In the off-chance that a civil war or other form of skirmish erupts in the middle of the night all around me, I can say with certainty that I will not be wise and duck my head, hoping against hopes that it all goes away shortly. Nor will I be brave and attempt to creep away undetected.

I will sit up suddenly, eyes wide and try to seek out the source of the noise. I know this because I awoke Monday morning to the sound of machine gun fire and occasional mortar explosion and reacted in just the manner I've described.

Thank you to my father, uncle and the creative team behind "The Great Raid," the DVD both were watching Monday with the volume seemingly cranked to 11. And thank you to my mother, who seemed shocked that my ability to sleep deeply kept me blissfully unconscious through several cinematic skirmishes and remarked that she "was sure you'd wake up during that first big explosion."

I'd fallen asleep on the couch late Christmas night, watching "Wag the Dog" to cap a relatively blissful, peaceful holiday. "White Christmas" viewing (for the first time no less - and I call myself a Bing Crosby fan?), laughter, a couple of travels and all. Peaceful.

As I sleepily (and angrily) huffed my way into the kitchen for coffee, I realized the holiday was decidedly over. Damn war movies.

But it was time. My brother remarked that the holiday weekend was the best ever, and I'd be inclined to agree with him. While holiday relaxation is never truly relaxed*, it was nice - a balance between running around to see loved ones not within the walls of Casa de Grandma and chill time.

At one point, my brother and I lounged alone in the living room, he working out lines on his electric bass, I sprawled on the floor, half-dozing, half-listening to the iPod sounds coming through the new speakers my parents gifted to me. I skipped ahead to "Thunder Road," and we both mouthed along the words, smiling as Springsteen belted out the chorus.

Then we went back into the other room and resumed catapulting** Swedish fish at people. Heh.

* Beth and I were discussing the nature of the holiday weekend last night, as we sprawled on couches, utterly exhausted. We decided that, while it's always nice to be able to sit and relax with family and friends, it's not your turf and it's really not your time. You've bequeathed yourself to family for several days and you wind up, of course, wrapping the guys' presents because they plead inability and making sure the older women in your family aren't going completely mad with the preparation of holiday meals and looking out for everyone else. Is it fun? At the end of the day, you realize it certainly is. But it can never truly be relaxing.

** I sincerely hope you've all seen "Monty Python and the Holy Grail." If you haven't, stop reading and go watch it now because you should have seen it years - nay, decades - ago. And if you have (thank goodness), think French castle. THAT catapult. My brother's favorite gift this year, hands down. Some may say small things for small minds, but I maintain that our fascination with the small piece demonstrates a creative, hands on focus on physics. Or something.