The very divil of a month

There's just something about January. It's got something to do with the feeling of let-down after the joyous push of the Christmas holidays and New Year's. It's undoubtedly got a lot to do with the weather, which until about four days ago was deep with snow and Arctic of air. And maybe it's about the fact that it starts us out with thirty-one unrelenting days -- dark, cold and dull -- that drag like an unenthusiastic spoon through the umpteenth bowl of chili you've eaten for dinner.

This particular Monday in January, we're also a little sad because the weekend was so fun: the teen girl sleepover was a great success and our guests were lovely and we were sad to see them go.

Not even a cheerful printable calendar page with smiling snowmen can redeem January. Because for all we know? Those snowmen were insulting one another's mothers and kicking dirty snow onto each other right after their picture was snapped.

What I'm getting at is this: There are some mornings -- January mornings -- that even a snuggly puppy and cup of hot coffee with real half-and-half can't redeem. Ugh. It would be so nice to be able to go back to bed with the puppy and my microwave warming bags and sleep until, oh, I don't know.... April.