As if mothers don't have enough to worry about, like granny panty wedgies and remembering to pack our Prep H wipes along with the baby ones, we now must be concerned as to whether we are providing as much educational stimulation as possible.
But you knew that, right? Apparently every moment must be a teaching moment. I mean, if Baby Einstein had their way, we'd all be purchasing their color coded dinner ware. Clearly, my son needs to have a spoon and bowl that spells out the color of it otherwise he will be sorely behind all his peers of the same age. Soon we'll be dressing our babies in onesies that say "BLUE," you know, in case our babies can see their onesie, read it, and learn the color before the kid down the block could and beat his little ass out of the last open spot at Princeton, Class of 2025.
And because I don't buy into that shit, my friends, makes me incredibly careless. Or at least that's what all these toy makers would have us think.
The same goes for the "super baby" classes -- baby yoga, cirque du sol-baby, and all the 200 other classes that tout advanced developmental learning for your child who can barely see past his own nose let alone move rhythmically to the music. And while I've taught and enjoyed mommy-baby music classes, it's never been to ensure my daughter's status of Concertmaster of the Philadelphia Orchestra. It's more because I think they can be valuable as a social and musical experience, let alone allowing you to interact with them over more than just a screaming match. That's worth the $150 for 10 weeks right there. Or, at least you subtract that amount from their therapy later in life.
But what about television? Since our basic cable doesn't afford us Noggin privileges (I know. I nearly cried to the cable guy), I've been researching some new shows, one of which is called "Word World" and will be airing soon on PBS. And as you might have guessed from the title, all the cute creatures and their surroundings (for the most part) are made out of words.
It's not as scary as it sounds. The narrator, however, is scary. William H. Macy he is not.
But really, it's a lovely concept. The characters are adorable, the music is tolerable, and the scenery is well, wordy. Well, everything is wordy. And for the most part, it makes sense, except for the BEAR who is tall and therefore spells RAEB unless you tilt your head over. And hey, my daughter can spell BOX because they show the picture, spell it out, and sing it a few thousand times.
B-O-X BOX! B-O-X BOX!
Okay. We get it.
But when it comes down to it, I wonder if it's just a bit much -- if we're inundating our three year olds (the bottom target age for this show) with way too "educational" information. We've got the toys that talk, whistle, and now apparently poison us. And we've got the classes and the preschools with application processes longer than college. So do we really need another show that helps our three-year-olds read?
Of course my daughter enjoyed the show. She asks to watch it several times a day, and considering we're still mourning the loss of The Backyardigans, I'll happily let her. But instead of giving in every time she asks, I direct her to the huge pile of blocks, legos, and other toys that she can play with to her heart's content.
Plus, we live in the South. No one here knows how to read anyway.
But seriously. Have we gone a bit too far with this? Or do you owe your reading 14 month old to Baby Einstein?
If you're feeling ranty today, write a post in honor of this mom and all those damn nasty trolls out there.
And once you're done with all that, check out this cool blog blast today. Have you seen this new service yet? I'm going to reco my car just on the fact that the backseat is roomy enough to have sex in (although not anymore with those damn carseats). The prizes (5) rock. Post anytime today to be entered.