Marketed
About a week ago, Chris successfully attached an antenna to the side of our house and we said adios to Direct TV. It turns out that we've been spending a fortune on cable, but . . . WE don't really watch much TV. Partly due to time constraints, partly due to me preferring a book, partly due to me not liking the NOISE of TV.
The kiddos? Oh, that's another story. Turn on any TV in our house (okay, there are only two), and you'll find it's on Nick Jr. or Disney Junior. Well, before we disconnected the cable, that is.
So we realized we were spending So Much Money . . . on Nick Jr. and Disney.
So far, living without cable has been going beautifully. We don't bother turning on the TV in the morning, because what's the point? Which means less dragging the girls away from Paw Patrol to get freaking dressed.
They've played more. We've read more.
But I know that there is nothing more obnoxious than a holier-than-thou mommy blog post about how screens are evil and MY CHILDREN aren't being tainted by them.
So let me be clear: We are parents and we love TV. We have no shortage of screens in our house, we are in the thick of some sort of media practically all the time, and we also will give phones to our offspring in restaurants to keep them quiet and occupied after the joy of coloring the children's menu has ebbed. Okay?
Also, the only reason I have two seconds to write this blog post is because my two children are WATCHING A MOVIE. Which totally involves a screen.
No, the girls will still watch things--movies, streaming shows, etc. Frankly, our main goal was to just not waste so much moolah on something we don't really need.
Second, I signed up for Netflix to offset our lack of TV options from antenna basics and Amazon prime. I did close to the minimum--streaming plus one DVD per month. Chris has fought me getting Netflix for YEARS. He's super bitter that they lured away some of his best analysts and apparently I must be inconvenienced by his indignation.
But when the Gilmore Girls revival was announced? Yeah, that changed everything.
Chris has been gone for a week, doing a bit of an unplanned visit with his parents. (Long story.) But I realized . . . I'm a grown freaking woman. "I want Netflix," I texted him.
"No."
"I want it. And it's cheap."
"Noooo!"
"I'm signing up right now."
"Damn you and your independence and your own paycheck."
This morning, there were only two of us plus the good pastor in Sunday School (this is relevant, I promise). We've been going through the Sermon on the Mount little by little and the topic turned to how we are bombarded CONSTANTLY by marketing, capitalizing on that anxiety that You Don't Have This Product--How Do You Live?! TV commercials of course, along with much more targeted crap through social media and, to an extent, email.
"We just killed our cable," I announced, virtuously. Our reasons were simple: less waste of money, hopefully a smidge less screen time. But I hadn't even thought about . . . ridding my home of commercials, of messaging that tells my kids or us grown-ups: "Buy more buy more buy more. Don't be content. You need to upgrade this, don't miss this sale, look at this awesome toy you don't have!"
And marketing to children is particularly insidious because its effects are so immediately noticeable. There was time when there weren't commercials on the kid channels. Then the Nick Jr. Moose went away between shows and commercials filled in. Some aimed at moms (diapers, cleaning products) and the rest aimed at kids (crappy toys).
After every toy commercial, Charlotte would plead, "Mommy, I want that! I want that SO BAD! Mommy, can I have it?" Even for the mom-aimed stuff, she'd say, "Mommy, you should get that."
Ugh. Seeing that greed so easily tapped in her . . . that grasping, wanting, "what I have isn't enough"---it wasn't promoting good character, that's for dang sure. And believe me, saying "you have plenty of toys" or "tell Santa" falls on deaf ears.
Unlike many decisions that I second-guess, this one is proving so . . . good. I feel like we've shaken off several layer of excess, not paying for crap we don't need, not getting bombarded with ads, at least on TV, telling us there's so much out there we should need.
Book things, now.
The girls and I are reading Roald Dahl's delightfully creepy The Witches. We're nearing the end and Charlotte and Lorelei have already picked out what their next chapter book will be. Stay tuned.
I'm reading a lot of books right now, all at once. Because that's how I roll. I'm reading 100 Cupboards, a middle-grade novel that I just can't get into. It's draaaaaaagging. I can't imagine it holding Charlotte's interest, nor do I have any intention of reading the next books in the series. Am I missing something? Narnia it ain't. The end can't come fast enough.
I'm also reading Rosie, by Anne Lamott, which is about a suburban alcoholic mum single-parenting it. Lamott so brilliantly captured toddlerhood that the book could do little wrong from then forward, so take me liking it with a grain of salt. I'm also reading Moonglow by Michael Chabon as the result of a mommy wine night effort to do a book clubish thing. This is, naturally, a scheme to expand half-priced wine night at the local eatery to an additional night away from the evening routine and our spawn. (See, books are great for sooo many things.) Anyway, Moonglow plays with genre, mixing autobiography, biography, memoir, and fiction. I mean, what's not fun about that?!
