Everybody I Know Hates Caillou

I never thought I would write about children's programming. I once made some comments on another stay at home Dad's blog about how I thought his review (which I later found was very tongue in cheek) of The Giving Tree was "asinine," that got me into some heated back and forth with the writer and which is why I still contend that I don't make bajillions of dollars through my site and have eighteen homes throughout the world with a few acres bought up on Mars just in case. Though that may be more due to the fact that I can't get more than 8 people to follow me. But back to my point, everybody I know hates Caillou.

If you have to ask "who is Caillou?" Then you either don't have kids or or your kids don't watch TV and have no friends, because Caillou is like a disease. A whiny, self-centered, overly sensitive chatterbox of a disease. Actually Caillou is a cartoon on PBS. But let your kids watch a few episodes and see if you don't notice your children pulling the same stunts that prematurely bald, French Canadian, lanky cartoon kid does on a regular basis. Even if you don't let them watch it, see if your kids start to exhibit some strangely immature behavior after returning home from school or play dates. If they do, hunt down their friend's parents and shake them out like Home Simpson does to Bart.

One of the definitions of the word disease, according to my handy Dictionary.com iPhone app, is "decomposition of a material under special circumstances." In this case, the material being decomposed is my kid's ability to behave like a somewhat normal 2-year old and 4-year old, while the special circumstances is being exposed to the show Caillou or their friends who watch it too.

Now, I know what you are going to say: "Hey, smart guy! Stop letting them watch the show." While that's all fine and well, the funny thing about diseases is that they generally don't have a single access point of infection. I know some kids who watch little to no TV, and when they have come in contact with my kids, they have suddenly begun to show signs of Caillou-phesema. Yep, it's just like second hand smoke, people.

Perhaps it is because it is French Canadian. No, that doesn't make it inherently bad, but what may be good about it in French may be lost in translation. I wouldn't know. I have never seen the Canadian French version, nor is my french better than a preschool pet goldfish. I also have never been to some of the more Frenchy cities of Canada. Perhaps their children are very whiny. I'm not judging. I'm just theorizing.

It's not that Caillou is grossly worse than other children's programming on PBS. You certainly have your standouts, such as: Sesame Street, Martha Speaks and Arthur. Then you have some grey area programming: Curious George (I like this show, I do, but you have to admit that all the babbling George does can't be helpful to kids who are learning to talk), Word World and Super Why (though the fact that everything is such a "big" problem in that show drives me a little crazy; not being able to build a table is not a "big" problem at 3 or 43 or for a talking pig for that matter). And then you have your trash: Cat in The Hat (decent books, but the show, c'mon! That Cat kidnaps the same kids everyday and the parents never blink an eye), Word Girl (sorry, while I like the vocabulary lessons in here, there are too many gun-like weapons...I'm no bleeding heart, but with 2 boys, I don't need help trying to fuel their interest in guns) and then of course, the devil himself, Barney.

While I can take the boy's graham crackers away that they "turn into" guns, I can't take away the fact that they whine when we accidentally bump into them and they fall down. My four year old, The Little Man as he is known here, has gone into full fetal position, "don't touch me" mode for 5-10 minutes before over such things. Then you watch the episode of Caillou, where one of his friends steps on his toe by accident, and he has a hissy fit for the majority of the rest of the episode until he does something to one of his friends on accident and sees what he did wrong. But that doesn't stop his whining for future episodes. No way, this kid's a pro.

Now I understand that kids are going to whine. They are testing boundaries, adjusting to new emotions and sometimes simply having a bad day. However, they certainly don't need cues and/or tips as to when to do it or how to do it more effectively. My 2 year old, known affectionately as Taz or The Monkey, has already picked up on what The Little Man does and has some of the biggest pouts and fits I have ever seen: crossed arms, head dropped, bottom lip way out and he even mumbles his frustrations of which all I can decipher now usually starts with "Dada..."

So it was just the other day, at a stay at home dad meet up, that I heard a fellow SAHD talk about how awful Caillou is and how much he despises the program as well. I have also read on Facebook, other parents that I know, posting about how awful the show is to them. On skin level, the show is fine, certainly appears harmless enough with bright colors and simple story lines. But when you did deeper, it is an absolutely awful, bordering on abysmal, program. I'm not sure why parents have not revolted against it, maybe we should?

