I took C and J to the Macy's Christmas parade on Friday. At almost 11, C may be aging out of this sort of thing, but J was in the sweet spot. In many ways, this parade is way better than the Rose Parade. (Blasphemy, I know, but really, does anyone want to see all those boring sister-city marchers? There's a reason they all walk at the tail end of the Rose Parade. I'm just saying.) The Macy's one had real PPS high school marching bands--not just suburban ones--and even some really bad but totally cute middle-school bands, all playing Christmas carols, not Sousa marches. They were interspersed at delightfully short intervals by holiday-themed inflatables and costumed marchers. Not a sister city in sight, and a much better ratio of floats to bands than the Rose Parade. The only sour note was the costumed Frango Mint people. (I'm not sure if they have brought them back, but they fired all the candy workers in Chicago when Macy's took over Marshall Field's. Or something like that; my mother still holds a grudge, so I do--filial loyalty, I guess.) Anyway. The parade lasted only about 45 minutes, and was refreshingly small-town-ish. They even threw candy at us (yes, I ate their Frangos) and even--this was odd--a Nutcracker luggage tag. Huh?
Oh! And llamas! Nothing says Christmas like a llama. The same ones, I should note, that appear in the Rose Parade. Only here they wore Christmas blankets instead of flowers. Sorry, they still freak me out.
But the best part of the day was SantaLand. We waited until about 7 PM and no one was in line in front of us. J grew shy on Santa's lap, so I prompted her: Fire truck! Clothes for Pink Baby! A stroller! I had told C I would give her $5 if she asked Santa for a 5-way bra. She did, but she laughed hysterically the whole way through. Santa looked at me and asked if she just said what he thought she had. Um, yeah. Inside joke, Claus, move on.
A few years ago, Macy's restored the monorail, which I assume, since I didn't grow up here, used to actually run around Meier & Frank. Now it just sits there, but J loved climbing on it. They have a stable with eight stalls, each painted with a reindeer's name and with that reindeer inside. Rudolph is outside the stable, and his head kind of bucks around near an elf and a candy cane, or something. It wasn't quite clear to me what was going on there. J, however, was transfixed. She is in full-believer mode, puzzling how Santa will get into our house since we don't have a fireplace but also scared witless that he might actually go upstairs to her room. And, you know, look at her, or something.
I know that's not what Christmas is supposed to be about. But can you teach a three-year-old the meaning of Christmas, even if you're not at all religious? I think so, if you boil it down to peace, joy and love, which is pretty much what it does boil down to. She is my peace, my joy and my love, and I hope that one day she brings all that peace, joy and love to the rest of the world.
Only 25 more days!