The kiddos? Oh, that's another story. Turn on any TV in our house (okay, there are only two), and you'll find it's on Nick Jr. or Disney Junior. Well, before we disconnected the cable, that is.
So we realized we were spending So Much Money . . . on Nick Jr. and Disney.
So far, living without cable has been going beautifully. We don't bother turning on the TV in the morning, because what's the point? Which means less dragging the girls away from Paw Patrol to get freaking dressed.
They've played more. We've read more.
But I know that there is nothing more obnoxious than a holier-than-thou mommy blog post about how screens are evil and MY CHILDREN aren't being tainted by them.
So let me be clear: We are parents and we love TV. We have no shortage of screens in our house, we are in the thick of some sort of media practically all the time, and we also will give phones to our offspring in restaurants to keep them quiet and occupied after the joy of coloring the children's menu has ebbed. Okay?
Also, the only reason I have two seconds to write this blog post is because my two children are WATCHING A MOVIE. Which totally involves a screen.
No, the girls will still watch things--movies, streaming shows, etc. Frankly, our main goal was to just not waste so much moolah on something we don't really need.
Second, I signed up for Netflix to offset our lack of TV options from antenna basics and Amazon prime. I did close to the minimum--streaming plus one DVD per month. Chris has fought me getting Netflix for YEARS. He's super bitter that they lured away some of his best analysts and apparently I must be inconvenienced by his indignation.
But when the Gilmore Girls revival was announced? Yeah, that changed everything.
Chris has been gone for a week, doing a bit of an unplanned visit with his parents. (Long story.) But I realized . . . I'm a grown freaking woman. "I want Netflix," I texted him.
"No."
"I want it. And it's cheap."
"Noooo!"
"I'm signing up right now."
"Damn you and your independence and your own paycheck."
This morning, there were only two of us plus the good pastor in Sunday School (this is relevant, I promise). We've been going through the Sermon on the Mount little by little and the topic turned to how we are bombarded CONSTANTLY by marketing, capitalizing on that anxiety that You Don't Have This Product--How Do You Live?! TV commercials of course, along with much more targeted crap through social media and, to an extent, email.
"We just killed our cable," I announced, virtuously. Our reasons were simple: less waste of money, hopefully a smidge less screen time. But I hadn't even thought about . . . ridding my home of commercials, of messaging that tells my kids or us grown-ups: "Buy more buy more buy more. Don't be content. You need to upgrade this, don't miss this sale, look at this awesome toy you don't have!"
And marketing to children is particularly insidious because its effects are so immediately noticeable. There was time when there weren't commercials on the kid channels. Then the Nick Jr. Moose went away between shows and commercials filled in. Some aimed at moms (diapers, cleaning products) and the rest aimed at kids (crappy toys).
After every toy commercial, Charlotte would plead, "Mommy, I want that! I want that SO BAD! Mommy, can I have it?" Even for the mom-aimed stuff, she'd say, "Mommy, you should get that."
Ugh. Seeing that greed so easily tapped in her . . . that grasping, wanting, "what I have isn't enough"---it wasn't promoting good character, that's for dang sure. And believe me, saying "you have plenty of toys" or "tell Santa" falls on deaf ears.
Unlike many decisions that I second-guess, this one is proving so . . . good. I feel like we've shaken off several layer of excess, not paying for crap we don't need, not getting bombarded with ads, at least on TV, telling us there's so much out there we should need.
Book things, now.
The girls and I are reading Roald Dahl's delightfully creepy The Witches. We're nearing the end and Charlotte and Lorelei have already picked out what their next chapter book will be. Stay tuned.
I'm reading a lot of books right now, all at once. Because that's how I roll. I'm reading 100 Cupboards, a middle-grade novel that I just can't get into. It's draaaaaaagging. I can't imagine it holding Charlotte's interest, nor do I have any intention of reading the next books in the series. Am I missing something? Narnia it ain't. The end can't come fast enough.
I'm also reading Rosie, by Anne Lamott, which is about a suburban alcoholic mum single-parenting it. Lamott so brilliantly captured toddlerhood that the book could do little wrong from then forward, so take me liking it with a grain of salt. I'm also reading Moonglow by Michael Chabon as the result of a mommy wine night effort to do a book clubish thing. This is, naturally, a scheme to expand half-priced wine night at the local eatery to an additional night away from the evening routine and our spawn. (See, books are great for sooo many things.) Anyway, Moonglow plays with genre, mixing autobiography, biography, memoir, and fiction. I mean, what's not fun about that?!
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