Perhaps, the Canadians are trying to turn us into a bunch of whiners via our children's programming (which would be brilliant), though I know there are countries out there that already feel that way about us. Or maybe I, and a few other people I have spoken with, are blowing this all out of proportion. Maybe you have read some of my other posts, do I sound like the type of guy to blow things out of proportion? Don't answer that.



photo/image credit: http://www.caillou.cc/caillou-images/caillou-logo/caillou-logo.html

The Slow & Inevitable Death of Cool

I recently posted a picture to Facebook of my car with my newly purchased Yakima Skybox on the roof. A friend from college, who had just had his first child, commented that this was the slow and inevitable death of cool (thanks for an entry title, Brendan). It wasn't a remark on what others think of you, but more what your younger self might think of you or at least that's how I took it. He was right, in that once you have kids there is a certain youth and freedom that is lost, there is simply no escaping it. It got me thinking back to what my life was like before the Mrs and I had kids. Not just the usual stuff, such as never having to diaper anyone, the ins and outs of creating schedules you can live with and your child(ren) can sleep during or finding the right time and place to get frisky with your spouse that can last more than three minutes and without fear for being walked in on. No, I was thinking about some of the other specifics and some of the intangibles.

Tally: 100 cool points.

Before kids, I drove a manual Nissan Xterra. I loved that car. I remember when I was deciding whether to buy that car or to buy a Subaru Outback, a not so sage friend offered me some advice. He said that you're only going to be young once, so why get the glorified mom mobile? We scratched out crotches, chest bumped, grunted and then spit into a spittoon. Not really, but maybe we should have. The Xterra took us on some great adventures. It was even the car we drove our first son, the Little Man, home in. 

It was then that my thoughts on cars started shifting. I started to think that maybe an SUV wasn't the safest vehicle for kids. Then we got into an accident (with the Little Man in the car) and totaled the Xterra. We were all fine. She held up well in the accident and kept us safe. Suddenly, I needed a new car. Ironically (or maybe not so much), I bought a Subaru Outback...the glorified mom mobile...automatic...with two car seats...and the above mentioned Skybox. It's like I never even saw it coming. 

- 5 points for the car, - 4 points for the Skybox and - 1 point for the kids toys and books mess that is my backseat. 

Current tally: 90 cool points. 

In my BC life (before children), I used to go out, and not just on the weekends. Wednesday was just as good as Friday. Weekends were almost entirely spent at my friend's house on the boardwalk of South Mission Beach, San Diego: people watching, enjoying cheap beer, partaking in the ganja (marijuana, to you non-initiated), throwing horseshoes and jumping into the ocean just to bring my core temperature back down to comfortable. I rode my bike most of the time and carried some cash and my ID, that's it. Fundays weren't just for Sundays back then and they started at 10/11 AM and ended around 2/3 AM the next day, but not before a breakfast burrito was gobbled up before passing out falling asleep. If it was a weekday and you showed up to work with a little hangover, chances were that you weren't the only one, and if you were, you could just close your door. 

Now I get out for runs by 6:30/7 AM most mornings and I'm in bed by 10 PM. I stopped going to the beach, just too many issues: parking, drunks, nap times and now we live hours from any beach at all. If I was to smoke pot today, I'd probably just fall asleep, eat all the kid's Fig Newtons or have an anxiety attack...and perhaps all three. I haven't been to a party without kids, or not for kids, in almost three years (the Mrs and I went to one wedding and good times were had by all, but we paid for it dearly the next day). And my wallet is chock full of crap like kids shoes store/haircutters/frozen yogurt frequent buyer cards, all of our insurance cards and kids museum memberships. I look like I am carrying a brick in my front pocket. 

- 10 points for early mornings, + 5 points for healthier living, - 5 points for an overstuffed wallet.        

Current tally: 75 cool points.

I used to watch a lot of sports and the usual mix of major network sitcoms and dramas. I didn't watch a ton of TV though, mainly because I was usually out of the house. Now I am just as happy to watch House Hunters, Property Brothers, Ellen, This Old House or Chopped as I am to watch The Daily Show, Modern Family or Happy Endings all usually while folding laundry or cleaning up the living room. I might watch one game a week, but I usually have to DVR it, avoid Facebook for spoilers and watch it after the kids go to bed. Either that or I am reading a book, updating the blog or spending far too much time admiring friends on Facebook who are traveling abroad or just having a delicious meal in a not-so-kid-friendly establishment. I now find it weird not to see a crayon in pictures of dinner tables. Yep. I'm there.

