I feel like Martha Frigging Stewart.
Our house in Costa Rica was just a short drive from several of the most wonderful little beaches.
We didn't have any beach entirely to ourselves, but we were far enough from the crazy-touristy towns that there was plenty of space and privacy. Mornings were best - they were clearer than afternoons, and less hot.
I am incredibly proud of myself for bringing Guppy back the exact same color I brought her - pasty white. She didn't always wear her hat, but the slathering of suntan lotion apparently worked (often over protests and struggles), and I didn't have to explain sunburn to her. I got a very faint tan by the end of our stay (already gone!), and one very, very minor red shoulder where I just missed a spot with the sunblock.
On Christmas, we didn't do any gifts. We had no tree, no lights. It was very... not-Christmasy. And that was just fine. We went to the beach that morning, and our car in the shade reported that it was 95 degrees outside. The sun was brilliant, the beach was beautiful. This particular beach was peppered with these sandy/rocky tidepools. Guppy wasn't really keen on walking into the surf (Nononononononononono!), but these she would trot right into - and sit down. We got these deliciously disgusting snow-cone thingies from a vendor with a cart - shaved ice with layers of colored syrup and malt sprinkle, with condensed milk on top. So yummy.
The rest of the day was spent lounging by our pool, grilling kabobs, eating toasted bagels (there was this AMAZING bakery just down the road across from the grocery store), enjoying the company of Jake's sister and her husband. Naps were taken. Swims were swum. I found Spanish Christmas music on one of the cable channels, and we watched Princess and the Frog.
Not a traditional Christmas, by any stretch, but wonderful.