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| On the way to Elmo |
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| We had time to kill before so we took the boys to Toys R Us. I let Cameron ride a bike around the store. At least he insisted on wearing a helmet. |
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| Lights and music and the kid was put into a trance. |
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| Jack in the kid's play zone before the show. He had no concept of lines so I just let him cut in front of everyone and do his thing. |
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| The $15 twirling light that is the reason we even made it to the opening number. |
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| Great seats! Jack got to shake the Count's hand and Cameron shook Rosita's hand. |
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| The day after |
Elmo came to town, and we decided to take both the kids. We must have been drinking when I bought the tickets is all I can figure. Cameron loves to sing and dance, but both of those things don't really require sitting still. Jack can watch a full length movie without taking his eyes off the TV, but he hates loud noises and too much commotion (explains why he and brother Cameron fight).
Of course when you arrive at these shows, they have you (pardon the expression) by the balls. You have to walk a minimum half mile before you can enter the arena. Every ten feet along the way is a kiosk with enough light up, glowing, spinning strobe lights to test whether you or your child is epileptic. If not, you are lured into buying said toy to shut the little one up. Ah, but the marketing geniuses thought ahead of us, each kiosk will have a different toy, shirt, doll and assorted sugary snack. Just when you thought one $15 battery powered twirling Elmo was going to be your savior for intermission there pops up a cookie monster light saber to lock in every little boy's eyes. I will blindfold my children for the future.
Ten minutes until the show starts. Cameron sees not one but two stages that are apparently calling out to him to take the floor. Jack sees a whole lot of floor space and stairs to climb. Cameron is distracted by the Elmo twirly thing and Jack cannot help but try to make an escape. The kid hadn't got but maybe five steps into the main aisle and here comes an usher. "Ma'am, you need to make your way back to your seat." Oh good, there must be a day care she's bringing Jack to. No such luck. I scoop him up and proceed to bounce him on my knees for the next 12 minutes. I was pretty confident he would throw up, but he has a stronger stomach than anticipated. The lights dim, the music blares, and the characters start their singing and dancing. For the next thirty minutes, my kids cannot take their eyes off the stage much less wiggle in their seats.
Looking around you see the craziest things...like the family in the front row who has Baby Brees headphones on their kids. Really? You paid for the tickets and selected the seats. Also, this is not a monster truck show. The volume was about my "I'm almost going to lose it and scream at you voice." As the characters danced down the aisle, I was amazed at how many people actually threw their kids at the characters. Really? Did you think Zoey would be a better option at parenting? Did you expect Bert to loving whisk your child on stage making him the "next big thing?" People, those costumes are filled with sweat, piss and germs and the actors inside have a peep hole the size of a quarter to see where they are going.
After they announced a 15 minute intermission, a guy walks out holding - I kid you not - 100 Elmo balloons. I don't know for sure that his feet where even touching the ground at that point. A couple of pounds less and he would have been in the rafters. Anyway at intermission I was looking to pay somebody to shorten it to 3 minutes, but we survived. The kids made it to the end and seemed to have a great time.
