In August, 2016 we moved our family from central Wisconsin to Toronto, Ontario.  The preparations for the move were stressful on our marriage and our family.  We were leaving a community we had built over the last 10+ years: our first house, the birth of our first child (and 2^nd, and 3^rd), our church and really, really close ties with family and friends.  It took us the largest size dumpster available to clean out the house – although partially that included an “assist” from the neighbours who, upon telling them they could add a few things to said dumpster, decided to toss in a full-sized outdoor hot tub.

But we finally made it – and every day was an adventure for those first few weeks… finding a new sushi spot to visit on Friday nights.  Or learning about the amazing parks and community pools.  The first time we visited the community swimming pool in our neighbourhood, I thought it must be a special “free” day as they gave us color coded wrist bands by age, but didn’t charge us anything.  No – as it turns out, all of the city pools in Toronto are just free.  Always.

Shortly we started getting a taste for one of the main reasons we felt so drawn to a city like Toronto… the diversity of people and cultures and backgrounds and religions.  Within a few days of moving in, our oldest daughter, who was 7 at the time, met three of the neighbour girls who were Indian, Japanese and Portuguese.  And within literally days of meeting these girls, she is invited to join them on an overnight road trip to visit Niagara Falls.

While she’s away, this diverse little neighbourhood we’ve landed in – known as Corso Italia, is having a “Dolce Vita” festival in the park – our neighbours are making homemade marinara sauce and putting on a huge potluck and pasta dinner, complete with games for the kids and an outdoor movie at dusk.  And it’s incredible – the warmth and welcoming and diversity and sense of safety and community is truly overwhelming. 

But it still feels hard most days – living so far from our family, our safety net and all the familiar comforts of our former home.  We have no family and no real friends here – nobody we could call in an emergency, nobody to invite us over for Sunday night family dinners.

In September the kids start school, and that’s another great representation of the diversity of cultures and incomes and acceptance of our new home.  I remember the first time my parents came from Wisconsin to visit and joined us at the school for the pick-up.  And they were almost taken aback at how our little blond haired, blue-eyed kids from German and Irish descent, were the clear minority here.  But we loved it.  All of that – the fact that our kids would grow up in a space that celebrated all people and all holidays and all religions – without that being a political issue, as it often was in the States.

But some things were still hard.  Really hard.  I was working a ton – trying to prove myself in the new role that had brought us here.  And my husband, Tim, was helping hold down the household.  We had moved to Toronto with a 7-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 10-month-old… and given the more progressive maternity leave policies in Canada, it just wasn’t very realistic to find childcare for a baby under 1 year.  Tim went from being an attorney in the U.S. to a stay-at-home dad.  And, while it was absolutely necessary, and he did his best – it did not make him happy. And that was hard on him and on us, and on the kids.

But we kept taking things day by day and staying focused on the positives (or at least I did).  Tim focused on making us some new friends and learning to home-brew, which eventually lead to a professional brewing career… but that’s another story.

And before we knew it, it was Christmas.  Because Tim and the little boys could take some extra time, they headed back to Wisconsin in our Chevy Traverse a few days before my 7-year-old daughter, Emaline, and I would fly back to meet up with them.

The night before Emaline and I are scheduled to fly back for the holidays, we are invited by our new neighbourhood community to join them for a caroling party.  And, in all honesty, I was made for this.  Christmas is my jam – I grew up listening to essentially non-stop Christmas music from Thanksgiving through New Year’s: both the classics like Bing and Barbara Streisand as well as all the Very Special Christmas albums.  I’m a solid alto – a belter really, and I love to sing, so I am pumped. 

We arrive at the neighbours’ home where we’re planning to gather and do a bit of “practice” before heading out door to door.  And it’s so awesome.  These neighbours have printed out sheets of lyrics and Carla (a Portuguese mom) and I quickly take the lead.  Now we live in a very middle-class city neighbourhood so it’s dense and the houses are small.  We have packed about a dozen adults and 8 or so kids into the little living area and everyone is singing and laughing.  At some point we decide we’re “ready” and so we meander out into the quiet, snow-covered streets of Corso Italia, knocking on doors and singing for people.  Some of these neighbours have lived here for years, since Carla was a little girl.  Others are recent transplants – many with small children.  And it’s lovely.  But the kids start getting cold and someone has to go to the bathroom… but nobody wants to wrap it up.

And so, we all pile back into the tiny living space where we started – and just keep singing.  At one point all the children (ages 6 to 9) start sharing songs that connect to their culture or families.  And we hear songs in Japanese, in French, in Czech, popular holiday songs from Australia.  The Jewish family sings songs in Yiddish.  And the living room has transformed into this beautiful melting pot of cultures and people – sharing songs and stories and mulled cider… and I feel the most confident I ever have about a decision.  This.  This is why we are here – why Toronto is the right place for our family.

And 6 years later… we’re still in that little house in Corso Italia.  We’ve added 1 more to our family: Alistair James, our little Canadian.  And the rest of us recently got our Permanent Residency – so I guess Canada is stuck with us.