Evidence That My Status As "Good Mom" is Sometimes Suspect

February 19, 2010

Those of you who have (or have had) small children know there are times when we adults are subject to the mindless repetition of a child's favorite TV show or video. The irony is that sometimes we resort to videos to maintain sanity, but by the 101st time you've seen the same video, your own brain has turned to mush. Or you begin to entertain somewhat violent thoughts of punching a he-shall-remain-nameless purple dinosaur in the snout. Depends on the day.

Anyway, I did my time enduring Pokemon, Digimon, Blue's Clues (which was better when Steve was there--Joe was a sorry imposter), Teletubbies (beyond creepy, especially the Big Brother-like baby head that was the sun of their universe), Carebears, and Sailor Moon. There were also the movies that never seemed to lose their appeal to the little ones--Spirit, Brother Bear, Lilo and Stitch. Sadly, I am all too familiar with these films.

(Note, please, that I do not include such fare as Scooby Doo, Bugs Bunny, Finding Nemo, and Beauty and the Beast here. Watching these with the kids is not a hardship, but a pleasant, shared family-oriented experience. There are movies and shows that are designed to entertain the parents as well, and oh, how I appreciate those offerings!)

So, when Bree was about three, one of her fixations was Disney's The Fox and the Hound. Let me first say that I love Disney--most Disney. I'm a huge fan. There are very few Disney movies I can't get behind. The Fox and the Hound happens to be one of them. I'm not sure what it is, but we'll just call it the Dark Days of Disney. That movie is tedious at best, migraine-inducing painfulness at worst. I can't honestly say I ever cared if Tod and Copper overcame their natural differences and became friends again--their little cartoon lives held no interest for me whatsoever.

Bree used to just bring me the video case whenever she wanted to watch it, but eventually she started asking for it by name whenever the video case was mysteriously out of sight. (Yup--I hid it from her. Don't judge.) The first time I heard her ask for it, my jaw dropped. I didn't know what she was saying, but it sounded like something she needed her mouth washed out with soap for. "What did you say?" I asked her, incredulously. "Where did you hear that?"

"Fok!" she said. "Peas?" She's three at the time, remember.

"WHAT?"

"Fok! Fok!" She was getting frustrated with my inability to comprehend simple English. "Want Fok an' Hound!" (Try saying it outloud, quickly. Trust me, it's funny.)

"Oh!" I slapped my forehead and burst out laughing. This did not sit well with her, as she did not have time for me to have a hysterical breakdown. She had The Fox and the Hound on her agenda. "Say it again. What do you want to watch?"

"Fok an' Hound!"

"Which movie?"

"Fok an' Hound! Fok an' Hound!" (This time accompanied by a little hand on the hip and a stamping of the foot. What was the deal with her mama? She was usually much more perceptive than this!)

Finally I "found" the movie and popped it in the VHS player. All the amusement I got from hearing her say "Fok an' Hound" several times softened my irritation at having to sit through the dumb movie yet again. I just kept chuckling to myself, hearing her little voice saying something that was oh so innocent but that sounded so inappropriate.''

As soon as her dad got home for the day, I said, "Hey Sweetie--tell Daddy what your favorite movie is!" Daddy eyed me suspiciously. He already knew what it was.

"Fok an' Hound!" she said emphatically. Daddy, too, dissolved into laughter. Yep, we were mature like that. Let me tell you, Bree told a great number of people--the babysitter, our friends, her aunts--what her favorite movie was, because I told her to. It cracked me up. Every time. I found a way to find humor in an otherwise humorless and mind-numbing movie, and as long as she stayed enamored of that video, I didn't work very hard to teach her how to say her 'Xs' correctly. If she was going to keep watching it, I was going to keep the only good thing about it. Not the highlight of my "Good Mom" career, but you know, sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures.