Ever since I became a mother, the myriad influences that could impact my kids’ fragile minds and bodies have been a priority. We adjusted our home and habits: The laundry detergent changed, food ingredients were scrutinized before the kids were fed and we took care to expose their developing minds to the best elements possible for learning.
When Layla, Nia and Darius were little, I wasn’t content to set them in front of a program just because the ratings said they were appropriate for their ages; I would sit down with them and watch to determine that on my own. I didn’t expect to enjoy the shows with my tastes in mind, but just to clarify whether or not the content was clean fun and had educational value.
Each weekday, we usually followed a routine: morning cuddles, diaper change, breakfast, storytime and then, after the news, the babies got a little tube time. Sesame Street was a given classic, along with newer shows such as Dinosaur Train, VeggieTales, Wild Kratts, Dora the Explorer, Arthur, Doc McStuffins and Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.
But no matter what, one show would get turned off quickly every single time: that irksome, irritating Caillou.
Normally, I have love for entertainment from Canada — Celine Dion and Deborah Cox,