So, my tots have have discovered Barney. Right now, not much seems to bring them more glee. (Maybe bubbles. And bananas.) No matter how many times they've seen it, as soon as the music starts their eyes widen and their gazes fix and the instant they get that first glimpse of the singing dinosaur, they both squeal: "Barneeeeey!" I laugh every time. They are Barney devotees. I'm pretty sure we can watch the exact same episode 3x in a row and they would react the same way each time it started over. I haven't tested that, but we sure have watched the exact same episode 3 days in a row. Our girl's aren't TV addicts either. Not by the least. It wasn't something we rationed (too much); they just aren't that into it. They don't turn to the tube just because it's on. I am so glad for that. They are quite happy occupying themselves with whatever else is on hand, or chasing the dog or jumping into my lap from the coffee table. Except when it comes to Barney. Then the world stops and I suddenly become a nuisance to be swept aside with the wave of a tiny two year old hand.
Now, Barney finds his big purple behind on the the butt end of many a joke. I have to admit though, I don't mind him. For a short time, before discovering Barney & Friends, the girls enjoyed the Teletubbies. Personally, I'd choose the Teletubbies over Barney any day; but I no longer control the remote once they see the Sprout on-demand channel. It's instantly, "Barney, Barney, Barney" and I must relent. But, like I said, Barney's not all that bad. The themes are excellent really. Wash your hands, brush your teeth, pick up your crap when you're done playing with it. I like that. In fact, we sing "Clean up! Clean up! Everybody, everywhere..." at the end of almost every day. My mild OCD is delighted and has Barney to thank for that ritual. BJ and Baby Bop don't grate on me like they do to some parents. He's a completely ancillary character, but that tree squirrel, who shows up in random vignettes, is probably my favorite.
But I digress. My original point was going to be how the show is really starting to get to me and how I hope this phase is short lived. But after all that Barney praise, you may be asking what's left not to like? Well, let me tell you: It's those kids. Those real life children on the show who imagine up Barney to begin with. They bug the hell out of me! Every single one. Well, except for Chip maybe. And Jeff, he's cool. But the rest, ugh! Their squeaky whines are like fingernails on a chalkboard now. Their perma-grins make me want to poke them in the eye. Their bad outfits make me want to send them to the Gap; or at least Old Navy. I don't want to hear or see them anymore. Especially Robert and Stephen. That pair are the longest, sharpest, nails on that get-along gang hand. This week, we've been watching the fire truck episode; over and over. Luckily, Stephen isn't in it, but Robert is. Skinnylegs McJunior does a whole song about how he wants to be a fireman when he grows up. Yeah, whatever Robert. The only fireman outfit I see in your future is the one you're wearing on stage between the police man and the Indian singing YMCA. Ouch. Zinger!
See, those kids bring out the worst in me! Luckily, it doesn't do that to my babies. In fact, the most amazing thing happened to me this weekend. My daughters sang to me. And they sang: "I love you, you love me..." I just about melted, right there and then. I'm not kidding, I may have actually teared up from the surge of joy and honor and blessedness that I was experiencing. It was a truly magnificent moment; and it hit me in stereo! I have to thank Barney for that experience as well.
I know the Dear Lord Baby Jesus wasn't born into this world for the sake of us Yankees alone, but the holidays on the "SunCoast" is a trip. I'm glad to see they celebrate His birthday in other parts of the world, though I can't even describe how peculiar it strikes me to see Christmas tree dealers set up in parking lots underneath circus tents shaded by 30 ft. palm trees & lighted wicker reindeer on the front lawns of homes next to open convertibles parked on crushed shell driveways. It's...It's...It ain't right.
