Rebel Without a Brain

This is unedited, written a few years ago...
JUST CALL ME A REBEL WITHOUT A BRAIN

Having worked in the mental health side of the education field for over a decade before I had any children, I heard lots of rules about parenting that I fully expected to put into practice when I became a parent. With every passing year, I seem to find myself breaking them more and more. There are certain rules that are unfortunately tried and true that I follow, like “don't let your children play in the road”, but there are others that I question. For instance “don't use the TV as a babysitter”. Pre-children, I would have said “why would any good mother do that?” Now I ask myself, “well why would anyone use the television for anything other than as a babysitter?” I remember when my daughter was about 18 months old I guiltily put the only video we owned in the VCR. It was an old Easter special that I had picked up at a yard sale, and I used it only out of desperation in order to get the dishes done. My heart would leap when it was time to do the dishes and my daughter would start asking for the movie. As my husband was upstairs doing his schoolwork and I had no hope of a human babysitter, I knew this video was a gift from God that allowed me half an hour to clean the kitchen unencumbered. Like any bad mother, sometimes on rare occasions I put the movie on twice. My sons didn't develop an interest in TV until well into their two's, and believe me I celebrated when the long-awaited miracle finally happened. Of course, now I'm dealing with the long term effects of my short-term relief and fighting with them to turn off the damned TV.

Another rule about TV is “always watch television with your kids”. Well, the kids only watch public television or educational videos (mostly) in my house, and I figure the people who put on these shows know more about education than do I so I toss all my trust in their direction. When my preschoolers are asking me how to spell “molecules”, I bask in the false security that television is somehow good for them – in reasonable doses, of course. Once when I suggested to my three year old son that because it was late he could skip brushing his teeth just this once, he became panicked and said “but if I don't brush I'll get bacteria on my teeth”! It said so on TV, I guessed. However, in one valiant attempt to be a good mother, I did decide to follow the rules a couple of times and settled in dutifully to watch Caillou. After about ten minutes I started feeling terribly depressed and inadequate. Not only that, but I felt that my husband was also inadequate. Caillou's house is always cheerfully colored and clutter-free. Although Caillou is one of the biggest brats I have ever seen, his parents are proverbially, sickeningly NICE. Sure he gets consequences when he breaks a plant pot and then lies and says his imaginary friend did it, but the patient parents take the time to explain and make a lesson out of it – delivered with an even temper and loving tone of voice. They back each other up always (at least when I've seen them). Of course they have the time, because they are always HOME! Once Caillou broke a doorknob, and the dad fixed it right then and there! Not next week, or next year, with Mrs. Caillou nagging and swearing at him to fix the damned doorknob that he broke two years ago. What's more, he knew right where to find the screwdriver. He didn't even have to search the kids' bedrooms to find it. I was so shocked I almost dropped the dish I was washing (no multitasking mother is going to SIT and watch TV by the way – that would be breaking my own rule). Not only was it always Saturday at Caillou's house, or they were trust-funders or whatever, but they live in a wonderful neighborhood where there is a sledding hill and a forest in the back yard, yet there is a well-maintained sidewalk out front and it is a short walk to the park, the post office and stores, but no traffic. I can't believe I was comparing my life to a cartoon! I finally said that I'm either going to have to stop watching PBS or else talk to my doctor for a prescription and a referral for therapy – in that order. Maybe I can get some of what Caillou's parents are taking (or smoking). Maybe they're drug dealers and that's why they're home and happy all the time. That's it – No More PBS! But then who would babysit and teach my kids to brush their teeth twice a day and remind them to remind me to read to them fifteen minutes a day?(although that doesn't seem like much to me)? Never mind. A little TV will keep them connected to the world. It's all about balance (my new mantra). Just about anything goes, as long as it's all about balance and degree. It's more fun to make up my own rules. (in case anyone is interested, four rolls of toilet paper appeared next to the computer right in my line of sight, and I know not how they got there.).