Well, it is December. I don't know why, but I get excited when I flip that calendar page from November to December...even when the weather's warmer than it should be. I dislike so much about the overcommercialism of the holidays, but there are still the basic reasons why I love this time of year, anyway.

When I was a little girl, my mother used to get an Advent calendar every year. (Does anyone remember those?) Every day, from Dec. 1st on, I'd open the little window for the day, and she would read to me what it said, and we'd get to see the hidden picture (a star, an angel, one of the animals in the stable.) One year, a German friend gave us one with little chocolates behind every window.

My mother was born on December 25th, and was named Carol in honor of the day. She was almost Noel, but her father was afraid it would be pronounced wrong. It's a funny thing about names. My mother was definitely a Carol, always singing...Noel just didn't suit her.

I think about my mom a lot, especially now. As Little-Sir-3-Year-Old loses his babyness and gets more like a rough and tumble boy, I wish she were here to share it all. She would absolutely adore him. There's so much about my life today that is completely different than when she was here with us. I wish she were here now...healthy and happy.

Yeah...more bittersweet times. Every wonderful thing I experience is saddened by not being able to share it the way I want with the people I want. Every awful thing is lessened a bit by the knowing that my mom didn't have to see it and be hurt by it.

And now it's December. Soon we'll have the first snow of winter, the holidays will rush by, the lull after Jan. 2 will come, and I'll seek opportunities to curl up with a good book on a cold evening.

Now, if only I had a fireplace...