I believe in December. I believe in gumdrop buttons holding together gingerbread men. I think highly of claymators. I look forward to tucking in Cindy Lou Who. I admire Mall Santa with his trampled lap. I pity the retail widows that support spouses enslaved to holiday retail. I think it is unjust that no one is on a first-name basis with Mrs. Claus. I believe in childlike wonderment looking out windows at weeping willows looking back at childlike wonderment. Both waiting for snow. I believe in Delilah After Dark and her right to tell callers, "You knucklehead, that was Santa" with no sense of irony. I strongly endorse championship sledriding, and trying to wear the tackiest ensemble on the hill because that is the makings of a true sledriding champion. I believe in falling in love with the same boy under a mistletoe as you did the year before. I believe in believing in the power of a baby boy in a manger to overcome a broken world. I love my cousins' faces when they unwrap white tube socks from Grandma. I love my Grandma's face when she watches her grandbabies feign the glads when they unwrap white tube socks. I fancy the diversity of tree decorations from one household to the next. I favor the holiday cards that we all know are complete bulllogna. I am not a fan of the spare tire I am carrying around right now. I am a huge fan of all the homemade cookies from which this spare tire was made. I believe in December and all of its trimmings. I am in overwhelm right now with grades and wrapping and remembering to go to the Dollar Store to buy the stupid plates in the right size for the pre-K Christmas party. But I believe in December and I will inhale and savor its 31 days. *** I believe in babies in boxes.