Remember how back in the day we could only watch cartoons on Saturday mornings? And they were only on for a few hours until we got
booted sent outside to play? Now it seems cartoons are on every day all day. It is no wonder a lot of children are being babysat by the television. Alright, I will give a mom-fession, when I want to pee in peace I will put on a cartoon briefly. Isn’t it bad enough to have a little one sitting in the bathroom watching you pee or trying to tear the toilet paper over hell’s half acre? Now add in a cat that is trying to drink out of the toilet while you pee. Oh and another cat wanting to sit on your lap for petting while you pee as well. So can you really blame me for wanting five minutes to take a piss in peace?!
I digress. We are trying to instill in Ashlynn about cartoons being only for Saturday mornings. Is it just me or have cartoons changed since I was younger? I remember children’s shows being a little bit more…educational…for lack of a better term. These are just bouncy, chirpy, colourful, animated singing shows. Chirpy. Bouncy. In the morning. And I am not a bouncy, chirpy morning person. I haven’t been since I was a teenager full of angst.
This morning my husband, Steve, has been
tortured subjected to the terrors joy of Handy Manny. The so-called handyman who seems to not actually do any work but rather his tools do. Oh and they talk. It is enough to make me have nightmares as Steve has his own handyman business and lots of tools. Although I am sure he wishes that his tools could do all the work and he just sits back and relaxes. Not in this lifetime honey, sorry. If you think your tools are talking to you…because I love you…I am calling the nice young men to come give you a hug-myself jacket. You might just need some help. Or drug rehab. One of the two. I will give you the benefit of the doubt and go with the former instead of the latter.
Although I think we both might have gone crazy yesterday taking Ashlynn to the mall for pictures with Santa. The way she acted one would think Santa was this evil creature that came out from under the bed to eat her soul/brain/heart/whatever. So that we could actually get decent pictures of the munchkin, I sat beside the jolly ol’ man in a Santa suit with her on my lap while the picture was taken. While singing “Baby Beluga” by Raffi to keep her happy. Then Steve pointed out the robotic reindeer to her. Cue the clinging onto his neck for dear life. Sweet one, they might be moving, but unplug them or take out the batteries and they do not move. They cannot hurt you. I am sure you will understand when you are older. I really hope so. After the torture of Santa we let her run about the mall to get out some of that pent up energy. Don’t worry we kept an eye on her! (Read as – herded her like an f’in sheepdog.)
So it seems Grandma is late coming to pick her and I up. Steve works tomorrow but we are going to the Santa Clause parade with Grandma, my niece and sister. An hour and a half away. But it gets us out of the house! And gives me a few hours without having to keep repeating “Leave the cat alone.”