I'm dreaming of a white Christmas ...

When I was a kid, my brother, Mike, and I spent many hours talking late into the night about what Christmas would be like that year. I suppose a big part of the reason we all adored Christmas was that my mom put so much time and effort into making it magical for us, as she does this to this day. One thing my mom had no control over delivering, however, was snow, which was an integral part of our "perfect Christmas." Yes, we even plotted the weather we must have: specifically the ideal day would have our yard covered with a blanket of soft white snow. And it definitely needed to be snowing on Christmas Day - beautiful flakes softly cascading down.

The weather seems to have shifted in recent years. We actually have had quite a few white Christmases of late. If I recall correctly, though, back then we had plenty of Christmases that were more brown than ivory. Our yuletide hopes dashed! Of course, we had wonderful holidays despite the fact that our perfect vision did not come to fruition.

It's been a long time since I spent hours envisioning the perfect Christmas, but this year has shown me that some of that little girl must still be in me. I catch myself checking the forecast each day, hoping for snow, looking outside a little sadly each morning. Christmas doesn't feel the same without snow. I mean, come on, we live in the Midwest! We have to deal with foul weather for months on end. We should be able to enjoy one fringe benefit - having a movie-perfect Christmas morning outside, right?!?!

OK, so I know this is how many people end up feeling a little or a lot blue this time of year. We put so much pressure on ourselves to find the perfect gift, make the perfect meal and cookies, decorate beautifully, enjoy ourselves to the highest degree!!! Inevitably, we fall short. Gifts sometimes fall flat, cookies burn, families squabble. It all seems so much worse than it is when you set yourself up with such high expectations. That's why when I find myself getting swept away in the pursuit of perfection, I try to catch and redirect myself.

This time of year, we hear so much about the true gifts of Christmas, those that do not fit under the tree. It can almost seem trite after a while. Darn if it isn't true, though. As adults, I think most of us realize that the best part of Christmas is the time we spend with people we love and the memories we make. Some of my favorite memories are those of imperfection, like the year when I was about 6 and cried and cried because I didn't get a doll. Unbeknownst to me, my aunt was going to give me one when we visited Chicago. My dad ran out to some store that was open and got me a doll, my parents telling me Santa must have dropped it in the garage.

Snow or no snow, I wish you all a very merry Christmas that is perfectly imperfect and filled with lots of memories!

My dirty Christmas secret

I'm a sucker for Christmas movies. "It's a Wonderful Life" is not only my favorite Christmas film but probably my favorite movie of all time. Stories of redemption get me every time, and you can't beat George Bailey's. Frank Capra's masterpiece is at the top of my Christmas viewing list.

One time, my mom and I visited my Uncle Richard and Aunt Micki in Georgia. My aunt showed me part of the movie "Meet Me in St. Louis" and then gifted me with a copy of the movie. I have to admit my first impression was, "what an odd movie." The Halloween scene? The part where Tootie smashes all the snow people? It all struck me as so bizarre. I have to say, though, that I've grown to love this picture, quirkiness and all. Judy Garland's aching rendition of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," my favorite Christmas song, is tops.

Likewise, I adore watching "Elf" and "Home Alone" if for no other reason than hearing my kids laugh hysterically. I never miss "The Muppets Christmas Carol," shedding a tear as Tiny Tim sings "Bless Us All."

You can bet Zuzu's petals, though, that one movie you will not catch me watching is "A Christmas Story." I realize this may qualify as blasphemy, but I officially do not get that movie. I first saw it at my friend, Crystal's, house. I must have been 10 or so. I remember her dad guffawing, but I had a visceral dislike from viewing No. 1. The whole thing struck me as depressing and gross, from the mom making Ralphie put soap in his mouth to the boy getting his tongue stuck on the flag pole to the creepy Santa.

I realize, that I probably still view "A Christmas Story" with the eyes of my younger self. Maybe if I'd watched it for the first time at a different time in my life, I'd have enjoyed it, but as it is, my opinion is forever set. My brothers adore the movie, praising how it perfectly captures a period in time. Meanwhile, I scoff in dismay when I see it listed as the best Christmas movie of all time.

I asked my sister-in-law the other day if she liked "A Christmas Story," sure she would say no. She conceded that she thinks it's more of a male movie, but that she has warm memories of watching it with her family. So here's my question: am I alone in my dislike?

Happy birthday to my one-of-a-kind boy!

I'm a little late on this, but I couldn't let pass this opportunity to write a birthday tribute to my beloved middle son. Paul turned 6 on Dec. 6. It sounds cliche, but it truly does feel like just yesterday that I was pregnant out to there (I gained a whopping 45 pounds with Paul!) and the doctor told me I would be induced the next day.

Excitement kept me from sleeping much the night before my induction. Lucky for me, the birth went incredibly smoothly. When I first laid eyes upon my boy, I couldn't believe how big he looked, hence the enormous belly, I suppose. When the nurse weighed him, at first glance I missed seeing the 8 pounds before the 11 ounces and thought for one alarmed moment that I'd given birth to an 11-pound baby!

Paul is one of those people who still looks much like he did as a newborn, as perhaps you can see in the photos above. He has these big, expressive eyes. Of course, I fell in love instantly. Paul was a mellow and easy baby, a delight in every way. I took easily to becoming a mother of two, finding motherhood much easier the second time around thanks to having much more realistic expectations after the first time around.

Over time, of course, Paul's personality rounded out a bit. Alas, he developed his own set of quirks, but if anything I love him all the more for everything that makes him who he is. Paul is the the quintessential middle child, sandwiched between an older brother who's a standout in many ways and a younger brother with a larger-than-life personality. Nevertheless, Paul has managed to carve out his own special niche in our family.

Paul has the best imagination. When an idea takes him over, his whole face lights up. Whether he's talking to a new stuffed animal and taking it on a tour of our house, or picturing what it would be like to pet a baby sea turtle, he throws himself in heart and soul.

When I watch Paul, I'm overtaken with joy wondering what each of my children will become. He is happiest when he's perched at the table with his box of crayons and markers, creating an endless stream of pictures.

Paul once said, "Ben is the biggest, Gus is the smallest, and I'm the middlest." So true. Paul, you're the bestest middlest boy in the world, and I simply adore you.