My kids have a really hard time understanding why they have to watch commercials sometimes.  I try to ‘splain the difference between watching something on cable versus the PS3 where we have Netflix and Amazon.  I tell them one is “cable box” and the other the “movie box” and sometimes I walk up to both (while giving a fantastic Vanna White impression) to point and explain again which has commercials, but they don’t get it.

We watched Ratatouille the other night on the PS3 – no commercials. This morning I found it on cable tv. Everything was right with the world until a commercial came on.

Twin B, the smaller one with an internal rage meter set to kill, asks disgustedly (for the 117th time):Doh, what’s dat fing?

Me: It’s a commercial, B.

Twin B: Well, what’s a mershel and why I gotta watch it?

Me: COMmercial, and I told you a hundred times. Sometimes the TV show needs a break so they show these little shows to get you excited about toys and Snackeez that you need to have immediately.

Twin A breaks in: Yeah, I need that fing! (points to a LEGO WCW ring)

Twin B: I don’t wanna watch the mershel. Make it stop. Radatoy don’t need a bweak.

Me: I can’t stop it. I have no control over what the TV does. And A, you’ll have to ask Santa for that.

Twin B: WAST night there weren’t no mershels when we watched da Radatoy.

Twin A: SANTA IS COMING??? NOW????

Me: Right, because we watched it on the (jumps up to Vanna point) movie box. And NO, Santa is not coming for a long time.

Twin B: Well, you can go get it on da movie box then.

Twin A: mumbles about Santa not coming

Me: Um, no, it’s almost time for school, and…(the screaming begins)

Twin B: I AM SO ANGRY!!! I HATE MERSHELS, THEY MAKE ME  SO MAD!!! (screams, stomps, throws Blankie in the air like he just don’t care)

He then picks up his cereal bowl and yells: I’M GONNA FWOW MY FWOOTY PETALS AT THE TV! I’M GONNA DO IT WIGHT NOW! (looks to make sure he has my attention). I’M GONNA DOOOOOOO IIIIIIT!!!

I jump up: Oh, you better not throw those Fwooty, er, FRUITY Pebbles anywhere, Mister!!

Twin A, who had his glorious shining “WTF hour of power” last night, came to the rescue: Well, Twin B, it’s ok, wook! The mershels over, see? We can watch Rata-too-ee again!

Twin B looks up, Ratatouille is back on, the sun came out, the angels sang, and his little 4 year old, 28 pound body returned to its pre-Hulk status. All was right with the world. For now.

Thank you, Twin A.

I hid in a closet waiting for the next mershel meltdown.

 

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