Category Archives: Two Drink Minimum

Children’s Programming or Satan’s Work?

TV is everywhere.
TV is everywhere.

We’ve all suffered through watching a plethora of animated series with our kids. Some of them, like anything child related are unbearable, others cute, others mind-numbing. What I love most about these shows are the different opinions parents have about them and the dinner party conversations that ensue where one mom will be defending Caillou to the death (you know who you are) while most would argue his future as a member of the MS-13. I find it all super amusing. Here are some thoughts I have had while watching some of my daughter’s favorite animated shows.

Why is Barney still available for viewing and torturing parents everywhere? Like his predecessors before him, he too should be extinct.

Sometimes, I feel like I might be on the verge of a seizure when I watch the Paw Patrol. So.Much.Stimulation.

I think Wyatt from Super Why could use a humanitarian trip to Syria to show him what a “super big problem” actually fucking looks like.

Has no one ever noticed that there are children working in Sofia the Firsts‘ castle? Wonderful. Sofia’s off to enjoy a picnic with mother, send some of the children to prepare the carriage for her.

I won’t discuss Caillou because when we talk about him, we keep him alive.

Peppa Pig, your voice is like a thousand knives, impaling me slowly. I get it that you are a pig but every time you snort, I get the urge to call Dr. Kevorkian while snacking on bacon.

Curious George is actually teaching children that it’s ok to illegally smuggle exotic animals into the country and then hole them up in city apartments with unnamed men who only wear yellow and probably have Schizophrenia. Lesson learned, thank you.

Why is Dora now a budded-breasted tween? Stop it! Her fans will not grow with her, they will move onto something else. Stop being so desperate and making her look so pathetic. Oh, she has human friends now? That’s not interesting. You know what’s interesting about Dora? That she raised those twin babies on her own. She calls them her sisters but we all know that old game. Stick to your twisted life of raising babies and following a map drawn by a monkey – let your freak flag fly, girl,  just not in my house.

Angelina Ballerina…if I ever get my hands on your back stabbing, whiney ass, you’re cat food.

Diego, you are a coat tailer who has never had an original idea in your life. You can thank your cousin, Dora for your career. If it weren’t for her, you’d be dealing heroin on the corners of the city streets of your ambiguous Latin American country . You know it and I know it but good on you for getting out.

So much to watch, so little time.
So much to watch, so little time.

The Magic School Bus should be called the Magic Bus of Horror and Fear yet they’ve revived it and put it on Netflix for children everywhere to enjoy. I am forever indebted and remember you every time my kid has night terrors. Merry Christmas.

This is a warning! The Veggie Tales IS A CHRISTIAN show! Not that there’s anything wrong with that but if you are not a Christian household, you’d better have your explanation shoes on when they come a asking who Jesus is.

LalaLoopsy has no fucking eyeballs. That’s all.

While watching The Dinosaur Train, no one else thinks, “So, this is a show about creatures that have become extinct”? Is it just me that gets sad about this? I feel like I’m watching a bunch of dead people that don’t know they’re dead yet, it’s awful.

What’s wrong with that poor kid’s parents in the Bubble Guppies who are always giving him crazy shit in his lunch? I constantly feel bad for him and he always sounds so defeated and sad. His fake parents are so mean and someone should call the fake child services on them.

Ruby, you are a condescending whore who should be slapped in that smug face of yours. Your poor brother, Max does not have the best ideas, agreed but that does not mean you get to insult his wants, needs and intelligence. God, I loathe you. I really loathe you. Every time your 50 year old voice over artist speaks, I rock myself to the safe place where you don’t exist.

And finally, The Mother Goose Club. Creepalicious tweens sing Mother Goose songs and act them out in dime store costumes made from a an ex-meth head turned costume designer. They sing so much but they don’t sing so well. Poor kids/adults on this show. I feel like they were kidnapped and made to do this in return for their promised freedom…which will never come.

