Dear Children’s Television Programmers,
First and foremost, thank you. Thank you for the free babysitting, for teaching my child a second language (albeit Spanish when our official second language is French), and how to count. I know, I know. I should be nothing but grateful, yet here I sit with a bone to pick and a blog to pick it on.
I have to admit, that complaining about something that I could so easily avoid is totally bratty, but let’s just say I’ve learned from the best. Your best.
I. Hate. Caillou.
You’ve seen him. The four-year-old, stomping, whining, bratty, terror, who has somehow managed either the most impeccably coiffed bald head or has yet to grow a hair? Why has no one on the show addressed this? Like really, in all these four years, his mother’s never once thought to take him to the doctor? Condescending Grandma has never mentioned it?
Sure she looks all sweet and everything. But you KNOW she’s always passive aggressively smacking down mom. Maybe she doesn’t want to point any fingers in the esthetics department because she is eternally doomed to wearing nothing but that red fricking sack for her entire existence.
And while we’re on the fashion sense of Caillou, look at this.
Starting from the left and moving toward the right. Baldy McBaggysocks, Nooseneck McLoaferlover, Redsack VonHeadband, Baby deNeverGetsDressed, Tubecollar McLoaferlover, Doilycollarsack McMatchMyWristDoilies. Look at that poor mother’s sweater! It’s like it was designed as birth control. Gah…I do not understand!
And don’t EVEN get me started on his friends. Oooooh okay, wait, there is one that cannot go unnamed. Sorry Leo. As I’m sure you are aware the literal translation of “Leo” is ” Lion. Perhaps he was named after his mother who is actually a ferocious lion. Because I can not think of any other reason that this kid would be sent out into the wilds of pre-school with that haircut or THOSE PANTS?
Where do you find pants with that length of a rise? In the bucket department? And his mom was like, “I know. Sorry Leo, we only have these ridiculous pants with the incredible rise in them, so why don’t we just distract from them with these suspenders?” He wears those pants EVERY SINGLE DAY. It’ll be okay, Leo. Hang in there and one day you’ll be a successful business man. Like this guy.
Someone should tell him that his newspaper is just a bunch of scribbles. Anyway, where does this guy work? Sometimes he has a breifcase, sometimes he walks, sometimes he drives. But where the heck is he going? Not that I blame him. Maybe he just goes to the beach and buries himself up to his neck in sand so that no one can see what he’s wearing.
Anyway…I guess the fashion on Caillou really had a dark little place in me, all to itself. I didn’t even realize how strongly I felt about that until now.
But the real shame of Caillou is that he is telling children everywhere, that it is okay to be a brat.
The kid is four years old. He still talks like a baby ALL THE TIME, throws tantrums, and acts like a total brat. His mother tiptoes around him to avoid the wrath of Caillou, and he basically runs the show. This type of programming could cause a mutiny! Imagine if my four-year-old daughter started talking like a baby, throwing tantrums and acting like a brat…wait a second…um…that’s another post. But yeah, he’s always a brat and he’s particularly hard on his little sister, who for some reason, thinks he’s the bees knees.
Poor, poor little Rosie.
Anyway, my biggest complaint is that it’s just really annoying. Will it make my kids more whiny? I don’t really know. But I do know that even though it drives me INSANE, I’ve seen every single episode. I’ve even taken notes, like real notes…on real paper, to make sure that I can tell Chris how bad it was later on. It’s like those people on that TLC show, “My Strange Addiction.” Admittedly, I can’t say for sure, but I’d be willing to bet that couch cushions don’t taste THAT good, and the woman compulsively eating it KNOWS that she’s killing herself by doing it, but she just keeps going back for more. Caillou is my couch cushion. My big, bald couch cushion. Dig in.
Sorry, I just had to blow off a little steam. Some of those shows just make me want to pull my eyes out. Don’t even ask me about Toopie and Binou. Ouch.