Neverland Diaries

Somehow, in the last few months, a furry little red monster from the past has crept back into our lives. You know who I'm talking about.  Over the years, I have watched as my sons were drawn like magnets to Elmo during their baby days. From about 18 months old until their 3rd birthday, "Melmo" was #1. It wasn't my first rodeo with the muppet; my baby brother, Barry, born in 1996 during Elmo's heyday, gave me my initiation into the Cult of Elmo. I was admittedly excited to watch "Elmo Saves Christmas" and "Elmo Says Boo" along with my own sons, and enjoyed the brief wave of nostalgia those ancient VHS tapes brought.   I've heard many people express a hatred for Elmo, and I get it; his falsetto voice, screechy laughter and repetitious nature can be grating. A former co-worker of mine had more reason than most to be anti-Elmo; he was trampled by Tickle Me Elmo-hungry customers one Christmas while he was working at a toy store, an...

Growing up, I only had three addresses and three landline phone numbers that I really called home … and I still know them by heart. As a kid, just the idea of pulling up our roots as a family and moving to a new home, even if it was just down the street, was devastating. I can recall probably a dozen or more kids that followed me through school from kindergarten to graduation, whose family also stayed put in the same zip code for decades. Are things still this way? Making the decision to move my kids out of their comfort zones into a new home and new neighborhood was difficult. Lucas seems to be taking the move like me; with a grain of salt and a large dose of sentimentality. He and I are both creatures of comfort; change is the enemy. Our new pool and his new upstairs bedroom that he doesn't have to share seem to be taking the sting out of the situation. Plus, he's already flagged down some new neighbors in an attempt to make friends, forcing me to come out of my sh...