I could write a lot about kids' tv and DVDs etc, and the merits or otherwise of each. I am interested in children's literature and media, in fact I've co-written a number of children's books, and have enjoyed writing for, teaching and working with children.
Personally, I had intended that Babe would not be introduced to tv until he was at least the age of consent but that was before I knew I'd have a baby who would be up at half five every day. These days my bottom line is that if the telly keeps him quiet from 6 - 8am, I'm not that bothered about him watching it.
A friend suggested recently that if I banned tv in the mornings, Babe may then stay in bed longer. Not a bad suggestion - tho' he has always been an early riser. I suppose I could buy a lamp he can switch on himself (he'd need one as he has a black-out blind) and insist that he plays with his toys in his room until 7am or something like that and may try it, once I have the energy to face the inevitable repercussions and tantrums. From OH that is...
OH has a certain Mediterranean (based on my experience, that is) adoration of the tv. I may have mentioned in a previous post my observation that in many households across Greece and Albania the tv acquires a shrine-like status in the sitting room, complete with croched doiley and ornament or religious icon on top.
It is not considered rude to continue watching tv if guests arrive, and I have cringed on numerous occasions when OH either refuses to turn the tv off when people come in, or will turn it on in the middle of conversation after a meal. Usually to tune in to 'Euronews' which he wrongly assumes our guests have the same interest in as he does.
He also has a Mediterranean liking of having all household appliances turned on at the same time: TV, stereo, radio, iron, etc, (well, ok, maybe not the iron) and then having to shout in order to make himself heard.
And being East European (sorry about these generalisations, I admit that's what they are) OH a) believes that most of what he hears on the tv is the 'truth' - thanks to communist brainwashing - he once suggested I try some wonder diet pills that were said to have been used by Princess Diana, because Albanian TV said they 'definitely' worked, and b) also has a dodgy liking for crap American movies, particularly the ones in which the plot centres around a canine with humanesque qualities. He will actually sit and laugh hysterically at such epics, cry at films about inept fathers and their sons/lost twin brothers etc, and was once asked if he was drunk on a flight back to the UK during which an inane kids cartoon (Tom and Jerry I believe) was making him roar out loud. But perhaps it's tension release at the strain of living with me.
Worse than all this, OH seems to be actively teaching Babe to sit and watch DVDs with him on Saturday afternoons, so that he can crash next to him on the sofa for a couple of hours. He has bought a huge number of kids' films from the supermarket and puts them on with great excitement, to Babe's bemusement. Although I strongly disapprove of this, I have had my own come-uppance in the films department and realise that I may be the bearer of double standards.
Recently a friend lent me a bunch of DVDs to take on holiday. I couldn't help but get excited about it. If I'm completely honest, I was delighted to discover you can get feature-length Thomas films and sometimes I put them on during the afternoon when OH is at work so that I can lie on the sofa and rest (see what I mean about the double standards? Why is it any less bad when I do it?).
One of the DVDs I was lent is about a tap-dancing penguin. It didn't occur to me to vet it. We sat down to watch, but a few scenes into the film, the cute baby penguin is being chased by horrible scary sea birds and gets stuck under the ice. I sat with growing discomfort, looking at Babe's face, and wondered how I could turn it off without worrying him further at my censoring of the material. I tried to interject with comments such as 'Oh, poor little penguin, I expect his friends are just about to arrive and play with him'. But when he got stuck Babe, with a look of horror on his face burst into tears and screamed at me, 'He's on his own and he's lost his mummy and his daddy!'
I can't tell you how bad I felt, that I had happened upon this experience unprepared. We kept watching until it became clear that the penguin was perfectly alright, but Babe had been confronted with a whole load of stuff I'd have preferred to introduce him to myself when I felt the time was right.
Also recently, I have taught Babe to surf youtube for video clips. He loves Thomas songs and one we had found on the official site called, 'What makes an engine happy? What makes an engine sad?' and which would make your heart ache to hear him sing along to, was suddenly removed.
In my efforts to track it down I had got as far as discovering the composer was a Lib Dem supporter living in the Totnes area, when a friend found the song for me on youtube. We were overjoyed! But I quickly discovered the frustration of either having to sit with Babe and watch all the related Thomas clips myself, or return to the computer every three minutes or so each time a clip ended. So it made sense to teach him to scroll through and click and select the clips himself.
I can't believe that as someone who works on the web, and on children's materials at times, it didn't occur to me to check that there weren't any dodgy clips among all those songs and episodes. But having watched hundreds with him, and usually being in the room with him while he watched them and not overheard anything inappropriate, I trusted the stuff and presumed it was all harmless Thomas fun for kids.
I certainly didn't expect to pop out of the room for a beaker of milk and come back in to hear a frightened Thomas call 'Help, help!', have his head blown from his tank and end up with it inverted, smoking, beside him on the tracks. I swooped to the laptop and slammed it shut (and we haven't been back to youtube since), but not before Babe said in a small voice,
'I don't like this one, Mummy, it makes me feel sad.'
Gah! The guilt! A steep learning curve and proof that you just can't be too careful with your kids. From now on, it's nothing but Thomas and Postman Pat, at tightly controlled and rigorous intervals...
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