Wrapping up, I freaking hate most cartoons and in today’s age, there are so many of them but I am forever indebted to them for allowing me to breathe once a day. I cherish them because they exist to assist me when I can no longer deal, like that moment at 5:00pm when I truly believe I might not make it until bedtime, I pour myself a glass of wine and on comes the neglectavision. Thank you to everyone who makes these awful creations, I really do appreciate you.

Driving Miss Baby

Stella Sleepy Car Seat - for post

You know what is super deadly? Driving a car with a kid in the back seat. One asks themselves why mothers take solace in wine after birthing our beauties and that’s a loaded question. What I will tell you is that if you’ve ever put a baby, toddler, preschooler in a car, you have risked everyone’s life who was riding with you and/or around you.

I remember fearing for my life the first time I drove alone in the car with my newborn in the back. What if she got hungry and started to scream? What would I do? What if she pooped or felt alone or God forbid, I came to a stop and the lack of movement threw her into a tizzy? The first time I attempted the solo car ride, I pulled over and fed her 3 minutes in. She cried and I couldn’t stop looking back. I was literally hell on wheels. It continued this way for the next 17 months. She hated the car, the car seat and everything that went with it. Everywhere I attempted to go, I was accompanied by shrills of discontent. I remember times when I would be half out of my seat, bent over backwards, shaking a toy in front of her while blasting down the freeway at 65 mph. Texting while putting on lip gloss, sipping on gin and juice with a car full of rabid hawks is safer than driving with a small child.

Taking a nap while ferociously responding to an email after a swarm of angry bees makes its way into your car is safer than driving with a small child.

Using your foot to steer while you search for a nail file that fell on the floor of the passenger’s side while your two uncaged cats have at it is safer than driving with a small child.

Huffing paint while your friend pushes on the gas pedal from the backseat while you tease your bangs with your free hand is safer than driving with a small child.

Once, we were coming back home just around dark and she started crying to a point of worry. I was doing the old, “Sshhh, sshhh, sshhhh” routine but her screams didn’t subside. I kept telling her in the softest voice, “You’re upset. It’s ok. We’ll be home soon.” When we finally did get home, I opened the back door of the car to find my hysterical six month old’s face covered in a bloody mess! I gasped and started to bawl myself.  I grabbed her like she was the last Cabbage Patch Doll on the shelf of a Toys R Us on Christmas Eve in 1985. I took her in the house, laid her on the bed and began to clean up the American Horror Story that was her mug, only to discover the tiniest little scratch above her eye. MFK (mother f#@&*ing kid) had worked herself into such an upheaval of emotions about being strapped into the baby saver that she scratched her face, causing herself to bleed like a victim on Dexter. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Later, it turned into, “Snack, pwease”. I started to dispense snacks like a machine in the lobby of a Grateful Dead concert. Then began the, “I’m hot. I’m cold. I’m tired. I’m bored. I don’t want this show, I want another show. I want to hear ‘Somebody I used to Know’ (for the 15th time in a row). I felt (feel) like a one woman circus, trying to keep my one-child audience from staging a violent coup against the ruling authority purely out of fleeting dissatisfaction. I realize this is my own doing. When I was a kid, I had no snacks in the car. Hell, I used to sit in the back of a wood-paneled station wagon, facing traffic, with no seat belt on, throwing my father’s company-branded pencils out of the back window at oncoming drivers. My entertainment was annoying my siblings while littering and putting oncoming traffic into danger and I can assure you, my parents did not have a travel potty on hand for my relief at any time. If I had to pee to the point of not being able to hold it, I peed next to the car, on the side of the road, while my other 5 siblings sighed in annoyance. We played car games, which I do from time to time but if I can be frank, I just want to be left alone while driving and she’s really not good at “I Spy with my Little Eye”, honestly, she’s terrible at it.

In summary, if you spot a car with a car seat in the back, avoid it like the Herp. No one is safe. Being a DJ, a vending machine, a story teller, a game show host, a movie provider and most of all, a one-woman circus, does not provide for quick thinking and rapid reflexes. It’s actually a recipe for disaster. No wonder in Sweden they keep their kids facing backwards until age four. The Swedes know how damn dangerous it is to drive with kids. They’re pretty progressive people, if I may say so myself.