Hey moms and dads. I know you know where I’m coming from. It is the background music to the soundtrack of this phase of our lives. I’m talking about kids’ shows. And I believe they fall under the genre of annoying.
But why wouldn’t they be? Their target audience is kids…and to be blunt, kids are annoying.
It is hard not to get irritated with some of these shows. I mean, sometimes I’m really thankful that Max and Ruby teaches my daughter to appreciate the quirks of her little brother, but mostly I just think it’s weird that Max can solve more problems than Ruby and her Bunny Scout troop combined, but can’t put together a two-word sentence. That and the fact that Baby Huffington’s mother finds it perfectly acceptable to leave Baby Huffington alone with a couple kids while she is off, presumably with Max and Ruby’s absent mother, ignoring their children together.
But I get it. Children find completely irrational situations perfectly acceptable. To them it makes sense that Quincy from Little Einsteins would exclaim “I…can…not…BELIEVE…it!” about a draw bridge going up, but finds animated instruments who communicate to him and his buddies via classical music snippets totally normal. My kid thinks it’s kosher to run around outside in nothing but his underwear, yet looks at me like I have two heads when I suggest he wear a shirt with buttons so he looks nice for his first day of school. He and Quincy sound like two peas in a pod to me.
Still, it’s those little grating voices that really get to parents. We hear them in our heads long after the television has been turned off. I would commit myself if my kid sounded like that. Dora…Brobee…Caillou…(I know. I said the “C” word. I use it because I refuse to give it power.)
Well, guess what? Your kids DO sound like that. Calliou did not spontaneously combust into existence from some incredibly warped imagination who secretly hates procreators, as much as we would like to believe. That kid exists. And he’s probably yours. I know he’s at least a little bit mine. God just implants in us this thing called unconditional love that sometimes blinds us to a certain brand of annoying in our kids. It is fundamental to the continuation of humanity. It’s why other people’s kids are so annoying. They aren’t any more annoying than our own. We’re just not immune to their specific brand of annoying. Which explains why Caillou’s parents are so tickled by his hairless, incessant yammerings, all the while refusing to take that kid to a good speech pathologist.
So we can’t really complain after all. We have brought forth multiple Caillous into this world, and these children must be entertained. And they demand giant purple dinosaurs, grown men singing songs about fruit salad being yummy, a handy man who lets his anthropomorphic tools do all his work, and something called Yo Gabba Gabba.
But I can hold a grudge against them for ruining Mickey Mouse. We get it, Mickey. It’s your clubhouse, and you like everything to be in the shape of your head. But was there really a need for Mickey Park and Mickey Lake? Apparently, years and years of fame have finally turned you into an egomaniacal jerkstore. And just for the record, Toodles creeps me out.
As for the rest of it, our kids will one day outgrow these annoying shows, just like how they will outgrow many of the annoying behaviors that serve as their inspiration. Then they will simply move onto a new set of annoying shows, like [insert Disney Channel tween sitcom of the moment], and a whole new set of annoying behaviors…like making fun of what their parents watch on television. (F.Y.I. Grace, CBS Sunday Morning is NOT an old person show. I bet Charles Osgood is a real swinger on a Saturday night.)