TV is kind of a big thing these days. I know that TV is this big taboo in the parenting world. Some parents wear the merit badge of not owning a TV, some own TVs but don't allow their kids to watch any of it, some folks use the TV as a babysitter all the time and then there are those like me who let their kids watch some TV but not too much. I know every episode of Curious George, I know the secret words to open the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and I am starting to memorize lines from Wreck-It-Ralph. This past week at bed time, the Little Man exclaimed that he didn't like sleeping in his room anymore and that he didn't like his bed. So I stuck him in our guest room and shut the door. He wasn't happier with this situation either (the desired effect), and proceeded to try to sneak back to his room on several occasions. I warned him not to leave the room again, of course he did and so TV was banned for a week. It was awful for all of us. 

- 5 points for expansive knowledge of children's programming, -10 points for my love affair with HGTV/The Cooking Channel/The Food Network/Travel Channel, -3 points for watching DVR'd sports, -10 points for having to ban TV, + 10 points for limiting my kids TV time.

Current Tally: 62 points.

Travel used to be fun too. When we went to New Zealand in 2008, we took a sleeping pill and eight hours of the flight were gone *poof* just like that. A few cocktails, a light snack and the fourteen hour flight was over. When we planned travel it was where we really wanted to go. There was no thought of noise level, how large the rental car would be, was the furniture in the rental house white because we'll stain it, or had we checked out the list of "things to do with your kids in ______". You picked a place and you went. Voila! Even if you were a little under the weather, you took some cold meds, sucked it up, downed a drink and you had fun; rallying (i.e. if you're down, get your ass back up) was a term I took seriously and a skill I had honed over the years. You made a few playlists, read a book, did a crossword puzzle and maybe watched a movie on your computer to get through the flight. The things you didn't have were a lack of appreciation for the size of the bathroom on the plane (I never even noticed that there changing tables in the bathrooms, and now that I do, they are nearly useless as you can do the same thing on your lap) or a care for how clean or filthy the rest stop bathroom was just outside Anytown, USA on your way to Joeschmovington, USA.

Travel these days is a hassle. We have to schlep two car seats, up to four bags of luggage, a stroller, a  diaper bag, a pak'n'play, two blankies, a stuffed animal, snacks for the drive/flight, both iPads, a camera, bag of childrens medicines, Little Mans light up alarm clock and a random selection of small toys and books. Before we travel, the first thing I do is to load the iPad up with new content and usually a few full length films. If you haven't traveled with kids, the key is keeping them distracted. Obviously, the longer the better. And if something goes wrong with the iPad, then your iPhone better be the back up or some really great coloring books, toys, or snacks. Even then you are not guaranteed a peaceful adventure. 

When I flew back east in August with the boys by myself, the Little Man was taken care of as long as I could feed him and the iPad battery lasted on the flight. However, the Taz would not be so easily appeased. I was that guy on that flight. You know the one. I had the kid who would not stop screaming or crying except for occasional moments when he would take a bottle, eat a snack or if I let him crawl around on the floor (though having to be watchful as he kept trying to eat old food droppings). Otherwise it was pure hell. Of course it couldn't have been a nonstop flight, nope. We had to layover in Atlanta, thanks for nothing Delta, before getting on our final leg. Thankfully the people around me had a collective heart and literally gave me a round of applause when we reached the gate. And the kids aren't to blame. They're kids. I hate being confined to my seat, but at least I fully understand why and I can also order alcohol to get me through it. I dread travel these days. It's a love/hate relationship, but more to the latter than the prior, because even when you reach your destination, there is no sanctuary. Sure, the Mrs and I are planning a trip by ourselves, but that's for our 10 year wedding anniversary which is in three years. For now it's playgrounds, day trips, kids museums, high chairs and making sure we pencil in some nap time...that's how we travel these days.

- 15 points for the shear amount of luggage needed to travel, -10 points for our first sans kids adventure to be set almost six and a half year out from our last trip, +10 points for our tantrum diversionary pre planning, -5 points for getting applause for making it through a flight.

I'll be 35 this year. It's not old by any means, but it's old enough. I like to daydream sometimes that I would be out and about doing this and that if we didn't have kids, but the reality is that's just crazy talk. I'd be working full time, probably hating my job, saving for the day I would eventually have kids and probably getting caught up in the minutia. At this point in my life, I just wish that the bubble pod technology seen in the Jetsons was available today or that all cars came with an optional limo screen. I wouldn't use them that much. But alas, no technology or standard car option like that does exist. The slow and inevitable death of cool is upon me and so it goes. I listen to a lot of Paul Simon, particularly the older stuff. There is a great chorus in "That Was Your Mother" from the 1986 album, Graceland that sums it all up nicely:

"Well, that was your mother

And that was your father

Before you were born, dude,

When life was great.

