Dear December

Oh December. I love you, really I do. But you need to slow down, lay off the caffeine, maybe take a lesson from February on how to last forever.

You hosted our wedding fifteen years ago, sifting snow--white as a wedding cake--across the church lawn, spelling congratulations with your confectionery weather. And here we are again after fifteen winters gone, back in the snowbelt, battling icicles with broomsticks for control of the gutters. Here we are, not so far from the little church on Satin Street.

You were the one month in which I didn't want to be due. "I want to have another baby," I announced to my sister. "Any month but December--I don't care which one."

Next thing I know, I'm talking with the hostess at the Capital Grille.

"Yes, it's our 11th anniversary."
"Thank you."
"And when are you due?"
"Monday! Oh, and I don't think a booth will work for us. I'll need a chair that scoots back. Way back."

Oh, dear, dear December, you gave me my baby girl.

And as if all of this isn't enough. (It is. It is.) You brought your traditional holiday blend again this year...

Visits with family and old friends, a day in pajamas, a hike in the snowy woods, 25 days of advent, a hint of wonder, a dollop of joy. (If we're being honest, you also brought a fair share of stress and scrambling, but I'm going to do you a solid and overlook your decidedly less magical side.)

Dear December, please don't make me beg. You know I love you. It seems like you've only just arrived, and now you're gathering your things, ready to split, leaving me alone to face 2011 and three more months of snow. Are you sure you can't linger, just a little bit longer?

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