Christmas Movie Reviews 2025 (2)

Round two of Christmas movie reviews is here! I’ve kept the cocoa flowing and the TV tuned to Hallmark and Great American Family, working my way through another batch of holiday cheer — some sweet, some silly, and some that completely missed the mark. Here’s what I’ve been watching lately.

7. Christmas on Duty

Hallmark | 2025 | ★★★☆☆ | Watched: Nov 10–11

Rival Marines Blair and Josh are forced to spend Christmas on duty together after a public argument lands them both in trouble. Determined to stay out of each other’s way, their plans are derailed when a snowstorm threatens to ruin the base’s holiday celebration. Teaming up to deliver missing gifts, they rediscover friendship, teamwork, and a little Christmas spirit along the way.

This one was really cute and had a fresh premise compared to the usual Christmas movie setups. The acting was solid, and I especially liked Janel Parrish as the lead — she’s always charming and believable. I enjoyed the rivalry-turned-teamwork dynamic and the sense of camaraderie among the characters. The snowy gift-retrieval mission added a fun adventure element, and the family and community vibes made it feel extra cozy. A solid, feel-good watch.

8. Christmas in Midnight Clear

Great American Family | 2025 | ★★★★☆ | Watched: Nov 12–13

Christmas in Midnight Clear follows Hillary Shaw, a driven corporate real estate developer who arrives in a struggling small town with plans to buy up properties and overhaul everything. But when she clashes — and slowly connects — with Daniel Porter, the local pastor rooted deeply in the community, her big-city vision starts to shift. Their opposing worldviews spark tension… and something more.

Great American Family movies usually lean pretty hard into religious themes, which isn’t always my favorite. This one definitely had deep faith-based undertones, but honestly, I didn’t mind it here. The story was sweet and exactly the kind of Christmas-movie formula I love: big-city woman rolls into a small town, gets swept up in the charm, and falls for the guy AND the place.

It had all the cozy small-town staples: tight-knit community, town traditions, the local diner, Christmas cookies. And yes, it was corny. But it hit that perfect blend of comforting and nostalgic that always works for me.

9. A Newport Christmas

Hallmark | 2025 | ★★☆☆☆ | Watched: Nov 14–16

A Newport Christmas follows Ella, a wealthy Newport socialite from 1905 who dreams of starting a charitable foundation instead of entering an arranged engagement. After a wish on a passing comet, she suddenly finds herself in 2025, and face-to-face with Nick, a sailor and local historian. As Ella navigates modern Newport and grows closer to Nick, she realizes she may not want to return to her own time… but staying could erase her legacy and alter history forever.

I haven’t watched too many time-travel Christmas movies, so this one felt pretty unique. Wes Brown is a familiar Hallmark face, and he was solid here; the rest of the cast, even the ones I didn’t recognize, did a nice job too. The movie was fun and the concept was interesting, but it didn’t deliver the things I love most: cozy small-town vibes and a more grounded, realistic plot.

It was worth watching, but it won’t be a standout for me this season.

10. The Great Christmas Snow-in

UPtv | 2025 | ★☆☆☆☆ | Watched: Nov 17

The Great Christmas Snow-In follows Justin, a heartbroken songwriter who escapes to a cabin he originally booked for his honeymoon. A snowstorm leaves him unexpectedly stuck there with Jane, his ex-fiancée’s cousin, and a spark starts to form. When his ex shows up with her new boyfriend though, old feelings and new truths collide, leading to revelations about love, closure, and second chances.

I’ve learned over the years that UPtv’s movies… aren’t usually the strongest. And right from the start, I could tell this one wasn’t going to be great. It’s clearly low-budget with some very fake-looking backdrops, and the acting wasn’t strong, especially from the two male leads. The two women were better though, and I actually appreciated seeing actresses with curvier, more realistic bodies for once, so there's that!

The movie itself was super cheesy, even by Christmas-movie standards. The worst part? The bizarre fantasy sequences where the male lead imagines himself inside scenes from Jane's romance novels. Total cringe. Add in the tiny cast and almost zero festive atmosphere, and it just didn’t land.

