I had hoped our family would avoid the tragedy that occured yesterday — that we would be spared. Over the past year, I’ve tried my best to dodge any situation that would result in such a harrowing experience. But, it seems my efforts were in vain.
Of course, looking back, I can see it was only a matter of time; I should have realized we couldn’t avoid it forever; I just wish that, at the very least, it could have been post-poned. I wasn’t ready for this. I’m still not ready.
Yesterday morning, the Little Lady fell in love.
With Elmo.
And, Mommy can’t STAND Elmo . . . or his creepy voice! But the Little Lady doesn’t care what Mommy thinks.
The attraction was instantaneous. She was standing next to our coffee table, playing with her “lap top,” barely registering the noise emanating from the TV as I flipped through the channels. Out of deference to the fact I have a child, I paused on PBS, thinking that I would be a good mommy and have some good old fashioned children’s programing (instead of my usual fare of Murder, She Wrote and Monk). BIG MISTAKE.
“Elmo likes to ride. . .Elmo likes to ride . . . Elmo likes to ride. . . Riding in the Park!” A United Nations Children’s Choir swayed behind the shaggy red monster, singing in their wavering innocent voices. Elmo too was swaying, as he rode through a computer animated park — black & white eyes bugging out and his mouth wide open in what I can only assume is meant to be a smile. Creepy smile.
The Little Lady froze when she heard the song. Then, like one of the possessed children singing, she too began swaying, be-bopping along to the chorus. A frenzied fire began burning in her eyes and the loudest squeal she has ever made streamed from her mouth! With a wide grin, she began to speed up her dancing, making wild, erratic movements with her legs, arms, and booty. Oh yes, she was booty dancing.
If I was a really good Mommy Blogger, I would have grabbed the camera, but I wanted no preserved memory of this bloodcurdling escapade.
The only thing that would have made the situation worse was if it had been Winnie the Pooh. I loathe Mr. Pooh . . . but that’s a whole other story.
