Damn you, Caillou

I don’t know about you, but when I go to Target with my kids in tow, it’s usually one mortifying moment after another. My son will be screaming at the top of his lungs because he wants to leave while my daughter is standing her ground in the toy aisle because she refuses to. But this week on one of four trips to Target, my daughter made me prouder than I’ve ever been.

We’re walking through the toy section looking for yet another birthday present when the following conversation ensued between us.

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: No.

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: No.

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: What part of no did you not understand?

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy aren’t real (clearly she wasn’t listening and I could say anything I wanted).

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: Fuck, shit, damn, crap, boobies, asshole (like I said, not listening at all).

ZOEY: Can I get a toy?

ME: Okay, fine.

So apparently the person who wears the pants in our family is actually the person who refuses to wear anything but a dress, or rather a princess dress with a crown. Now usually when I tell Zoey she can get a toy, she picks out five and I tell her one, and she says four and I say two and she ends up with three. But this time she wanted one. One single toy. A beautiful black Barbie doll.

Here was my strawberry-blonde, blue-eyed daughter standing before a wall of white Barbie dolls with bleach blonde hair, and she picked the lone black one. I have never been so proud. Did all of my conversations to teach her that skin color doesn’t matter actually pay off? I’m going to say yes and pat myself on the back for a job well done.

Then again, today I noticed that her new black Barbie doll is already lying at the bottom of the toy bin completely abandoned for a new little blonde doll named Lemon Meringue, which made me freak out and think that my daughter might be a strawberry-blonde, blue-eyed racist. And then when we were making brownies today, she tasted the brownie batter and the chocolate that ended up on her face looked suspiciously like Hitler’s mustache. Hmmm, coincidence? I’m just going to blame it all on Caillou. Damn that little white skinhead.

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.


2 Responses to Damn you, Caillou

  1. lol…Caillou I cannot stand! Why does a 4 year old not have any hair? Did they run out of marker when putting everyone else’s hair on then when it came to Cai (as my daughter loves to call him) oh well fresh outta ink! At least give him 3 strands on top.

    • Honestly, I don’t know who Caillou is but that may be because my kids are too old to want to watch it. Right now Pete’s wtnicag Futerama which I hate. (he’s 20)Oh, I was going to write about technology. I love it but have to fight with it some cause it gets the best of me. Tom’s XBox just developed it’s second set of dreaded red rings,he plays with I have no idea who online (violent war games, some people hate that he can do that too)and yes he has a my space. Not that any of that excites me but I’m too old to fight about it and I’d probably lose anyhow.[]

Leave a Reply