11. Christmas Above the Clouds

Hallmark | 2025 | ★★★★★ | Watched: Nov 18–19

Christmas Above the Clouds is a modern retelling of A Christmas Carol, following workaholic CEO Ella Neezer as she tries to escape the holidays by flying to Australia. Mid-flight, she’s visited by spirits who show her the consequences of her past, present, and future, forcing her to confront the life she’s built and the love she pushed away. With a little supernatural nudging and a reunion with her ex, Ella gets a chance to rediscover Christmas… and herself.

This movie was great, even if it mostly took place on a plane instead of a cozy small town. Tyler Hynes is my favorite Hallmark actor, and Erin Krakow is really growing on me. They both did a solid job here. It wasn’t overly cheesy, and the acting felt strong across the board.

Ella’s transformation did happen a little fast once the spirits showed her the reality of her past, present, and future, but I still liked watching her growth play out. The ending was warm, satisfying, and very Christmas-movie perfect.

Right now, this one is tied as my favorite of the year (alongside Merry Christmas, Ted Cooper!), and I’d definitely recommend it.

12. A Soldier for Christmas

UPtv | 2025 | ★☆☆☆☆ | Watched: Nov 20–21

A Soldier for Christmas follows Hannah, a military widow trying to ease back into dating but finding zero success. Her brother sets her up with his friend Ryan, another soldier, over video chat. They click quickly, but Hannah struggles with the idea of getting involved with someone in the military again.

This movie was horrid. The acting was awful, the dialogue was flat, and they played cheesy elevator music throughout. It’s clearly low budget, and I honestly don’t know how any of these people were cast — there wasn’t a single believable actor in the mix.

One moment that really summed it up? Ryan tells Hannah’s daughter he knew she loved puppies. Hannah reacts like it’s a shocking revelation. How did he know?! Everyone loves puppies. He had a solid chance at guessing correctly. That’s not a plot twist... that's common sense.

UPtv movies continue to disappoint… and yes, I’ll still be watching them.

That wraps up my second batch of holiday movies. A mixed bag, but the season's still young. Plenty more to come!

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He Came for the Snacks (One Minute Memoir)

A Memoir of Slow Miles, Turkey Hats, and Crossing the Finish Line

Setting: November 26, 2023 — Thanksgiving morning on frozen streets lined with cowbells and turkey hats, where the cheering was loud and the life choices were questionable.

I knew it was a bad idea to bring my five-year-old to a 2.5-mile Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning, but he insisted. Caleb and I do it every year, and Holden didn’t want to miss out.

Within minutes, Caleb had taken off ahead of us, speedy legs pumping with excitement, while Holden and I lagged behind, swallowed by a sea of turkey hats and neon sneakers. By the ten-minute mark, the questions began:

“Where’s the food?"

“Can we just turn around?”

“Can’t you carry me?”

Then came the real Holden hits:

“How much longer is this race?”

“How many more minutes?”

“I’m hungry.”

“I want to sit down.”

He wanted snacks. He wanted shortcuts. He wanted out. But we kept going. There’s no turning around in a race of this size; there’s only one direction: forward.

So we trudged ahead, slow and dramatic, passing volunteers with cowbells and dreaming of pie. It took nearly an hour, and we never once ran. But eventually, we saw it: the finish line. We picked up our pace. Caleb was already there, waiting for us after leaving us in the dust.

And we did it. We crossed the finish line on stubborn, tired, dragging legs. But we crossed. Together.

We got the medals. We wore the bibs. But let’s be honest: Holden came for the post-race snacks. Every bite earned, every step a reminder that even the smallest strides forward are worth celebrating.

11/26/23

This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.

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The Greatest Measure

 On running slowly, starting over, and showing up no matter the pace.

My journey back to running has been humbling. Every step reminds me how far I am from the runner I used to be. More than once, I’ve wondered if I could really do it again, if I still had it in me, if too much life had happened between then and now. And I’m slow. Painfully slow. Slower than I used to be. But here’s the thing: the greatest measure of running has never been speed. It’s persistence, showing up again and again, even when it hurts, even when you fall short. Each time you return, you learn to carry yourself a little farther.

