Christmas Eve, normally when my dad gets off work, my family piles into the car. We stop to pick up coffee, hot chocolate, or whatever hot drink is preferred by each of us. Then, we go to this neighborhood that goes all out with decorations and lights; they even have their own radio station with GOOD Christmas music. We enjoy that display.
Then, before everyone goes to bed, we open one present each... it's always pajamas, but it's a running gag to act surprised.
The next morning, I am forced to sit through a reading of the Book of Luke, Chapter 2 from the Bible because my parents (read: mom) are religious. Then, we open presents.
A forty-five minute drive to my Great Aunt's house, where I am forced to deal with passive aggressive bullshit from the women on that side of the family, but at least I get food.
Then, a forty-five minute drive back to our neck of the woods, where we have dinner with my grandmother on my mom's side. I listen to Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash with her boyfriend, and we all drink wine and play cards. Then, we do presents with them.
Fast forward twelve months and then repeat.