Curfew

Last weekend I finally caved under years worth of pressure and permitted SOB to buy a television for our bedroom. Why? It's hard to say. It's only been in our room for nine days and I already hate it. I guess that I knew it would make him happy. Plus the prospect of zapping on an episode of Sesame Street when those those kids of ours get up super-early on Saturday mornings doesn't hurt. 

But the main reason I am regretting this decision is that almost every night for the past week and a half we've gone to bed over a hour later than usual. Wait, that's not entirely true. We physically go to bed at the same time as before, but we stay up later since we usually flip on the tube. I'm not a person who can fall asleep while the TV is on, but SOB is. What then happens is that I end up staying awake watching a show he wanted to see in the first place. I'm not the one dying to see the new episode of Mythbusters, but I usually end up watching it twice because SOB fell asleep during the initial viewing. The end result is  that I end up seeing the eleven o'clock hour tick by, and then I'm tired as hell the next day.

Yesterday I laid down the law. The TV must be off by ten o'clock. Nine thirty would be better. This will probably require some planning in order to get us in bed early enough to view certain programs. If that means that we have to physically be in bed while the sun is still out, so be it. 

Besides, spending more time in bed could be useful... 

Peer Pressure and How I Learned to Hate the Backpack

After Sam's open house last week SOB and I had some serious talks about Sam's television viewing habits. It seems as though we are the only freaks in the world (or at least our county) who don't let their kids watch much TV. So after finding out that Spanish lessons school provides only occur on days when he isn't there, we decided to give Dora a try. 

That and I'm pretty sure his Aunt Allison was letting him watch it anyway. Mainly because he told me several times 'My-a watch Dooooooora with Yanni!' At least she confessed. 

(In addition to Dora, I'll cop to letting him watch Evil Train Show Thomas the Tank Engine twice. He just gets so excited when he sees that stupid train on the television, it kills me. In a bad way. He looks happier when he sees that damn locomotive than he does when his father comes home.) 

But back to Dora. And her monkey friend and mother effing backpack. I missed the first five hundred seasons, so maybe someone out there can catch me up on all the important plot points. How does all that shit fit into that tiny pack? And how is a little girl supposed to carry all of that? And where are we going? Wait, I know the answer to that one: Big Tower! Where are we going? Big Tower! Where are we going? Big Tower! Where are we going? Big Tower! Where are we going? Big Tower!

Can you guess where Dora and Boots were headed in the episode we watched? 

I'm just trying to keep una mente abierta.

Holy crap!