Coming to terms with "Yo Gabba Gabba"
When my daughter was just six months old, we sat up at 2 a.m. one night during a terrible teething spell. With nothing better than an infomercial to watch I decided on "Yo Gabba Gabba," only because I had seen Joel McHale trash it a thousand times on "The Soup."
Ten minutes into it I began to worry that I had suffered a stroke--or was hallucinating--as it made no sense and seemed so ridiculous that I could not possibly see what I thought I was seeing. I shut the television off and just sat there in the dark clinging to my small child and prayed that the night would end soon, she would get some sleep and I would forget everything I had just witness.
Flash forward six more months: I was sitting in the kitchen one night practicing cake decoration while my one-year old cruised around the house in her walker. Noggin was on the television and she was moving back and forth from the kitchen the living room, when suddenly got it quiet...too quiet. I investigated the situation, only to find (to my horror) my child sitting quietly in her walker, her hands clasped in front of her, totally focused on D.J. Lance and the rest of the Yo Gabba Gabba gang. She was absolutely spell bound, and I nearly fell to my knees to weep.
My first test in mothering skills had failed. I neglected to monitor what my child was watching on television. Murder, sex, swear words--these were the things I was ready to protect her against and explain should the need arise. Not Jack Black in an orange spandex body suit riding a talking minibike. I just never saw that coming.
But I can not deny the joy it gives my daughter. She dances to "Don't bite your friends," "It's not fun to get lost," "Think happy thoughts," and "There's a party in my tummy." Those are lessons I can not dispute. I have no logical argument to counter debate any of their points. In fact, my biggest point of contention with the show is that Muno's foam suit tends to wrinkle and look incredibly cheap when he moves to much. Is that a reason to not let my daughter watch it? Well, no.
In fact, when I was a child and would get up at 6 a.m. to watch cartoons, there was a little show called "New Zoo Review" that always came on first. It was a pithy mix of real people and stuffed animal suited people dancing and singing. I loved Henrietta Hippo and Freddy the Frog. I watched it, I sang along and I turned out just fine. I think. I hope anyway.
So as long as she enjoys D.J. Lance, and never asks for a hat just like his, then I will allow the viewing of this show in my home. I will as long as it continues to teach kids to take naps, take turns, and not to throw things at your friends. Anything outside these realms will call for it's immediate cancellation from the Hagy household.
Ten minutes into it I began to worry that I had suffered a stroke--or was hallucinating--as it made no sense and seemed so ridiculous that I could not possibly see what I thought I was seeing. I shut the television off and just sat there in the dark clinging to my small child and prayed that the night would end soon, she would get some sleep and I would forget everything I had just witness.
Flash forward six more months: I was sitting in the kitchen one night practicing cake decoration while my one-year old cruised around the house in her walker. Noggin was on the television and she was moving back and forth from the kitchen the living room, when suddenly got it quiet...too quiet. I investigated the situation, only to find (to my horror) my child sitting quietly in her walker, her hands clasped in front of her, totally focused on D.J. Lance and the rest of the Yo Gabba Gabba gang. She was absolutely spell bound, and I nearly fell to my knees to weep.
My first test in mothering skills had failed. I neglected to monitor what my child was watching on television. Murder, sex, swear words--these were the things I was ready to protect her against and explain should the need arise. Not Jack Black in an orange spandex body suit riding a talking minibike. I just never saw that coming.
But I can not deny the joy it gives my daughter. She dances to "Don't bite your friends," "It's not fun to get lost," "Think happy thoughts," and "There's a party in my tummy." Those are lessons I can not dispute. I have no logical argument to counter debate any of their points. In fact, my biggest point of contention with the show is that Muno's foam suit tends to wrinkle and look incredibly cheap when he moves to much. Is that a reason to not let my daughter watch it? Well, no.
In fact, when I was a child and would get up at 6 a.m. to watch cartoons, there was a little show called "New Zoo Review" that always came on first. It was a pithy mix of real people and stuffed animal suited people dancing and singing. I loved Henrietta Hippo and Freddy the Frog. I watched it, I sang along and I turned out just fine. I think. I hope anyway.
So as long as she enjoys D.J. Lance, and never asks for a hat just like his, then I will allow the viewing of this show in my home. I will as long as it continues to teach kids to take naps, take turns, and not to throw things at your friends. Anything outside these realms will call for it's immediate cancellation from the Hagy household.
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