You are the burden of my generation,

I sure do love you,

Let's get that straight"

Final Tally...who cares? I was never that cool anyways.

I'm Not The Archivist and He's Not Kandinsky

A few years ago my dad sent me about a half dozen boxes filled with some of my things he had in storage.  It wasn't anything from my recent past as I had not stayed with him, let alone lived with him since I was thirteen.  This was a bunch of god-knows-what that had amassed over the time of mainly third through seventh grade, the time during which my folks tried to make their marriage work again only to realize that they were right the first time.

All I really cared about was my baseball cards.  The cards were in rough shape, so I held onto what I deemed as the most valuable.  What was in the rest of the boxes was a nightmare: old report cards with notes from teachers continuously agreeing that I was smart but unfocused, pictures of me happily dressed like an idiot thinking I looked cool and various art projects - the crappiest items I had produced over that five year span.  There were drawings of crap (sometimes literally, I guess my interest in talking about fecal matter started at an early age), clay creations that served no purpose and ranged from coffee cups that couldn't hold a drop to ash trays that a cigarette couldn't have ever sat on and a ton of paper craft projects that looked like an origami monster got alcohol poisoning and spent those five years throwing up multi-colored vellum and craft paper.

I threw every bit of it out.  This was not a trip down memory lane, as I didn't remember making 90% of it.  All I could think was why the hell did my dad even keep this crap?  What made him think I'd want it when I was in my 30's?  I gave up trying to figure out what makes my dad tick a long time ago, but what this did teach me (aside from the fact that I was not the artistic person that I thought I was during those years) was that I wasn't going to save every line drawing, papier mache creation and clay crapper my boys create and bring home during their childhood.

I've been wrestling with this thought for a few months now.  The Big Guy is in pre-pre-school twice a week and generally they do some sort of art project each day.  He's in school from September to June, that works out to roughly 8 projects per month or 80 projects for the school year.  Assuming there is a level of inflation over at least the next 3-4 years of let's say 7% per year, by then end of his first year in first grade we would have just over 400 pieces of his "art"not to mention what he'll produce on his own at home.

Where the hell am I supposed to put this stuff?  We already have a Goodwill toy and clothing run we are about to do that I honestly think I am going to need a U-haul to get to the donation center.  I need to store 400 art projects like I need another hole in my head.  This isn't an issue about supporting my kids desire to express themselves.  I consider myself somewhat of an artist.  I take photographs.  Do I keep every single shot I take?  Hell no.  For what?  So I can look back 30 years from now and say to myself "yep, that was one crappy picture"?  You can keep a few pieces and see your growth.  Consider the Clif Notes version of your artistic vision over the years.  No one wants to read the unabridged version.

Like I said, I've been wrestling with this thought for a few months, so we already have a ton of art stocked up from this school year.  But over the past few months I have been tossing the majority of it in the trash.  I keep the unique stuff, like when the Big Guy came home from his backup daycare with a drawing he said was me.  That's the first time he has ever tried to draw me to my knowledge, so it meant something to me.  Ironically it looked like a large blue ass (not the burro variety, we're talking hind quarters here).  Otherwise the 8"x10" sheets of craft paper he brings home with one stamp on it or the millionth scribble sheet go in the trash.  And I don't feel remotely bad about it.

I know some parents that keep every last bit of crap their kid makes.  They are proud of this measure they have taken.  Some have even made remarks like "it'll be fun when they can look at it when they grow up."  Not likely.  Others have even said "maybe if he/she grows up to be a great artist this'll be worth something...just kidding".  No they aren't.  Then when I tell them I have started tossing the majority of the Big Guy's art projects they look at me like I just told them that I water torture my kids for fun.  I assure you that I don't do it for fun.  I kid, I kid.

There is a documentary show on A&E called "Hoarders", which tells the story of various individuals who don't throw anything away, so much so that...well...just watch this clip.  I've never actually watched a full episode as the images generally make me queasy, but I'll bet most of them started with a few art projects.  And when the boys are in their 30s and want to know why all of their friends are opening box after box of childhood garbage and they only have one box, I'll just say the same thing my mom always said to me when I wanted to know why she did something with me: "just wait until you have kids".