Good Day, Awkward Silence! I Said GOOD DAY!

I need television. I've decided that I actually need television.

For years, I have gone without it. I told myself that I didn't need it, want it or care about it. It was true for the time. I spent my days reading, painting, thinking, writing, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, working...basically everything you would be doing if you didn't have a television sucking the life-force from the empty shell you call your body. I held my non-televisionness as a badge of honor. Saying, "Oh, I don't watch TV," was one of my favorite conversation starters. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was a conversation ender because someone would say, "Did you see Dancing with the Stars last night?" and I would say, "No, I don't watch television," with a sense of pretention, and they would stop talking to me. It's kind of like when I take The New Yorker with me on flights, and I always, always end up buying a People at the newsstand before boarding the plane. I then read the People from cover to cover, lamenting to myself at how I had every intention of reading the short story that's single-spaced and 8 pages long.

Anyway...back to my point: You'd be amazed with how many times people will ask you if you've seen something on TV if you don't watch TV. This being said, I am still quite knowledgeable in the subject of all things "television" because I have the internets. I also have a special little internets program called Netflixes, so I can watch stuff on there. (I'm in the mood to make everything plural as a ploy for more laughs...bear with me.)

I blame my newly realized need for television on the human boy that I made. He takes up a lot of my time. Aka: all of it. The endless hours of bouncing and swaying sometimes seem to overwhelm me. I ocassionally think, "Is this what I do now? I just sway and bounce? How long do I do this? Will he ever get tired of swaying and bouncing? When will he not be so damn gassy? The fussiness has got to get better at some point, right?" Then the questions turn on me.

"Who have I become? Am I where I thought I'd be? Will I ever paint again? Do I even like who I am now? What happens when we die? What if everyone is right about everything and I am wrong? Am I a horrible mother because I'd rather be sleeping in an empty hotel room than bouncing my human boy right now? I have a deep need to be alone. Is that bad?"

I then realized that this constant questioning of my soul, mothering abilities, and entire life plan could all be easily fixed, and I have found the answer.

It's television.

I realized this today while swaying at Granddad and Nan's house. For some reason, the swaying didn't bother me. The endless bouncing wasn't so...endless. Each bounce didn't propel me towards a black hole of wondering about how life all fits together (or gets torn apart). I was happily rocking and dancing and lifting and comforting. Do you know why?

It's because I was watching the opening pitch of the Tulsa Drillers' season in their brand spankin' new stadium on a huge flatscreen. Tim McGraw was there. It was lovely. Then, after that was done (because who really watches an entire minor league baseball game on television?), there were TWO, count em' TWO hours of NBC Thursday night comedy. By the time Liz Lemon had figured out the answer to yet another relationship problem, it was time to go home, nurse and put my human boy to sleep!

Done and done, my friends. The night was over. And, it had all been made better by my ol' tried and true, trusted friend: TV.

Granddad said, "I don't know how you do it over at your house, watching that boy with no TV."

I then wondered to myself, "How in the hell DO I do it?" Here's how:

1. Wake up. Feed. He looks at "fan" (We no longer call it "the fan" because it's a loved member of our household now...yes, we personified the ceiling fan. You make sacrifices, okay?)...anyway, he looks at "fan" for about 20 minutes while smiling and cooing. He really loves that damn fan.

2. Diaper change. Go downstairs. Place on Boppy Newborn Lounger. Lots of talking and description of what Mom is doing. Mom gets coffee so she can repeat this process for the next 9 hours.

3. Off to living room for "Breakfast with the Beatles." This is where I put on Beatles records, yes, records, and dance around singing while my human boy sits in his vibrating chair and watches me. He's quite fond of "Penny Lane" and "Hey Jude." Also, I'd like to remind everyone that The Beatles are freakin' geniuses, and most of their songs sound like childrens' songs. There's no need to go out and buy some crappy cartoon character CDs. The Beatles have it down. It's pretty amazing, actually. Grey loves this time. He looks at me like I'm crazy. He also smiles.

4. Diaper, feed, 30 minute nap...yes, a whole, whopping 30 minutes (have no clue why), blah, blah, blah...do it all over again 80 million more times...start getting bored, questions start to come, questions start to turn on me...

5. Rinse, repeat. Everything happens all over again. Blee-bloe-blue...bor-ing, bor-ing.

Seriously, how HAVE I done it? Think if I had a little "Real Housewives of New York" thrown in there!!?? Damn, a little Bravo thrown into my day could make a world of difference in my life. And then, when Grey is old enough...Sesame Street!! Hell, I love Mr. Rogers. I usually end up crying at least once during each episode. How does he make me feel so loved and accepted for being "just who I am" through a freakin' screen? Once, I remember actually talking back to him while tears streamed down my face and saying, "No, thank YOU, Mr. Rogers. Thank you for being exactly who YOU are." This was while I was having a nervous "b," though. You can also thank my husband for coming up with "nervous B" for nervous breakdown. The shortening of words to letters is getting slightly OOC at my house.

So, honestly...I need this for myself. Time to step down from my high horse and get on the...bandwagon? Rocking horse?

I can still be a good mother and watch a little television. I read to Grey every day, I show him effing French flashcards, we listen to the Beatles, I make him track his toys with his little tracking eyes, I sing to him constantly, I say the alphabet 12 times a day, I count endless strings of numbers, I talk about everything I'm doing all day long in infinite descriptions of tasks and sights...

Yes. It's decided. Yes, I do deserve 3 hours of HGTV a night.

Cox Communications, we're back in business, you a-holes!