Pater: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (somewhere else)

Posted by Mater , Wednesday, March 9, 2011 8:23 PM

"Let it snow" was composed in 1945 by an idiot who never stepped foot in Canada. There isn't enough popcorn, kisses or being held tight to justify that kind of statement in a country that spends more time in sub-zero temperatures and blizzards than a North African dictator does checking airline flights to South America.
Avocado Jnr, do you remember how care free you used to be? Remember wearing a simple life-saver in September?
A fleece-lined cardigan in October?
Or a light coat in November?
No neither can I. It was so bloody long ago! Since then, all we've seen in our back garden is all this...
...and this...

So going outside is no longer a simple task. Dressing you for a Canadian Winter involves more layers than a Black Forest gateau. And they need to be done intricately. If the hat goes on first, BIG MISTAKE (it will be pulled off in the time it takes to do up the coat). If the boots go on first, BIG MISTAKE (you know that means you're going outside and start wiggling like a worm on a hook). Gloves, then coat, then hat, then boots. And that's before the front door has even been open. Truly exhausting. For us that is. You love it. Weirdo!

Not that Mater always gets the order right. I mean, come on, boots before coat and hat??? Who does that???

Your first proper taste (in every sense of the word) of snow went better than we expected.

But once the snow had been around for a few days, the task of getting you ready to play in it became too arduous for your lazy parents. So you became a true Canadian - moving from one shelter to the next, trying to ensure that the minimal amount of time and skin was exposed to snow and Arctic winds.

Thankfully you then discovered that other great Canadian invention - Florida. Who knew that only three hours south (as the metal bird flies) is a place of warmth and funny accents? Finally a chance to wear your havaianas and crocks!
Destination picked, all that was left was packing. Mater is so proud that she has created a stereotypical girl who doesn't know how to keep her luggage to a minimum. Pater is not allowed to state his thoughts on the matter. Pater will say that his back is only now starting to get better.
Climbing on the scales and insisting that you being underweight should mean more baggage allowance is not an argument that really carries much, um, weight with Westjet. Believe me, Mater tried.
On a three hour flight, cramped into seat like those proverbial sardines, when would the optimum time for falling asleep have been? Yes, Avocado Jnr, literally as the plane starts its descent into Miami airport!!!!An hour later, we arrived in the retirement village called Boca Raton, at Uncle Toronto's holiday home (thanks for having us!). Before our suitcases had barely reached their respective bedrooms you had flung off your winter garb and donned a swim suit. Unpacking could wait. YOU WANTED TO GET IN THE POOL.

And for the next week, whichever pool you were in you were as happy as a fish in, um, er, water.


In fact, you loved your little boat so much that you started dropping hints to Mater and Pater...


Seven days. So many wardrobe changes. Each cuter than the last.

Okay, maybe the yellow swimsuit was a tad ugly. But you didn't let that stop you. As the neighbourhood dog found out.

Whereas in Toronto it took a crowbar to get you out the front door and into the snow, in Florida you couldn't wait. If you can keep up this readiness to leave on time through to your teen years, Pater will be VERY grateful. If you can teach it to Mater, Pater will be indebted.


So why the impatience? It wasn't just to get to the pool. You quickly fell in love with the beach. Initially it was all that sand. So much potential food! Then it became the seagulls you were certain you could catch. And then it was just the freedom to run around without the winter armour of Canada. The one place you were not a fan of (could've been all the jellyfish) was the sea. No matter how many times we tried, you did not like that type of wet stuff.



You may only be 17 months but you quickly took to that much heralded tradition (by those over 65) of walking the Miami Beach boardwalk. Well "walk" is maybe the wrong word. Even "running" doesn't do it justice. "Bombing your way around" is the closest description.

It will never be good old Toronto Zoo, but Miami's Parrot Jungle was still a big hit with you. Birds in cages. Birds in the open. Birds on Pater and Grandma Toronto's shoulder. You had a blast. And the shows with baby lions and bears and tigers, oh my!
And in all of that cuteness, there was THAT snake. As you will see below, after you had the courage (read: stupidity) to smack a cobra, Grandma Toronto had no choice but to do the same. More or less. The good news is that Grandma Toronto is now the proud owner of a yellow, snake skin hand bag. And shoes. And wallet. And...

Going to the pool, the beach, and the zoo are all great. It would get anyone excited and out of the house in a rush. But your real passion was reserved for one specific activity. Passed from Grandma Toronto, to Mater to you. An activity that requires concentration, perseverance and the ability to push people out of your way when you find what you're looking for. All the male readers are still sporting quizzical looks. All the female readers are sighing in contentment that another has joined their ranks.


And at the end of each jampacked day of fun and frivolity, you discovered a whole new area of entertainment. Why can't Mater and Pater's car in Toronto be so much fun? And who knew that knees and toes were so interesting???


Not that the holiday was all rush, rush, rush. Sometimes a girl just needs to nap and dream about home. Where it's cold. And snowing. And...and...I'm sure there's something else. On the tip of my tongue. I had it a minute ago. Okay, it's gone. Surely there's more to Canada between November and April than cold and snow? Surely? Please!


Posted in , , , , , , , , , | 1 comments
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)