I mean, they’re Muppets.

Snarky, opinionated post ahead. I generally avoid them. Sorry.

Recently, I have come across a few different blog posts in which parents express their disdain for “commercial” toys and clothes and such, and the example of said blasphemy was something from Sesame Street.

Like, “we never wanted little Johnny to have any commercial toys at all. But we caved and got him an Elmo.”

And I just don’t get this. At all. Yeah, it’s a show. And yeah, they’re making money off the merch. But, it’s Sesame Street. The show has been around for 35 years for a reason. It’s educational. It’s good for kids. It’s what all children’s programming should aspire to be.

In my opinion, it’s nowhere near the level of “commercial” of other stuff. Like Pokemon, or Power Rangers, or anything on Nick Jr., or anything made by Pixar. Now, that’s commercial.

I’ve barely been able to step outside of my front door this summer without seeing an image of Lightning McQueen on something. But, the Sesame Street toys are in a tiny little bastard corner of Target.

It’s ok to have rules like “no commercial stuff.” We have them too. But, don’t let your parenting rules be hard and fast, unbendable rules. Because, then a whole generation of kids could miss out on such a great show, an American cultural icon.

I think my insane respect and love for this show comes not only from having such fond memories of watching it as a child myself, but also from watching this documentary. A lot more thought goes into their programming than you would ever guess in a million years. Watch the film, it’s great.

Remember When

Bowie has been making me so crazy lately. No, seriously, I mean CRAZY. If he’s not screaming at top volume because one of his toys is stuck under the couch, then he’s biting me because I won’t let him completely rip apart the detailed model train set at the Conservatory of Flowers. Or perhaps screaming so loudly in the car that, even though we have all our windows up, and the car next to us has all their windows up, they all still turn to see what creature is emitting that horrific noise. Repeat, day after day, hour after hour, except the blessed 7 hours he sleeps at night.

But, the other day, to make some space for piling wrapped presents in preparation for Christmas Eve, I had to move around all of our framed pictures on the mantle, of family and friends and whatnot. And one of those framed pics is Bowie’s ultrasound picture.

I remember when I was pregnant, right after we came home with that picture, I could not stop staring at it. I felt like I had gotten to meet him that day, and I couldn’t wait for him to come out and be with us. And I would imagine the kind of baby he would be, and the kind of man he would grow up to be. I was completely smitten, and all I had was that grainy picture.

I’m trying to remember how I felt back then, how grateful I was to have a healthy baby growing inside me. Before he was yelling and screaming and hitting and biting and throwing toys. Their childhood is so fleeting, I want to try to enjoy every single second. It is so tough, you all know that it is. But I can do it. I think.

This is where I blink and then he’s in college.

Bowie has started preschool! We got in late in the year and were able to fill the spot of a family that left (this is a gigantic positive twist of fate, as it is nearly impossible to get your kiddo into a San Francisco preschool so easily). It was a totally last-second deal and we are all still adjusting, but I think it’s going to be a great move for our family.

We have been 4 days now, and he’s not quite with the routine yet, however the teachers are telling me most kids his age take some time to get the schedule.

I can’t believe I am the mama of a preschooler. My goodness. Most cliche line ever, but I’m going to use it anyway because seriously: they grow up way too fast.