As a first-time parent, I've really tried to follow the rules; no peanut butter until she was one, no cereal in her bottle, make every attempt at developing a routine yadda, yadda, yadda. But admittedly, there was always one rule that would inexplicably make my eyes role just by hearing someone mention it. It was the no TV before two years old rule. If you were born before 1980 are unaware of this and saying to yourself, "No TV? What kind of world are we raising our kids in?!" then let me explain. Those cockamamie experts over at the American Academy of Pediatrics have laid out guidelines stating that children over the age of two should watch no more than one to two hours a day of quality programming (unfortunately I don't think they include CSI under the heading of "quality programming" for a toddler). For children under the age of two, like Zoe, they should be watching zero TV. That's right, none at all.
Apparently they require you to be childless to work at the AAP.
I'd like to say that we haven't turned the TV on in the last 23 months, but that would be a lie. Zoe has frankly seen a working TV since day one. She actually knows how to turn it on now. I, for a long time was of the school of thought (and sounding much like a great grandparent) that I watched TV as a kid and I turned out fine. But as Zoe has become more and more interested in television and more selective about what is on, I finally figured out what the AAP had been doing all along, trying to save me. The situation is like the joke about the priest who was floating in the water after his boat capsized. Three boats came by to help him each met with the priest's insistence that God will save him. He dies, goes to Heaven and asks God, "why didn't you save me?" God says, "I sent you three ships." Why didn't anyone tell me how strange and annoying kids television is these days? They gave me the warning.
I'm not sure how I would rank them all, but I can tell you that there is a very real chance that the makers of Yo Gabba Gabba are still on a 60's acid trip (a la Puff the Magic Dragon). A main character of Wonder Pets constantly talks in a lisp ("This is sewious!). And the Backyardingans, while a moderately cute show, will suddenly break out into a Broadway musical number about sharing. Zoe's favorite is a strange little Canadian boy named Caillou.
Don't get me wrong, the shows are innately fine and I consider myself lucky that I've managed to mostly avoid Barney. But I wonder where the "good stuff" is from my childhood. How the heck will kids these days learn about the function of a conjunction? When will they understand the rainbow connection? Wasn't there some educational component of Captain Caveman and the Teen Angels?
Zoe not only now watches TV, from 7:30pm until 8:00pm (her bedtime) she owns it by repeatedly saying "show, show." I sigh, grab the remote that once belonged to me and tune in for another exciting episode about a boy from Canada.
Next time, AAP, I will read between the lines.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Am I really half way to 70?
My husband left today to go to Atlanta for the weekend for work. This getaway of his affords me plenty of time to contemplate the fact that in just five short days I will be turning the ripe old age of 35; not as much fun as it sounds. For anyone who knows Mike, you know that the only benefit to him being gone is that I get to avoid his constant reminding that as of Tuesday, according to his slightly warped mind punctuated with his obvious lack of math skills, he will be two years younger than me (for two whole weeks).
It's a funny thing getting older, it seems that the more birthdays I have, the more they become an introspective sort thing while morphing into, on occasion, the inevitable question of should I be doing more. I mean, hell, the woman running for VP is only nine years my senior and she has five times as many kids as I have (not there is much evidence she was doing a whole lot at 35; had to get my party loyalty dig in there). I think it's safe to say that no one will ever consider me for second-in-commander to the leader of the free world no matter how comprehensive the vetting process. I'm not even sure how much power Sadie thinks I wield. My job is OK on its best day, I couldn't say with much certainty which state I will be living in in six months and Zoe prefers fake chicken fingers over any "culinary masterpiece" I am able to eek out in the kitchen. Maybe I am watching too much Entertainment Tonight to be based in reality and have begun to see the likes of Angelina Jolie (two years my junior by the way) as "normal" as she globe trots and saves the world all while eight months pregnant, covered in adopted children and lousing with humanitarianism. I, on the other hand, feel like Mother Theresa when I give blood once a year.
