I mean, aside from the babysitting the little buggers when you might otherwise be slurping gin in quiet motherly desperation, there are very few redeeming qualities to television for children. Even language development skills go by the way when the inanimate faces of stuffed puppet people don't even pretend to talk. Jumping up and down and clapping your big puffy hands demonstrates joy but it is a tad limited as education in human interactions.
Then there are plots, or not, in some cases. I assume some shows are very popular with chronic dope-heads sitting on their sofas eating jumbarooni containers of peanut-related snackies at 4 am. (Note to self, if I ever take to such hobbies, Costco is just the place for snackies.) I knew one such lad whose idea of a good night at home was the weather channel. I love the weather but even I don't want to spend my nights watching storm cells forming over Siberia.
Finally, characterisation. Not every one plays with their friends and siblings in a kind, flexible and constructive manner. No, really. It is true. Watching Pepper, her snorting little brother and her zoological friends sharing, giggling and generally getting along does not seem entirely accurate to me. Further, I am not sure it is helping my monsters when they are totally sick of each other and generalised niggling breaks into shouts and shoves, followed by a good, solid kick.
Oh well, on the up side the girls don't watch the lower level crap on commercial TV. There are limited merchandising opportunities on the national broadcaster and no opportunity to convince my children that grease-a-rama crap is a valid dinner choice.
|"No, you do not need a Hootabelle umbrella. You neither."|