Unlike my husband, I love the city - especially during the Christmas season. I love the white lights, shiny bows and ribbons decorating the shops. Add a light dusting of snow and some mini Christmas trees and I'm in heaven. My dream is to spend one Christmas in New York City. I imagine it's every bit as lovely and charming as Montreal, one of my other favorite winter cities, only way bigger, and without all the French people.
|Isn't Montreal pretty this time of year? Le sigh.|
In reality, I'll use almost any excuse to head to Toronto (or any city, really), but Tony's been on this We are no longer city dwellers; we live in the suburbs and this is where we will rot kick. He's tired of fighting through traffic to hang out downtown, when there are
However, since we missed our local Santa Claus parade this year, I was able to convince hubby dearest to make our way into civilization and hit up one of the biggest Santa Claus parades in North America.
And it actually wasn't all that hard to persuade him. Why? Because Tony is somehow convinced that this will be the last year Ciaran believes in Santa Claus. I refuse to accept this. I believed until I was like, 12. Yes, I was a very gullible child, and highly sheltered, but come on - 5 year-olds just don't stop believing in Santa, do they? It's not like he has older brothers or sisters to dispel the
Now, Tony is on a mission to make this the most amazing, magical Christmas ever, seeing how our son is doomed to become some jaded 5 1/2 year-old come next year. So, we dragged the kid to the city to stand in the freezing cold with a million other Torontonians eagerly awaiting a glimpse of the man with the white beard.
But he took way too long. Ciaran wanted to go home. It was too cold and he was tired of waiting. So back to the suburbs we trekked. Some of our neighbors had put up their Christmas lights and it was snowing light, soft flakes. And it was kind of nice. Not in a city-nice way, but I guess I can live with it.