Surprise happens
When I was a child I read the "Little House on the Prairie" series, and we watched the TV show as a family.
http://www.lauraingallswilderhome.com
One of Laura Ingalls Wilder's memories includes a winter when little Laura and her family lived in a cabin in the middle of a white landscape.
As I recall, Ma delighted Laura with a hand-made doll. Pa probably whittled everybody something cool while the family thought he was dawdling while milking the cow.
That Christmas the Ingalls family was hunkering down in their cabin, thankful Pa had chopped enough wood.
There was a bang on the door and it was Mr. Edwards, who had walked through the blizzard to surprise the Ingalls.

Mr. Edwards' beard was covered with icicles and everyone agreed he must have been a madman to risk his life to trek across the tundra to surprise this little family, who was clinging to dear life in the middle of nowhere.
Mr. Edwards reached into his sack and pulled out a peppermint stick and a shiny penny for each of the Ingalls children. Laura later remembered this as one of the most magical moments of their lives.
All of us have magical moments tucked into our memory boxes. These are the things we'll remember long after Elmo is just the name of the neighbor's dog.
Today, if you're like most folks, you'll be hanging out with some nice people, eating too much fabulous food and exchanging gifts.
These too are magic moments, only without the surprise.

(Another Laura Ingalls Wilder links:
http://www.ingallshomestead.com)

One for the memory box
In my early 20s I was a waitress at a local diner. Being low on the pecking order, I worked Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, the only year I did not spend the holiday with family.
I was bummed, but I knew my family and I would do a "make-up" Christmas sometime in the future.
Like most diners, we had our regulars, mostly older men who came in every day.
On Christmas, a regular brought me a little music box with a fabric red rose inside. When I opened the box, the rose popped up.

I was surprised and a little embarrassed by the gift.
I knew the guy's regular order and probably his first name, but didn't feel I was "gift-worthy."
When he saw me flustered, he said, "I'm an old guy who lives alone. It was nice to have someone to buy a gift for."
Cori, another waitress who had to work, also had family who lived far away.
We were both feeling sorry for ourselves when one of the cooks, Jose, invited us to his house.
He lived off of Ceres with his wife, their children, and several young men who worked in the kitchen.
Jose's wife made huge vats of meat on the stove that simmered in delightful juices. Another pot was filled with hominy.

One of the prep cooks showed me, in broken English, how the food tasted better when you squeezed lime over the top. I still eat my tacos that way.
After dinner, there was cheap beer and the young men who worked as dishwashers and prep cooks wanted to teach us how to dance Mexican style. They had a boom box in the living room and someone had cassette tapes.
Cori and I were the belles of the ball. The guys took turns twirling us around the living room, which had been cleared of most things breakable.
We somehow wiggled our way out of the party and arrived home safely.
After that, we were all good friends, and found ways to joke through the language barriers.
I missed my family that year. But I wouldn't trade in those memories.

Maybe your family is a little quirky or even drives you batty. On Christmas it's a lot easier to see people as they are, just people muddling through this life as best they can.
Or maybe you're alone this year, because of circumstances beyond your control, or circumstances that could have been handled differently.
Having less-than-magical moments every once in a while helps magnify the magic when it does happen.
And maybe you'll be pleasantly surprised.

* The actual name of this year's "hot toy" is Zhu Zhu pet.