Recently, though I am ashamed to admit it, my son has become a television addict. Don’t be alarmed, he’s not watching Law and Order SVU or anything like that. He’s into two shows in particular: Blue’s Clues and Yo Gabba Gabba, which he calls “Cuckoo’s!” and “Bugga Bugga,” respectively.
Today I tried an experiment. At the suggestion of my sister-in-law, Rosa, I set the timer on the stove for thirty minutes.
Anyway, as tempting as it is to let him watch just “one more episode,” I had to draw the line somewhere. After one episode of Blue’s Clues, the timer hadn’t gone off yet, so I let him replay the episode for the remaining 8 minutes we had left on the stove timer.
I waited an unbearable two minutes listening to him screaming in the next room. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore. I re-entered the living room with him still screaming. After several futile attempts to get him to draw with me, he eventually accepted my offer of a glass of orange juice. Meanwhile I created several masterpieces by my lonesome:
He drank the orange juice quickly, because he was terribly thirsty from screaming, I would imagine. Then he began to scream some more “Cuckoo’s!!!”
I was running out of ideas, and needed a solution before my head exploded. I was ready to throw in the proverbial television towel and turn on another episode of “Cuckoo’s.” But I didn’t.
I don’t know what came over me but I found a ball, and ran down our abnormally long hallway with it. To my surprise, my screaming child stopped screaming and started LAUGHING. Then he followed me! And we started to play ball!