Maybe regret isn't the right word. But I’ll use it here anyway. Because here in this dark, dark, cold time of year, I'm finding myself deluged with it -- three moments of regret, large and small. Regret, small: Driving in a hurry to pick up a crying baby from daycare. Rushing and it's clear out, bright sunny sky, middle of the day, but I try to get through a red light and I don't make it. Or rather, I make it but the car doesn't. That one instant -- there's the regret. The wish that I could turn back the clock, like Superman, just 30 seconds. Not try to make the light. Wait there patiently, even though the baby has a fever; even though she's crying; even though she probably has some kind of horrible infection. I am constantly scrambling with that baby. I missed her jaundice, failed to notice because we were locked up together in a cold winter bedroom that she was turning colour, turning yellow like a bog man, until her grandmother came over and s