Laurel enters the Blogosphere

So this is how it starts...the slippery slope of kiddy consumerism.

I was out today with The Boy and The Girl running a few errands before travelling to DC for my defense. I went to the shops to get the essentials for the trip. At one point I paused in the middle of an aisle and tried to think about what else I had needed to get. Before a thought of my own could form I hear a little voice coming from the stroller that I was pushing say, “Elmo.”

I wasn’t sure that I had heard The Boy correctly so I asked him, “What did you say?”

“Elmo,” he replied. “Elmo.” Clear as day.

I looked around and sure enough, pictured on a box of biscuits there was the familiar ruddy visage of Elmo, with his falsetto voice and insidious laugh.

I was so taken by the way that The Boy had recognized Elmo and said his name that I just had to get the biscuits. He didn’t even ask for them. I think I dissolved into a blubbering puddle as I grabbed the box off the shelf. “Elmo! OhmygoodnessyousaidElmo! Yay! Let’s get a box and celebrate!”

I know, I know, I know. This must stop.

I can’t give The Boy everything he is able to say. What will I do when he says “kitten,” do I jump up and get him one? Or “dog,” or “pony,” or “jumping castle” or “small island in the South Pacific”? There is no way that I can fit a jumping castle in this apartment.

But then we went into Payless to find some inexpensive sneakers for The Boy. As I looked at the rather drab selection, once again The Boy said “Elmo.” And sure enough, lurking on the very bottom shelf and almost hidden from view was the most perfect pair of Elmo slippers.

“OhmygoodnessyousaidElmoagain!” I gushed.

However, I remembered that I was a bit too eager to buy The Boy biscuits just because he said “Elmo,” and so decided to only buy the slippers if they were really worth it.

“Are these real Elmo-fur slippers?” I asked the clerk.

He assured me that they were, indeed, made of genuine Elmo hide. I looked closely and recognised the unnatural sheen of the fur and the trademark way that it is supposed to look shiny, synthetic and flammable under florescent lights (in a way that imitation fur cannot copy).

“And what are the origins of the small, stuffed Elmo heads?”

Once again, the clerk put my fears at rest as he explained that they only source Elmo pelts from a farm in upstate New York. All Elmos are allowed to roam freely within the confines of the farm until they are humanely slaughtered (by tickling) and their pelts sold to Payless, who then pass them on to their cobblers.

Well, that sold me on the slippers.

We put them on The Boy right then and there in Payless and he didn’t take them off until he went to bed. Right now they are sitting at the foot of his bed and are ready for his feet to slip into them first thing in the morning.

But, the Elmo buying streak stops first thing tomorrow...just as long as he doesn’t say “Elmo” again.

Love, Laurel