I'm Fond Of Slimey, Myself

I love Sesame Street. I do. I could do without Elmo, particularly when Elmo's World comes on and he gets all twee and decides to "ask a baby" how the baby feels about the topic du jour. (The baby can't talk, you nit. But if he could, the baby would tell you to go fuck yourself. Be grateful for his current lack of vocabulary.) But overall, it's a great show. We're currently teaching Turtle the alphabet, and how to count to ten, and he gets those lessons reinforced every time we sit down to watch Sesame Street. And they have GREAT guest stars. This morning, it was Seth Green. And a week or so ago, it was T.R. Knight. And Kristin Chenoweth plays Ms. Noodle on the (much reviled) Elmo's World segments. Seriously, my love is flowing for this show that allows me to watch these people make asses of themselves with a bunch of funny looking puppets.

However, there is one thing that Sesame Street has taught Turtle which does not fill me with glee. This morning, I sat Turtle's scrambled eggs and banana down on his place mat on the coffee table. (We eat breakfast in the living room in front of the television for some reason. Don't judge me.) Turtle started out eating with his fork like a good boy, but after a few bites, he apparently decided that was not nearly efficient enough. He grabbed a big handful of eggs in his hand and hoisted them up in front of him. Then, as though he was giving a toast, he raised his hand even more and yelled "COOKIE!" and smashed the whole handful into his mouth while making all sorts of growly noises. Yeah. Thanks, Cookie Monster. I appreciate you teaching my kid that it's perfectly acceptable table manners to force the food into his mouth with all the finesse of a bulldozer. Can you also teach him to vacuum up the crumbs? Thanks.