And then there's the (very) regular ten-minute-long commercial breaks filled with adverts that provide plenty of nagging-fodder for the kids. "But I really, really want one, pleeeeeeeeeeeease!!!!"
With due respect to those good people who have the perhaps unenviable task of coming up with new and exciting toy concepts for the likes of Fisher Price, John Adams and Ideal, or being sacked......what on earth is Doggie Doo, Gooey Louie and Silly Moo?!
Hey kids, it's just fine to pick your nose (or even someone elses), play with the findings and then put it back but be careful, poke around to much and your brain will explode. And hey, next time you see a pile of animal faeces, just pick it up and play with it, to hell with the raft of illnesses and blindness it could cause not to mention the disgusting smelling and staining properties, you're mum will be just thrilled if you bring it home.
If you're thinking of purchasing Doggie Doo (well, for a start, STOP READING MY BLOG!) you might want to check out the Amazon reviews first. Many reviewers observe that the pooh gets stuck inside the Doggy and you will need a screwdriver to open the dog and remove the blockages on a regular basis. Maybe the game should include a small bag of prunes or some Dulcolax.
There are no reviews yet for Silly Moo. But it appears the basic premise is that you squeeze it's nipples (sorry, udders) until it 'delivers' either milk or excrement and her eyes pop out when she's fully milked. Dear God, what next? And don't get me started on the Blingles kits, for six to 12-year-olds to decorate their iPhone 5.
What happened to Space Hoppers, Pick-a-Stick, Kalashnikov-toting Action Man and who could forget Barbie and Ken. Good, clean, wholesome fun.....(!?)
Which reminds me mum, I still haven't forgiven you for taking Tiny's head off because sand got in her blinking eyes rendering her not so much Tiny Tears as Tiny Stares.
Speaking of children's toys, we played an enjoyable hour-long game of 'Where's Waggy?' the night before last. No, (it's not a typo) not the traditional picture-book hunt for the little cheeky chap in the red and white striped sweater. 'Where's Waggy?' involved an international late night man-hunt (well, cat-hunt) for a small stuffed toy who goes by the name of Waggy. (My young son's capacity to create names for his vast collection of much-loved teddy-bears is outstanding).
It's 10 o'clock and the five-year-old is still wide awake because he can't find Waggy. We turn the house upside down. We turn the garage upside down, and check the front and back gardens of all houses in the cul-de-sac. No sign. We turn the neighbour's house upside down; nothing. I ring his brother in Portugal for advice, 'where was the last time he saw Waggy?' Good advice.
Now Waggy has a special place in our home, not to mention a growing collection of belongings. Currently he lives in a shoebox, has a strawberry box bed with two sets of duvet and pillow cases made out of kitchen roll and designed with a felt-tip drawing to mirror Daniel's own duvet sets. Waggy also owns his own rail card, piece of polyestyrene, elastic band collar with a real cat's bell which Daniel found under a bush in the park and one of those keyring coins you use in the supermarket trolley (also found by Daniel). Waggy has his own front door key (an old suitcase lock key) and a sticker for being brave at the dentist.
Hey, great TV idea Britain's Biggest Hoarders; the Children Chronicles. I'll sign him up now.
Anyway, to cut a long story short (!?), we found Waggy, in his shoe box!! Why the Hell nobody had thought to look there in the first place is beyond me. I had to make around six phone calls to reassure various fellow Waggy-hunters that he was safe and well and they could go to bed.
I don't think I can top this story today, except maybe for one quick parenting tip. The sign advising that a soft play area is for under fives should be adhered to by all, especially people in their 40s.
It drives me bonkers to see grown men and women scrambling around encouraging their children to have fun. If they're not having fun without you in a soft play area, please just go home and stick CITV on!
I speak from experience. Years ago, as a new mum, seeing other parents in the play area with their toddlers, I thought this must be the 'done thing' and headed in. I came unstuck, or should I say stuck, almost immediately. I tried to squeeze through one of those horizontal roller mangle thingy-me-bobs. Basically, I got my head through and, with a lot of huffing and puffing, got my boobs through. Then I became stuck, totally stuck. I couldn't go backwards (must have been some untimely hormonal swelling going on), and I couldn't go forwards. The foam rollers, with all their soft squishy-ness, would quite simply not compress sufficiently to allow my arse to pass through.
I did, of course, finally manage to escape, thankfully before anyone went to find a screwdriver!! (cue winking smiley face!)
