Posts Tagged Peppa Pig
This morning Baby woke up at 5.30. We tried various tactics to get her to go back to sleep but it wasn’t happening and at 5.50 I called it and brought her down. Judge me if you want but at that time in the morning I need a vat of coffee and I need to laze on the sofa. The electronic baby sitter is called in to early use. It’s that or vaguely hoping she’s learned how to open the fridge make her breakfast and eat it in a mood of silent contemplation. Like a nun only with Coco Pops skillz.
Now I know what you are thinking. Ah! Cbeebies! I wish. I really fucking wish.
Boy was brought up on CBeebies because we were good and diligent middle class parents who wanted our child to learn to talk by watching a nocturnal blue sponge snog a doll while an OCD thing collected and cleaned stones, some pre-school punks took their trousers off and no-one at all, narrator apart, actually send anything intelligible. He progressed on to Show Me Show which I like purely for the things that Pui dressed as the Grand Old Duke of York did to my brain given I’d watched her earlier, slightly more risqué acting roles. Eventually, luckily before Mr Bloom really came out, but too late to avoid 3rd and Bird (of which more later) Boy considered CBeebies ‘too baby-ish’ and moved on to Nick Jr. I know the irony.
Then Baby arrived.
Baby absorbed Nick Jr by osmosis. Peppa Pig, in particular, became a kind of 5 minute subliminal advert. Nick Jr was all she knew as a small one, television wise and so, when Baby is got up in the early hours it is Nick she wants. She used to just shout “PIG!” but has at least progressed on to “Daddy, Pig please”, but neither command is asking for crispy bacon. She wants Peppa.
That early however the Pig episodes are the bread to a Thomas the Tank Engine sandwich. This is less popular with her but heaven forbid you should touch that dial because then YOU MIGHT NOT SWITCH IT BACK OVER AGAIN. Ever wondered why Ringo Starr was a drummer? Watch Thomas the Fucking Tank Engine. The lazy scouse drawl grates on you after about 5 seconds and by the end of the episode you will want to put a set of drums through the screen. Don’t. These you will need for later.
Pig is next. Much has been written about Peppa. Boy and Baby both adore it though, of course, as a portrayal of family life it’s about as accurate as East Enders is a portrayal of the goings on at Eton. It snows in winter and is sunny in summer yet there is always a muddy puddle around to jump in. Learning to ice skate takes 5 minutes. There are no empty Smirnoff Ice bottles and used condoms in the playground bit of the park and ONLY Peppa and her friends go there. There is only one road in and out of Peppa Pig land and it never has any traffic. Pre-school is sometimes real school and it comes with no set dates, no school run and no OFSTED reports. No one needs to do meal planning – it’s spaghetti every night. Both children drop off to sleep with just a song or a story and if they’re sick, Dr Brown Bear gives them some foul tasting medicine (which they take without complaint) and it cures them almost instantly.
Most of all, just over the next hill are Grandpa Pig and Granny Pig and whenever it gets too much they come and babysit or have the children over to stay or take them out on their boat or let them play in their, frankly humungous garden. They have an orchard. A boat. They have a telescope for star gazing. I bet Grandpa pig could even rustle up a fun fair at the drop of a hat. Grandpa Pig, I suspect of being a greedy baby-boomer cunt who bought his house and orchard for tuppence back in the day and is now a multi-millionaire property owner with a free bus pass.
Daddy Pig I like however. He barbeques, works in an office and plays football. He’s enormously fat but he’s a hands on dad with a sense of humour and a total inability to read maps. He’s a lot like me. I have Dad empathy with Daddy Pig and I most admire his ability to make light of semi-disasters where I would be contemplating a complete meltdown. For this reason he’s my favourite kids TV character and he just about saves Peppa Pig from it’s socially unrealistic torpor.
Anyway, Pig finished and The Bopps came on. This is where you will need the drums you held back earlier because they WILL have you throwing stuff at the telly. Imagine a pair of whacky school teachers singing lyrics about squirrels to fourth rate indie while wearing comedy Sgt Pepper outfits and all the time, gap toothed 7 year olds in Boden dance round them. The temptation not to scream OH JUST FUCK OFF is immense. It is the low-lite of my morning. The only thing – only thing – that keeps me in check when The Bopps appear is knowing that if I switch to CBeebies I risk an encounter with 3rd and Bird.
