I may be changing my opinion of children’s cartoons. I’m just not sure they’re providing very good role models for the kiddies.
I was shaving when Miss4 came in to flush the toilet she’d forgotten to flush earlier in the morning. This is a common occurence with our kids. The toilet is in the bathroom which is also the laundry, so there’s always a heap of people wandering through and I guess they just get to talking and forget.
When my daughter went to leave I blocked the door.
“What’s the password?” I asked Miss4.
“Let me out,” she said.
“No, what’s the password you wanted Mummy to give you?”
Last night, Tracey told me a story about Miss4 standing spreadeagled across the doorway to the office, refusing to let her mother pass.
“What’s the password?” she’d said.
There had been no discussion of passwords in the lead up to this confrontation, but Tracey, like all good mothers, knew the answer.
“Please,” she said, because manners open doors. And unblock them. Or so she thought.
“No,” said Miss4. “That’s not it.”
“Is it thank you?”
“Open Sesame? Alohomora? Move?”
“No, Mummy,” said Miss4 with a sigh and an exaggerated eye-roll, like this was taking waaaaay too long.
Tracey was having similar thoughts.
“Is it get out of the way or you might end up on the naughty corner?” she asked.
“No, Mummy,” said Miss4, moving not one inch and clearly choosing to ignore the threat.
“I give up,” said Tracey.
“It’s Daddy’s fat,” said Miss4, moving to one side.
Naturally Tracey sprung to my defense, telling her that isn’t a very nice thing to say. After the obligatory outburst of laughter. Obviously.
“I’m not being nasty, Mummy,” insisted Miss4. “I’m just saying the truth. Daddy’s fat.”
“Sweetie, you can’t say things like that,” Tracey went on.
“Okay,” Miss4 finally conceded as she went off towards the lounge room, presumably to clog up another doorway with derogatory remarks. She’d nearly made it through the kitchen when she cast one final comment loudly over her shoulder. “But you know Daddy is fat, hey?”
So when I met up with Miss4 in the bathroom I decided to explain to her how skinny I was, since she seemed to be struggling with the concept.
“The password?” I prompted her.
“Daddy’s fat,” grinned my daughter.
I sucked my stomach in and slapped my belly. “No, I’m not. See! I’m a skinny minny.”
And, I kid you not, she looked absolutely shocked. Juggling dogs on horseback wouldn’t have amazed her more.
“Daddy!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think you could touch your belly. I thought your arms were too tiny.”
And she ran off.
Baffled, I explained this to Tracey a short time later and she did her increasingly annoying burst out with laughter thing again.
“It’s because you keep comparing yourself to Daddy Pig,” she told me. “Have you seen his arms?”
So pleasingly we’ve confirmed that I am not that fat and it’s all that damned Daddy Pig’s fault. Clearly he’s not the role model I thought he was.
Yep, I’m wondering if I should go right off Peppa Pig and look for a different cartoon to introduce to the family. How old before the kids can start watching The Simpsons, do you think?
🙂 please share 🙂
“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”