For years, I said I’d get back into it “someday.” In my head, it was always this big, monumental thing: something I had to prepare for, something I wasn’t ready for yet. But the truth is, it doesn’t take much. Sure, maybe new shoes. Yeah, maybe some music. But really, it just takes yourself, walking out the door. One day I decided: today is the day. And I went.

It’s been both easier and harder than I imagined. Easier, because starting wasn’t as impossible as I’d built it up to be. Harder, because my legs are stiff, my injuries range from blisters to shins to knees depending on the week, and every step feels like dragging through wet cement. I keep waiting for that magical moment when running feels light again, when my legs don’t ache, when I stop feeling like I’m wading through resistance.

But maybe the magic isn’t in waiting. Maybe it’s in choosing. It’s refusing to quit. It’s going back again and again, even when it feels impossible. And then one day, without realizing it, you’re suddenly stronger than the version of yourself who almost gave up.

I thought I was waiting for life to begin again before I could start running. What I really needed was a change in perspective: to decide it was time to reclaim myself, to challenge myself, to remember who I was, and to trust that I still could.

Running has never been about being “good” at it. It’s about being consistent. It’s about showing up, even when I’m slow, even when I struggle. Because the more I return, the less I struggle. And eventually, I realize the point was never perfection — it was persistence.

And here’s what I’ve learned: progress isn’t measured at the finish line. It’s not even measured in speed. It’s showing up at the start, over and over again, even when everything in you resists. 

Truth be told, I almost never feel like going out for a run. My legs always ache and the couch is always easier. But life doesn’t get good by choosing easy. It doesn’t get better when you sit still, watching from the sidelines. It gets better when you step into the hard things, the uncomfortable things. It changes when you keep moving... one heavy step at a time.

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On the Cusp

On the quiet ache of watching them grow up

It’s happening quietly. No milestones marked on a calendar, no party or photo op to announce the change. Just subtle signs scattered through our days: the way Caleb’s legs stretch longer under the blanket, how Holden calls me “Mom” now instead of “Mommy.” We’re not in the baby years anymore. Not even in the little-kid years. We’re somewhere in between, on the cusp of whatever comes next.

I used to put all our Halloween picture books in a basket by the couch, swapping them for Christmas stories when the season changed. Each night, we’d pull one out to read before bed: Room on the Broom, Five Little Pumpkins, Snowmen at Christmas. Those pages were soft from use, their edges slightly bent from tiny hands.

Now those books sit in a box somewhere, untouched and nearly forgotten. I can’t remember the last time I read to them at bedtime. These days, it’s an argument to get them to read for homework. The ritual of stories has been replaced by reminders, and the joy of reading feels like something we have to enforce instead of share.

Caleb, my oldest, has never asked about Santa, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. But I can feel the questions lingering in the silence. Each holiday could be the last one he believes, or at least pretends to. Maybe he already knows, and we’re both keeping up the act for each other.

There’s something tender and painful about knowing the magic won’t end in one clean break. It will fade quietly, until it’s gone. I’ll only realize it after the fact, when the cookies are left uneaten or the twinkle lights don’t draw the same wide-eyed awe.

It used to be easy to get them excited for things: pumpkin farms, Santa dinners, library events. Now I have to drag them along. Caleb rolls his eyes; Holden asks how long it’ll take. Dinner with Santa has been our tradition since they were toddlers. I used to worry about keeping their outfits clean for the photos. Now I just wonder if Caleb will still pose at all this year. How many more times will we even go before it feels like it’s “for kids”?

Sometimes Holden still reaches for my hand in the parking lot. His grip is smaller than mine, but not by much anymore. And when was the last time he was small enough for me to carry on my hip, or scoop up just because I could? I don’t remember. Those moments don’t end with warning; they just fade, until one day you realize your arms aren’t meant to hold them anymore, only guide them forward.

