Ernie loves only himself, his rubber ducky too.

My group of FWAP (Friends Who Are Parents) all exert considerable amounts of energy bitching about the sorry state of today’s Sesame Street. “It used to be so great!” they moan. “Remember Kermit? And Gordon wearing bellbottoms? And how Bob was a young guy, not a gray husk of withered tissue, neither alive nor dead? And how Mr. Hooper wasn’t a pile of decomposing remains buried under Big Bird’s nest? Remember?”

But most of all, they hate Elmo. They hate all the other new Muppets too, of course. (And I agree with them about Baby Bear. Yes, we get it, you’re wee. Now shut your puppet-hole before I stab you in the wee little eye.) But Elmo apparently represents all that is bad in this world. Elmo is George Bush/Bin Laden/Jennifer Love Hewitt* in a fur suit. Down with Elmo. Boooo. Boooo.

(*I dislike Jennifer Love Hewitt.)

As an all-too-frequent viewer of Sesame Street, I have watched Elmo in action plenty of times. And I have to say, he doesn’t particularly bug me. Partly this is because my son is in love with him; it’s hard to hate someone your son discusses with such dewy-eyed reverence. But also he strikes me as benign, if alarmingly cheerful. No, the character who really causes me distress is an old favorite—an old favorite who I believe is in dire, dire need of retirement.

Ernie.

Before you start hissing at the screen, have you people watched Ernie in action lately? He does nothing but wreak havoc wherever he goes. He’s a sociopath.

Let us compare and contrast:

Elmo: Uses amiable, albeit imaginary, conversations with his pet goldfish as opportunities to learn and grow.

Ernie: Blames malevolent impulses on rubber ducky.

Elmo: Is patient and kind with the deranged lunatic (and, occasionally, the deranged lunatic’s brother) who loiters outside his window.

Ernie: Torments his long-suffering roommate, Bert, on a regular basis.

Elmo: Invites guests to “Elmo’s World” to talk about themselves. Then he sings a song about them.

Ernie: Takes big Muppet-dumps on everyone’s feelings. For instance: he repeatedly disrupts a “Birdketeer” meeting, finally taking over and declaring it a “Duckateer” meeting, thus emotionally devastating Big Bird. And: he ruins Baby Bear's porridge, for no reason. I know it's Baby Bear, but still!

It was his breakfast!

Elmo: Patiently works through conflicts with all of his friends, even Zoe, who’s clearly suffering from several personality disorders.

Ernie: Forces Big Bird to accompany him on mind-altering “journeys” to frightening, hallucinatory landscapes, where he hides, taunting him.

Elmo: is sweet.

Ernie: is a shithead.

Now do you see?

Hello again.

I’m so out of practice with this. I can’t remember—how was this done, again? Where did my ideas come from? Was I clever? It’s all a blur.

In a nutshell: there was a car accident on our corner, Henry and I witnessed it and were almost victims, and I suffered some post-traumatic stress that involved a lot of shaking and nibbling at fingernails and shaking and not-sleeping and not-eating and, um, shaking. Back when I wrote my last post, I thought I’d share all the details when I returned, but now that my heart rate is back to normal, I no longer have the superhuman (read: insane) energy I had then. But I am all better now, and isn’t that all that matters? I have received the Appropriate Treatments, my brains have been scrubbed clean of the bad thoughts, scrubscrubscrub, and now I am happy Happy HAPPY! HAHAHAHAHAHA!

HA!

Hey, where are you--Wait, come back!

In better news, today was Henry’s 2nd birthday. He had his girlfriend over for dinner. They gazed into each other’s eyes, caressed each other’s cheeks with macaroni-and-cheese-encrusted fingers, and screamed over the rightful use and ownership of various trucks and trains. So pretty much what me and the Husband do on any given night.

Have I bragged about my kid enough? I kind of can’t believe how much I lucked out with him. He’s so happy and sweet and oh my god, he couldn’t be more affectionate. He is composed purely of love, as my husband likes to say. He’s, and let’s just put it out there, let us not be modest—jaw-droppingly gorgeous. I mean, come on:

But he’s not just a pretty boy, oh no. This boy has ideas. He’ll go off on riffs about turtles on the ocean and the waves going WHOOSH and how the turtles don’t live in the waterfall which is in the park and the waterfall there also goes WHOOSH and the turtle is on his hand but ha ha there’s no turtle there ha ha and all I can do is sit back and wonder what planet he came from.

He has turns of phrase that neither of us gave him, like “Big fun!” whenever he goes down the slide, or, alternately, “Too much fun!” His new habit is to give each day a theme; if it’s not a beautiful day, it’s a “Going to the Zoo Day” (mind you, this is before I was aware we were going to the zoo) or a “New Friend Day” or a “Hitting the Dog with a Tonka Truck Day.”

Incidentally, at his 2-year checkup yesterday, I learned that my boy weighs 34 back-breaking pounds (96th percentile) and is 35 inches tall (68th? Or something). My son is a square. Well, sort of. Also, his head was so big (because it is so full of dreams) they had to make a new chart for it. We went to a new doctor, whom Henry took a liking to and covered with kisses before we left (and not before careening bare-assed through the halls—apparently it was “Streaking Some Nurses Day”). And the new doctor said, “Are you afraid someone might steal this kid?” I sort of am. So don’t even think about it or I will be so mad.

I'm almost back.

In the meantime, why not take a look at some long-neglected, earlier Finslippy entries?

Back in the salad days, I had things to say about children and their proximity to hot beverages and dirty pony toys and made-up stereotypes and bizarre man-hating commercials . So enjoy, laugh nostalgically, and before you know it I'll be back, with tales of violence and emotional breakdowns and run-ins with cult members. This material I got here--this is gold.

The pause that refreshes.

All has not been sweetness and light here in the Finslippy household, and I must take some time away to regroup. So you all just sit out here and play with your blocks, and Mommy will be in the back, drinking a Manhattan in one of your sippy cups.

Thank you, in advance, for your patience and understanding.