Too Much TV Makes The Baby Go Blind!

This is the winter that will not quit.  To date, we have had 543 inches of snow and forty-nine days with subzero temperatures and twenty-three days in which the wind chill plummeted to less than -50.  I may be slightly off with these numbers, but only slightly.  My children are turning into couch potatoes, which I'm surprisingly not totally okay with considering I am the reigning queen of couch potatoes, local couch potato union 739.  But when I start adding up the hours that the television is on in a day and I hit the double digits... yikes.

Even Alex is growing interested in television.  His face brightens when I say the word "Caillou."  It also brightens when Chris cruelly offers him a can of pop as a way to distract him from whatever naughty adventure he is currently embarked on.  "Alex, wanna pop?"  Chris might ask while Alex is in the middle of climbing into the garbage can.  Alex immediately replies, "Yeah," and runs toward Chris looking for his Dr. Pepper.  This Dr. Pepper has yet to materialize, but Alex remains hopeful, the eternal optimist in search of some brown carbonation.

These are other questions to which Alex answers "Yeah."   Do you want beefaroni?  Do you want a string cheese?  Do you want to climb into the garbage can?

Andy's television habits are starting to disturb me as he shows more of an interest in bigger kid cartoons, like Batman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  I am trying to dissuade him from watching these shows without all out banning him.  I think that, at the age of 3, he should be watching preschool themed shows that focus on counting, sharing, and talking to imaginary muppets as opposed to cartoons that glorify fighting, cape-wearing, and eating pizza under a dirty manhole in the sidewalk.  This is why I say the word "Caillou."  As in, "Oh you want to watch Turtles?  I hear Caillou's mommy is going to take him on his first subway ride today.  How do you think THAT'S going to turn out?"

At least Andy has good taste in movies.  He loves "Elf" and is quick to remind me that fake Santas in department stores often smell like beef and cheese.



Anyway, even couch potatoes start to get bored of just sitting around watching shows, and the other day Andy approached me and asked if we could play tag.  "Andy, that's not a game for inside the house," I said.  "We'll go to the gym tomorrow and play it then."

"Nooo," Andy whined.  "Let's play it now.  We don't have to run."

"Really?"  I raised an eyebrow.  "And how do you play tag without running?"

"Like this."  Andy walked over to me very slowly.  He put his hand on my arm.  Then, somberly, he stated, "Tag."  Pause.  "You're it."

It was the most pathetic and sad version of tag I'd ever witnessed.  And so I took pity on my bored children and played a game of tag in the house despite my strict "No merriment that involves running indoors" rule.  I let Andy run just a tiny bit.  I did a little speed walking myself.  Alex squealed and followed after us, clapping his hands happily.  And I don't know who won that game of tag but I do remember what we did afterwards.

We ate popcorn while watching "Dora."  Is it summer yet?