I love television.
There I said it. While I don't watch it as much as I used to -- kids have a way of sucking that out of my schedule -- I do appreciate a good show when I get around to playing the Tivo.
And as a parent, I also allow it for the kids. (I will pause here so you can silently judge me or cheer out loud for someone who actually admits it.)
Say what you want about TV, but in the Mac house, we dig it. Not only did I grow up a total TV junkie -- throw out any TV trivia from the '70s and '80s and I will dazzle you with my useless knowledge -- but Jeff and I have made a living working in television for many years. So we don't exactly consider it the enemy. Anything that feeds my kids can't be that evil, right?
When we brought Lucy home four months ago, she couldn't be less interested in the boob tube. That's just weird. It's like Brady's dislike of all things sugary -- cake, cookies, candy -- and Jacob's ability to curb his own tantrums in even the most stressful of situations. Are you sure you're my kids?
We were cool with Lucy's ambivalence toward our friend the TV -- except for those times during the week when it would've been nice to be able to, oh I don't know, perhaps go to the bathroom without her on my lap. Or maybe cook a meal without her needing to be held while I steam, stir , or saute over a hot stove. (And by steam, stir or saute, I really mean microwave.)
I will admit, over the past four months, we've tried everything from Baby Einstein to Dora, Sesame Street and princess movies. Is it too much to ask for someone to make 30 minutes of quality TV that my little hurricane Lucy can stop to enjoy.
Little did we know, it was those crazy British blobs, the Teletubbies, that would catch her attention. A total fluke -- her brother grabbed a DVD and popped it into the computer -- she sat like this for A. FULL. HOUR.
Be warned you chubby little 'Tubbies. If I run into Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Lala and Po on the street, I might just kiss them on the mouth.