See this guy right up there? That would be my daughter’s main squeeze.
Apparently, he’s also known as Elmo.
Apparently, he’s kind of cute.
Apparently, we have a long history, as I had an original Tickle Me Elmo doll;
you know, the one that people camped out at Toys R Us to buy, in the days before Ebay and Amazon, and caused quite the sensation? Yeah, I needed to have a personal security escort when I brought him to my school’s pajama day. But, that is neither here nor there.
My baby loves her some Elmo.
She loves to play with her Elmo phone.
She loves to hear Elmo sing his song and dance with his quacking ducks.
She loves when I impersonate him and when we make her Elmo toy pop up and shout.
Apparently, babies go crazy for Elmo.
So, I was happy to see my husband put on Sesame Street the other day, as he watched her from afar (he was sick, remember?)
as I made, yet another, huge pot of soup.
I grew up on Sesame Street. In fact, I just called my parents to ask them a Sesame-related-question, and they both broke out into the “National Association of W Lovers” song, still remembering every word by heart. My sister and I spent our early childhoods Following That Bird, singing “Who are the People in your Neighborhood” and having Cookie Monster serenade us from his perch on a crescent moon. My dad and sister spent every single night listening to the Sesame Street lullaby tape, as they sang along, in Yiddish, as she fell asleep.
And so, it really thrills me that my daughter seems to love the Sesame characters as I did. As much as I do.
I felt very content as I chopped up some turnips to the sound of Prairie Dawn’s high voice in the other room, when I heard my husband shout, “Oh my goodness!”
Now, I’m sure you can imagine what my first thought was:
What’s wrong? What happened? Is the baby OK? Did you infect her with your snottyness?
My husband came charging into the kitchen, with a giant smile on his face, as he spoke about 3 times faster than usual.
“We’re watching Sesame Street and the letter of the day is K I was like ‘Oh my goodness, do you know that your daddy’s name begins with the letter K?’ and then I realized; the baby doesn’t know my first name!!!! Can you believe it?? She doesn’t even know my first name!!!!!”
I couldn’t help but to lose it, in that moment,
doubling over in laughter,
as my soup bubbled in the pot next to me.
C is for cookie
C is for cuteness
K is for my husband, who, sometimes, reminds me of just how cute he really is.
That was bad.
But, I had to.
And if anyone asks,
the big yellow bird made me do it.