COMMENT: It is done.
The decorations begin to recede like a hairline, in dribs and drabs, thinning out, chipping away at the boundaries, until one day it is unexpectedly gone altogether. The tree will come down first, but the tinsel and its various flecks of sparkle will be found for many weeks to come, reminders of the piles of dishes that were.
The family will return to regularly scheduled contact, however sparse or ordered it may be. The recycling bin will suffer for weeks, and consequently the garage floor will be adorned with its own form of festive decor.
The children will soak up the summer. I still remember the summer of each and every year as a child, somehow as isolated events rather than the warm, fuzzy red and green smear that holiday seasons (plural) seem to have become now I'm older. Perhaps it is because a school year felt like a lifetime when I was young. I doubt it is because of the one drink I might now have with lunch on Christmas day.
New Year's resolutions will soon be made. Most will fail. All would have been attainable, had they been realistic, or just given more dedication.