Today, my precious two year old yelled, “I want Blaze and the Monster Machines,” 872 times in a row.
Of course, this isn’t counting the other times he begged to watch that wretched show, like when he woke up this morning, before breakfast, after breakfast, mid morning, before lunch, after lunch, before nap, after nap, multiple times during the evening hours AND before bed.
I feel like I should win a medal because I only let him watch Blaze like four times today. That means there were another 9,352 I said “no” and stood by it.
My three older kids love TV and certain shows, but luckily, they are out of the toddler stage of almost non-existent self control and no concept of time or waiting, so they don’t beg to watch the TV nearly as often as when they were younger.
This is a stage. I know that . . . or at least I keep telling myself that and praying it’s true.
But there’s something even worse about that toddler TV loving stage: It’s that little kids can be so deeply committed to ONE specific show.
I feel like all four of my kids had a show they predominantly obsessed over. So I don’t want to complain too much about my two year old’s love for Blaze because I know firsthand IT COULD BE WORSE.
My third child, the sweetest most independent and passionate little girl, was addicted to Paw Patrol.
I can’t count the hours I would push her in our swing as she recounted to me EVERY detail about EVERY episode of Paw Patrol EVER.
There’s no way to know the number of times we discussed who our favorite pups were.
And that show is really rough. I’m just so sick of Mayor Humdinger and his cats being such jerks and can’t understand why can’t Mayor Goodway and her chicken take a freakin chill pill and calm down a bit. Like, how many times can that little boy and those dogs save her butt??
Paw Patrol is rough.
My husband banned Bingo and Rolly for some time. For him the intro song alone was enough to make him lose his mind.
At first it was cute, but Shimmer and Shine are wearing me out. Every episode is practically the exact same. Zeta wants something Simmer and Shine have and tries to get it and doesn’t succedd. Hey, looky there — I could be a writer for that show! That could be episode 956 of the exact same story.
Imagination Movers had some good stuff, but it’s also kinda weird to watch. How old are these guys anyway, and what’s going on with those jumpsuits?
I really hated something about Octonauts (although I do love when they sing, “creature reports, creature reports”). Something about the voices, the colors, and the fact there are no facial expressions just seem like it could send folks into depression.
Even my kids eventually got super sick of Bubble Guppies and their antics — although Nonny’s lunch jokes were always a hit.
Micky Mouse Clubhouse. I don’t need to expand on this at all.
Peppa Pig has also been a major player in our home over the years. Truth be told I don’t think my kids like it much, but my husband does, so he somehow can sell it to them.
Then, of course, there’s Pete the Cat. Listen, I know he’s got some nice books but that show stinks. It’s like watching a book on TV, the narrator is just talking for everyone and no animation moves. If I wanted to read to my kid I would. We turned on the TV for a reason, thanks.
Now PLEASE don’t complain if your kid loves Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood or Sesame Street too much. At least they are learning something! I think my kids picked up on the fact these are educational, which is why they pretty much rejected those shows.
But for me the holy grail of current kid shows is Bluey. My bigger kids like it a lot, but my two year old could take it or leave it. I am desperate to get him to love it. I mean I can watch that show by myself for fun it’s so good!
Now to keep all these painful kid shows in perspective, my tiny one-year-old nephew is obsessed with a YouTube video of the YMCA and Waka Waka done on Just Dance. Anytime I see that adorable boy, he asks me to watch these over and over again and over and over again. They are like a drug to that kid. So lets remember, things could always be worse . . .
