the festival of its-too-cold-out-here-they-need-to-shorten-it-up Parade

Ah...the Festival of Lights Parade. Picture it: downtown Bangor, a temperate Saturday evening, carolers' voices drifting through the air, twinkling lights abound, squealing children, parents clutching cups of coffee, a holiday thrill buzzing about.

And a pile up of cars like I have never seen the likes of in our little Bangor, Maine.

It really was a charming parade, even though the weather, which had seems very mild turned an arctic cold after standing (and sometimes sitting) on pavement for an hour, us wanting to jump up and down to keep warm but knowing we probably shouldn't because all that coffee was now being housed in our overactive bladders.

We only got a few photos, what with cold, the mobile children and the lack of flash working against us.

We met the Smith's there, which is always a party waiting to happen and all was very magical, a light snow beginning to fall, until we tried to leave early and Ella burst into tears because Brady (heretofore called THE BIG MOUTH) told Ella that Santa, the REAL Santa, would be bringing up the rear at the end of the parade. Huge crocodile tears fell as we listened to the wails of (our previously disinterested in the live Santa) daughter cry, "But it was the REAL Santa. Brady said so!"

And so we sat in a line of cars begging with full bladders to exit the parking garage, unmoving for 20 minutes, while we heard these forlorn pleas. We were trying to save the hassle of the everyone-out-at-the-same-time exit, trying to appease our need for a bathroom and our frozen hands and hoping to get to our Christmas party somewhat on time.

Yet as we got near the exit, there were the Smiths. Gloating. (Okay, not really.) They saw Santa AND were still leaving in the same line of cars we were.

Live and learn.

This one is worth posting if nothing else because Ella was wearing snowPANTS. With a dress under it, of course.