Next fall, Caleb will be in middle school. No longer in the safe little bubble of elementary: the same hallways, the same teachers, the same comfort of knowing every face. He’ll walk into a new building with new expectations, and I’ll watch from the outside, trying not to hold my breath.

It’s a strange kind of grief, this slow slipping away from the little years. The toys, the bedtime stories, the magic... they’re all quietly disappearing while life keeps rolling forward.

But there’s something else emerging, too. Conversations that go deeper. Jokes that land differently. Glimpses of the young men they’re becoming. It’s bittersweet, this middle place, half holding on and half preparing to let go. Maybe this is what parenting really is: standing on the cusp, always, learning to love the in-betweens just as much as the beginnings.

And in the quiet moments, you start to understand that loving them now means letting them grow, even when every part of you wants to keep them small.

You learn to hold on where you can and loosen your grip where you must. The years slip through your hands either way — but if you’re lucky, they still reach for yours once in a while.

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It Tasted Like Disappointment (One Minute Memoir)

A Memoir on Letting Nostalgia Go Cold

Setting: Summer 2025 — Sunday lunch in the car, chasing nostalgia through a drive-through window

I missed the McDonald’s Snack Wraps. They were a cult classic. I don’t like burgers, so they were always my fallback: tasty, cheap, solid, mine.

So when they finally announced they were coming back, I planned for it like it mattered. Sunday lunch. I thought about it all day Saturday. I could almost taste it.

I ordered my usual: Diet Coke. Fries. Ranch Snack Wrap.

I unwrapped it in the car, ready. Fries first. Then the bite I’d been waiting for. It was… rubbery. Not the crispy chicken tenders they used to have. The cheese wasn’t melted. The tortilla was stiff. The whole thing was cold in all the wrong ways.

It tasted like disappointment. Not nostalgia.

I didn’t even finish it.

Years ago, when they discontinued orange Hi-C, I took it personally. I wrote a whole email to the company... not a complaint, but a case. Thought-out, persuasive, sincere. Because some things matter more than they probably should. And I really, really wanted them to bring it back. And when they finally did? It was everything I remembered: delicious, refreshing, full of memory and joy.

But the Snack Wrap? That one broke the spell. It came back different. Or maybe I did.

Not everything from the past deserves to be resurrected. Some things belong to who we were, not who we are now.

Sometimes, what we miss isn’t the thing itself, but the time it came from. The feeling. The version of us who found comfort in it. We reach back for the comfort. But sometimes, it only ever lived in the before.

Still, there's something hopeful in knowing we can miss what was and still be okay with what is.

This post is part of my One-Minute Memoir series — short reflections on small moments that still manage to say something big.

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Before the First Page (New Chapters)

On hovering at the edges of your own story, and daring to step inside. 🖋️

Some stories start before you realize you’re telling them.

Before the first page, there’s a pause.

It’s that in-between space where you’re not in the story yet, but you’re circling around it. Hovering at the edges. Wondering how to start. You’re holding the pen, but your hand still shakes.

I lived there for a long time, in that strange limbo between what ended and what hadn’t yet begun. The world around me kept moving: work, errands, the steady rhythm of normal life that didn’t care if I was ready or not. I did what I had to, but I wasn’t really in the story. I was watching from the margins, waiting for a sign that it was safe to begin again.

The truth is, there’s no signal. No clear line between before and after. You just start to notice the smallest stirrings: a moment that feels lighter, a laugh that doesn’t ache. You start to say yes again. You make weekend plans. You lace up your shoes and run a little farther. You start writing things down, not because you’ve figured it out, but because you want to remember that you’re still here.

That’s what the before looks like: not silence, but the quiet work of coming back to yourself. It’s the stretch before the first page turns, the deep breath before the first line appears.

Because the first page doesn't have to be perfect. It just has to begin. It’s the moment you finally stop circling and decide to step in, messy handwriting and all.

And I think that’s where I’ve been — not behind, not lost, just in that necessary in-between. The part before the first page, where life starts taking shape again, even if the story hasn’t fully begun.

This post is part of my New Chapters series — reflections on rebuilding, resilience, and writing new parts of my story.

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