Here I am, all dressed for work, but instead I'm home taking care of my little Bunny. School is out today, but she has a cold and can't go to daycare. She's missing a pizza party, so I know she's really sick. And BB had to keep an appointment, so viola. Caretaker by default.
I was kidding around before, about getting the last cold from a blogger, but now look where I'm sitting. Practically at ground zero for another cold. Specifically, on the couch beside my girl.
And oh joy. For some inexplicable reason, she suffered a regression in taste, and insisted we watch preschool programs on Nick. Yes, that can only mean one thing ...
The Return of Dora.
"Hola! I need your help! Will you get my flashlight out of my backpack? You will? Great!"
If those words don't send a shiver through you, then you've never had to sit through whole seasons of Dora the Expl0rer. Even her monkey, Boots, is smarter than she is. No, I won't reach into your backpack, Dora. I'll tell you what I tell my own kid: take off your backpack and look for it yourself. Have some self-respect, Dora. Stop asking for so much help! It's a cruel world, full of swipers. After four or five seasons of traversing through such hazards as the Forest of Shards and the Yum-Gum Swamp, it's clear you are in desperate need of basic survival instincts. For Bog's sake, you make your critical decisions based on preschoolers who yell to you through the TV! Come to grips! Think for yourself!
I've tried yelling my own advice to her, like walking arouuuund the Chocolate Death-Ray Eel Pit, but for some reason she doesn't hear me.
Ooh, listen, another Dora song. Let's sing and chant along some more!
Come on vamanos! Everybody let's go!
Come on let's get to it
I know that we can do it!
Where are we going? (Out of our minds!)
Where are we going? (Out of our minds!)
Where are we going? (Mommy, stop that!)
Where are we going? (Can we please watch Disney instead?)
Where are we going? Straight to hell!
Caillou, too. Oh my god. A whiny brat with some kind of horrible encephilits relentlessly working up one tantrum after another.
Posted by: Jo | November 12, 2004 at 11:17 AM
Caillou! His parents never change clothes or comb their hair! And what were they smoking when they came up with that name?
Posted by: pam | November 12, 2004 at 11:43 AM
What is the one with the weird robots?
Why can't kids just watch 3-2-1 Contact like I did? That never gets old.
Posted by: maya | November 12, 2004 at 02:00 PM
If my little one chooses "Caillou," my older ones are programmed to chant, "Stop WHINING, Caillou!" Moi, I can't stand the grandmotherly voice-over: "Caillou wasn't sure he wanted to go on a playdate without his mommy!" ARGH!
Posted by: Karen | November 12, 2004 at 02:13 PM
This is still not as frightening as the recent "Rugrats" movie I saw a coming attraction for when Angelica celebrates her 13th Birthday: ATTENTION ALL PARENTS OF AMERICA--CARTOON CHARACTERS SHOULDN'T GO THROUGH PUBERTY!
"Peanuts" managed quite well for DECADES without a single hormonal spasm. Get a clue, Rugrats people.
So who's this Dora person who sends all parents into transcendental fits? I miss so much not being married or parental. An entire zeitgesit has passed right by me and I'm still going around singing the "Sponge Bob theme" and saying "Mr. Krabbs" in a squealing voice that my co-workers associate with me being strange(er).
Posted by: Anthony | November 15, 2004 at 07:56 AM