Dear mom who brought the Elmo sippy cup of orange juice to music class today:
I totally understand why your child has an Elmo straw cup. It’s cute, but that’s not why you bought it. You bought it because it’s a lifesaving tool, and I know you probably thanked the gods of dinnertime when you found it on Amazon, ordered it, and then saw how your child gravitated to it like a moth to a muppet. I bet it’s the one cup she’s guaranteed to drink out of, and quite possibly the only way you get her to eat, drink, or do whatever thing it is you want her to do that she doesn’t want to do with every atom of her toddler being. I get it because my kid loves Elmo, too. So much so that he has not only an Elmo stuffed animal, but also Elmo cutlery, Elmo books, and Elmo on the speed dial of all seven of his toy cell phones. My kid is positively addicted to Elmo. There are worse things, though I can’t really think of them right now.
So your kid loves Elmo, and so does mine. Big deal. Wait, except it kind of is. Because not only did you bring an Elmo cup to music class today and leave it on display for everyone to bear witness to it — you filled it with orange juice. Not water. Not even milk. But that bright orange, sweet coveted substance that my child could spot through the see-through bottom of the cup from all the way across the room. I mean, it was like he was wearing Google glasses or bionic eyeballs something. For the first ten minutes of class, I didn’t even get why he kept pointing to the shelves across the room and begging for “Elmo” and “orange juice,” HIS TWO FAVORITE THINGS IN THE WORLD, together. I thought my kid was just being irrational or aspirational or something; I had no idea he actually knew what he was talking about. When I finally spotted the Elmo cup in question, my heart sank. We were only twenty minutes into the class: this was gonna be torture. (Not for my kid. For me, obvi).
Let me be clear about something: there are pretty much only two things on the ENTIRE PLANET that my kid loves more than Mommy and Daddy, and that’s his favorite red furry monster, and “ah ju” (orange juice). I mean, the only potentially worse combo would be a train set and seaweed, my kid’s favorite-ist snack (don’t ask), but those things would never go together. (Or WOULD they…?)
That’s why all I kept thinking throughout the entire class, instead of happily moo-ing like a cow or enjoying instrument time, was that you, “mom of the Elmo sippy cup toddler,” were seriously killing me. I obviously couldn’t say anything about the cup because a) who does that in the middle of singing barnyard songs? b) that would be rude regardless of the barnyard songs and c) I’m probably supposed to show the world that I know how to teach my child not to covet stuff, or at least wait till he gets home to covet stuff. Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t mean to tempt my child for 45 minutes with your amazingly special freaking cup, and that it was just an oversight, but that that doesn’t really help ME in my time of need, now does it. Well, you didn’t know that I was secretly whispering to him that at home we have Elmo SPOONS and big vats of “ah ju.” Or that if he had reached for your kid’s Elmo cup, I maybe just a little bit wouldn’t have stopped him.
Oh, and Elmo cup mom? A PS: You know there’s no food or drink allowed in the music room, right? Next time, try concealing that loaded sippy cup in your diaper bag. They make zippy pockets for that kind of thing. You should try it sometime.
The mom of the other Elmo junkie