Saturday was a cold night for the Santa Claus Parade. I stepped out of the house eagerly enough, but by the time I had hopped around Third Ave for twenty minutes waiting for the thing to get going, I was feeling a little grinchy. Finally it begins and there are horses and firetrucks and dancers and treats. And cold little children. Who want me to read every sign that goes by, "That one says The Timmins Kinsmen Club." My toes are ice cubes and I'm pretending to enjoy myself. There may be some internal cussing happening. Then Hannah says the words I've been longing to hear, "I'm cold. I wanna go home."
"Are you sure," I gleefully ask.
Headnod.
That's good enough for me. Jared agrees to stay with the other children and I turn to go, Hannah's hand in mine. We only make it a few metres before I notice Hannah's ambivalence, "Hannah, do you really wanna go home?"
Silence.
And it hits me, "Hannah, are you sad about missing Santa?"
Headnod.
"Should we go back?"
Headnod.
And just like that I'm back curbside, waiting for the big guy. My heart three sizes bigger.
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