The Santa Claus parade is a big friggin' deal to any kid. Our town's parade was this past Saturday night, and we planned to go. We all got ready and went to the mall to do a little pre-parade shopping. While we were shopping inside, we were experiencing our first 'snowstorm' of the winter outside. We contemplated going home because, at the rate the snow was falling, the roads would be awful after the parade. The Little Miss would not hear of it: We had to see Santa - she had already told him inside that she'd wave to him at the parade.
Downtown was havoc. The streets hadn't yet been ploughed, people were everywhere. The snow was still falling quickly. We got the kids into their snowsuits (good Mommies think ahead), put on their monkey leashes (roll your eyes if you must, but I'm bad for losing track of things; I prefer not to risk losing my kids), and trekked through the snow to scope out a good spot to watch the parade.
Mr. Man was not very impressed with the snow. He's so much like me.
The snow was falling harder, faster. Noses were running, my back was breaking under the weight of The Little Man, who refused to be anywhere but in my arms.
As our toes got colder (WHY did I wear my hooker boots?!), the magic started wearing off - at least for Hubby and me. The parade has been going for half an hour now. Will it ever end? Where is Santa? Missy, do you want to go home? No. She told Santa she'd wave, so she has to wave.
Prizes of glow sticks, helium balloons (that sunk in the cold), mini candy canes. Mr. Man refused to keep his mittens on, refused to be held by anyone other than me (which is why I don't have any pictures of the actual parade). Christmas carols, dancers, fire trucks, ambulances, Cadet bands and Operation Red Nose reminders. Any sign of Santa? Not yet.
Finally, with the crowd carrying an inch of snow each, there he was: The Man of the Night. Santa Claus. On Hubby's shoulders, The Little Miss watched, all smiles (The Little Man was much less impressed). As he pulled up even with us, she waved and called out "Santa! Here I am! Santa!". He didn't notice her, but she didn't notice. As the float moved slowly down the street, she said "Ok. It's time to go home for hot chocolate milk."
The next morning, we woke to this. It didn't snow as much in our neck of the woods, but what had fallen had stuck.
Somebody has developed a taste for the white stuff.
...much to her father's dismay.
It's perpetually spring/summer/fall under my eaves. Weather rarely makes it close to the house.
My little Snow Bunny.
tis me, I love how she sticks to her guns. No turning back, no back sliding...its up and at im' Child is not yet four, her resolve will only get stronger, Mr. man is one laid back little dude. As long as he feels safe, he is happy and secure.
ReplyDeleteThese next few years are the magic years, they last until they are about 7. They won;t lose the magic and the mystery, but doubt will start to enter slowly, mostly at the bidding of other children. I got a few more years out of our oldest because Saint Nickolas was in the dictionary, and that saved Lady K for a few more go rounds.
Every thing they can imagine and dream of about Christmas is larger than life, the world is a wonderful place for a child who dreams. Next year remind me to buy the kids a goat to give away to less fortunate children, so they learn the true meaning and need to share. The meaning will not be lost on the little miss, and she will be old enough to be proud of her actions. Yup, please remind me.
Yeah right, 'tis me.' I remember your kids having a private conference upstairs trying to figure out if Santa was real or not. They were 12 and 13. I don't know about the 'magic' years, either-- because if we had not suspended disbelief for so long, we never could have coped with reality.
ReplyDeleteHunky Chris thinks your kids are hysterically funny and that you are good at telling their stories.
XO