list, never asked to have their photo taken with Santa and, as far as they are concerned, Santa is some scary drunk guy they saw at a party one time so they would prefer to never lay eyes on him again.

Sure, I buy my kids a few books, tea sets and satsumas for their stocking, but it is not gluttonous.

When grandparents ask them what they want for Christmas, they say, “We don’t care.” And they really don’t. Toys gather dust in my home, but pillows, blankets, spatulas and the prized item, the turkey baster, get a lot of action.

Their father and I, and perhaps some begrudging grandparents, will gather on Christmas Day and eat and talk and occasionally remind the kids that they have presents to open.

The kids will immediately eat all of the food in their stocking, open a present or two, start reading the sure to be book inside, and we won’t see them for half an hour.

When they return, it will most likely be in search of the turkey baster.

Corbin Lewars (www.corbinlewars.com) is the founder of Reality Mom (www.realitymomzine.blogspot.com), author of "Creating a Life" (Catalyst Book Press, 2010) and the sexy mommy-lit book "Swings" (out for submission). She lives in Ballard with her two children.