Sunday Drive

We watch a lot of The Wiggles around here.

It started out innocently enough. MB used to have zero interest in TV at all, which was great in some ways--we could smugly feel like we weren't caving and using the TV as a babysitter.

But then, in other ways it was a pain. Like, when we needed to use the TV as a babysitter.

As in, when I need to take a shower while she is awake. Or when Lee needs to get dressed for work without Mary Bullock dragging every pair of shoes he owns out of the closet and into the middle of the floor.

So when we realized that she loved The Wiggles, we were pretty excited. They're not terribly obnoxious. They model polite behavior. They sing and dance and have cute accents.

But now. Well, now MB's Wiggles mania has reached truly outlandish proportions. As in, she wants to watch The Wiggles every time we get into the car, even if we're driving three blocks away.

I used to try to reason with her about this, but then she just figured out how to turn the DVD player on herself, and my efforts became futile.

But today, for some reason that I could not figure out by looking at the DVD player backwards and upside down from the front seat, the DVD would not come on.

Widdles, Mama?
Sorry, Bug. I don't know what's wrong with it. We'll be home in a few minutes.
Widdles, Mama! Widdles! Widdles on? 
Sorry, sweetheart. I know you want The Wiggles, but they're not working right now.
Widdles, Mamaaaaaaaa! Widdles! 
And on and on she goes.

[sigh]
Lee is driving. I put my hand on his back and rub. Poor Daddy. He has been working like a slave in his own house the last few weeks-- putting together play kitchens, painting nursery furniture.

Mary Bullock observes from the backseat.
Daddy pat Mama back?
Lee takes her suggestion and pats my back.
Everybody smiles,  and the car is quiet.
Then a little voice from the back:

Widdles?