3rd and Bird is the worst programme ever made and just typing it has made my blood boil. Essentially some cartoon / puppet (I never worked out which) birds live in a tree and do utterly meaningless stuff IN SONG. Yes it’s an avian musical and so horrific is the music that it makes Lloyd-Webber look like Bach, Mozart, Miles Davis and John Lennon combined. I have not adequate words to describe it beyond this and, if I carry on with this rant much longer I’ll burst a blood vessel so I’ll leave you with the intro so you can see for yourself. DO NOT watch this if you are currently in a good mood or you value your laptop screen.
What’s your worst or even favourite kids show? I suspect I know @motherventing ‘s answer……..
One of the things we said very often when Mrs S was pregnant with Baby and we worried about doubling our issue was ‘we’ll bring her up just the same (as Boy)’. 16 months in how’s that going? Not well. I was reminded of this again this weekend as we had a family lunch out at a local Italian. There were 8 of us in total, 7 at the table and Baby on the end in a high chair. As soon as we’d sat down a family were shown to the table next to us and they had a child, a little younger than Baby who also required a high chair. This family were going to be allies I thought. We smiled at their baby and they smiled at ours. We exchanged small talk. The Mum in particular was charming and I christened her Nice Woman Opposite (she will be NWO for the rest of the story).
Time to order. We all put in our orders which included a cheese and tomato pizza for Baby and Boy to share. NWO frowned a little. Baby in fact ate a little of her pizza, a little of mine and a little of Mrs S’s chicken salad because she will generally only eat off your plate (of which more later). NWO pulled out an Organic baby food pouch for their L.O. and fed him a cursory bit of pasta from her plate. Then it was time for dessert orders. I ordered chocolate cake, winked at Baby and said ‘don’t worry you can have some too’. NWO frowned again. When the cake arrived Baby strained at her harness like a chained Alsatian just out of range of a T-Bone Steak. She nearly toppled the high chair forward. Her eyes were wider than Arfur Daley. I took 2 big forks, popped one in my mouth and the other in Baby’s and she wolfed it in one go and said ‘More’. NWO’s frown had moved on to more steam coming out of ears. When the waiter took their dessert order she pointedly looked at her babe-in-high-chair and said ‘and nothing for him please’. I reconsidered the ‘N’ part of her epithet.
The wife and I got to discussing this in the evening in a vaguely puzzled manor until one thing dawned on us. Their child was a first and so-far-only. We thought back. Boy had not been given chocolate much before he was about 2 and a half. He was weaned on jars and pouches and a trip out meant a tuppaware container of fruit. The poor sod never got anywhere near the desert menu. We were massively over-paranoid about giving him sugar. His fat was controlled by the book. So was his salt. Then we’d had another child and we’d taken the rule book and thrown it out of the window. Ooops. Here’s how else we’ve treated them differently:
Naps: Boy had a routine regular nap and was put down for it every day whether tired or not. Baby naps on demand. Boy stopped napping at 11 months. Baby has one or two a day depending on how she feels.
Food: As mentioned Boy was weaned on a mixture of jars, pouches and home made purees. Baby normally only wants what’s on YOUR plate. Anything else might be eaten or might be thrown. It’s so 50/50 Noel Edmunds could turn it in to a game show (‘Food or No Food’). We haven’t pureed her a thing.
Television: Boy was introduced to this very slowly and then given very little time each day with CBeebies. One of Baby’s current words is ‘pig’ (or actually ‘pi’) said while pointing at the TV. It means ‘put Peppa on right NOW or I will destroy you. *maniacal laugh*’. If we hadn’t resorted to the electronic baby sitter the house would literally NEVER be tidy and the pair of us would be in a loony bin somewhere gibbering about petunias and forgetting our meds.
Bedtime Story: Boy would not go to sleep unless you were in the room too. Thus I made him up lots of bedtime stories to save myself going bonkers in the nut (and in the dark). Baby will virtually dismiss you from her presence the second her ‘jamas and bub-bag go on. This is good for our evening time but it means I have never made her up one single story and I feel bad about this.
So – if you have more than one child did you manage to bring them all the same? If so please leave a comment as I’d love to know how it’s done. If you are considering upgrading from one to two then take the above as a warning. But if you have done things a bit different with your later children then I’m setting up a support group. “Slightly Sloppy Parents of Two or More”. Bring gin / rum. And chocolate.