Some of you may be wondering if maybe I've hit the bottle of whisky and begun listening to too many county songs (save her from the south!). Some of you are happy to get the reminder to send me a birthday card (hint, hint). And others of you are thinking out loud what in the world does this have to do with Zoe, the only reason you take the time to read this blog. Well, no whiskey is being had (although I wouldn't discount a glass of cheap chardonnay this weekend) and this entry is written, in part, as a subtle reminder that my readers may want to hit a Hallmark this weekend.
And as for the last question, it has everything to do with Zoe. I've decided when I turn 35, my goal will be to become her. Not in the literal sense you understand. Her incredible use of ketchup is nothing short of nauseating and she is entirely too obsessed with Elmo for my liking. But I'd like to incorporate more moxie into my life, much like her. I'd like to become braver just like she was when entering her new daycare for the first time. I'd like to meet new friends in the same manner as she does, by simply walking up an introducing myself just because they seem nice. I'd like to be able to say "no" once in while when I really don't want to do something with no guilt and no excuses (but maybe without the screaming, fall-down, red-faced tantrum). Conversely, I like to be able to just flat out ask for something I want without the "adult" in me getting in the way. I'd like to be able to try new things constantly without a week-long calculation of what might happen if I fail. The bottom line, she is awesome and for my birthday, I want to be awesome too.
Take that Angelina. Happy birthday to me!
It's a funny thing getting older, it seems that the more birthdays I have, the more they become an introspective sort thing while morphing into, on occasion, the inevitable question of should I be doing more. I mean, hell, the woman running for VP is only nine years my senior and she has five times as many kids as I have (not there is much evidence she was doing a whole lot at 35; had to get my party loyalty dig in there). I think it's safe to say that no one will ever consider me for second-in-commander to the leader of the free world no matter how comprehensive the vetting process. I'm not even sure how much power Sadie thinks I wield. My job is OK on its best day, I couldn't say with much certainty which state I will be living in in six months and Zoe prefers fake chicken fingers over any "culinary masterpiece" I am able to eek out in the kitchen. Maybe I am watching too much Entertainment Tonight to be based in reality and have begun to see the likes of Angelina Jolie (two years my junior by the way) as "normal" as she globe trots and saves the world all while eight months pregnant, covered in adopted children and lousing with humanitarianism. I, on the other hand, feel like Mother Theresa when I give blood once a year.
Some of you may be wondering if maybe I've hit the bottle of whisky and begun listening to too many county songs (save her from the south!). Some of you are happy to get the reminder to send me a birthday card (hint, hint). And others of you are thinking out loud what in the world does this have to do with Zoe, the only reason you take the time to read this blog. Well, no whiskey is being had (although I wouldn't discount a glass of cheap chardonnay this weekend) and this entry is written, in part, as a subtle reminder that my readers may want to hit a Hallmark this weekend.
And as for the last question, it has everything to do with Zoe. I've decided when I turn 35, my goal will be to become her. Not in the literal sense you understand. Her incredible use of ketchup is nothing short of nauseating and she is entirely too obsessed with Elmo for my liking. But I'd like to incorporate more moxie into my life, much like her. I'd like to become braver just like she was when entering her new daycare for the first time. I'd like to meet new friends in the same manner as she does, by simply walking up an introducing myself just because they seem nice. I'd like to be able to say "no" once in while when I really don't want to do something with no guilt and no excuses (but maybe without the screaming, fall-down, red-faced tantrum). Conversely, I like to be able to just flat out ask for something I want without the "adult" in me getting in the way. I'd like to be able to try new things constantly without a week-long calculation of what might happen if I fail. The bottom line, she is awesome and for my birthday, I want to be awesome too.
Take that Angelina. Happy birthday to me!
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The newest addition to the Fuller family
Name: Mitsubishi Outlander
Born: 2007
Weight: 3,532 lbs
Length: 182.7 "
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