La, la, la-la-la

"Come here! Oh, how I've missed you! Let me hold you!" Oh, I'm sorry. You interrupted me making out with my keyboard. Greetings, dear readers, from your long-absent Mean Mommy. Between our sojourn to Sesame Place on the two hottest days so far this summer where I enjoyed quite the fashion show from the citizenry of Trenton (apparently a wife-beater and cutoffs can double as a bathing suit and Saran Wrap is perfectly acceptable headgear in public when trying to keep one's hairdo safe from the treachery of The Count Fountain. Who knew?) and getting the girls ready for their week-long visit to my father's in Florida, all I've had time for these days is to glance longingly at the computer as my husband sits there doing work he missed while communing with Big Bird. He thinks I'm throwing him come-hither looks when really all I've been craving is some alone time involving anything with QWERTY capability.

Expect to see many more postings because, as I mentioned, the girls are in FL and it's just me and my little man. And while this is still hard work, it is one third of the work I am used to with 200% more nap time and 1000% fewer arguments over who had the Groovy Girl car first leaving me with the time and energy to write. So here I am.

Despite the sartorial assaults we witnessed, our visit to Sesame Place was wonderful. Even the crankiest Trenton hoodlum is lulled into submission in this Eden of preschool bliss where Elmo is king and Sing a Song is piped in over the loudspeakers (a song that always made me vaguely sad as a child with the line, "Don't worry if it's not good enough for anyone else to hear..." since I imagined some poor child embarrassed of their singing but soldiering bravely on at Prairie Dawn's urging). I loved living, for two days, in a world designed entirely around the caprices of my children and indulging in every one. Waiting in the blazing hot sun to gain entrance to Elmo's World allowed me to consider, for an extended period of time, my own experiences with these characters and one relationship in particular in the neighborhood.

Yeah, yeah. Ernie and Bert are a gay couple. I get it. But for a moment, let's move beyond this beloved theory and contemplate another. I think Ernie and Bert, with their similarly dark, tufty hair, are in fact, brothers. Their relationship is the perfect example of the dynamic between an older and younger sibling of the same gender. At least in my case and that of my two daughters (my husband claims this does not hold true for him and his next youngest brother and that he is the Ernie of their pair, but if he works in finance and his brother works for a toy company, who do you think is wearing the striped turtle neck?). Bert is the consummate elder sibling. He is uber-responsible, loves structure and routine and follows the rules to the letter. I bet Bert is the one who sends in the rent check and makes sure Ernie's not using the same funky towel for a month that smells like feet. I bet Bert changes the toilet paper roll. I can feel Bert's fury as he tosses and turns, wrecking his hospital corner,s while Ernie, the "fun" one, keeps him up at night with his incessant, idiotic ramblings. I'm sure if the cameras panned down, Ernie's side of the room is a wreck and Bert lives in fear of this chaos engulfing his side of the bedroom, messing up his neatly ordered bottle cap and paper clip collections.

I will admit these mature qualities do make Bert a bit of a pill and the resultant social awkwardness (Jesus, enough with the pigeon jokes already!) is something many of us eldests experience. But it's easy for the younger sibling to be the comedian when you have someone else bearing the responsibility of making sure you both get to school with your lunch money. I see my own childhood experience in Bert and Ernie's dynamic (which one of us lost her wallet in Montreal during travel camp, KK?) and I can practically hear Ernie's (annoying) laugh come out of my younger daughter's mouth as she unintentionally antagonizes my older one with her disorganization as they play Polly Pockets. But we older siblings do not choose to be this way, we simply are. Despite my best efforts to get my eldest to loosen up she will never play with the sheer abandon and reckless disregard for order my middle one does. Perhaps it's because the older one always seems more mature by comparison simply because of age-appropriate development. Whatever the cause, I think Bert gets a bum rap and I'm sick of it.

So here's to you, Bert. I know you have a fun side. I've seen you do The Pigeon. I know deep inside is a wild party animal, but you are too polite to let him out and I love you for it. That schmuck brother of yours wouldn't be half as funny as the world thinks he is without you for a straight man. Perhaps some day you'll actually get a job and be able to afford a place of your own. Until then, take comfort in the fact that Ernie drew the genetic short straw because it is seriously weird not to have eyebrows.

*Disclaimer: All of you younger siblings out there, spare me your bitching. I know your position in the family had some shitty parts too. And, for the record, I love being an oldest even with all the drawbacks and KK is now very financially responsible.