Last night, after I tucked my exhausted body in for an unprecedented 10:30pm bedtime, I should have easily shut my eyes and drifted into dreamland. But I didn’t. Instead my tired eyes stared at the ceiling and thought about Marina.
Why did she leave the Fresh Beat Band so suddenly anyway? I mean, she definitely has a better voice than this new chick and who would give up a gig singing about bananas and taking daily trips to the Groovy Smoothie?
And don’t you think production should have written in the new girl, not just replaced her with some random redhead? Gimme a break, these kids can tell the difference. Erin asks about it every time a new Marina episode comes on. I get creative with my answers now. Yesterday I even invented a G-rated love triangle between the old Marina, Twist and Shout.
10:45pm. Did I really just waste 15 minutes thinking about a kids’ television show? Great, now I have that song stuck in my head. “Sing it loud, just like a rock star, shout it out just like a rock star. C’mon everybody let me hear you sing. And be just like a rock star, hey, hey, hey.”
That’s when I must have inadvertently sang out loud.
“Are you singing lyrics from The Fresh Beat Band,” Pat rolled over and asked.
“What? No. Definitely not.”
Gotta get to sleep. Hip hop and pop.
But it was too late. The entire Fresh Beat songbook had already started playing over and over in my head.
“We had a great day, a really super way, to spend some time together.”
By 1am I was wishing I had a gun. Maybe it’s time to start weaning these kids off Nick Jr.
For the uninitiated, the Fresh Beat Band is actually a very entertaining, song and dance filled half hour of children’s television. It’s not exactly Sesame Street, but through the silly antics of four musically gifted friends, (played by 20-something-year-old actors – c’mon, we’re not supposed to notice that?) kids are supposed to pick up lessons about sharing, caring and how not to act like a complete moron while dancing. Sorry Twist, that’s the only reason you’re on the show. My kids and my sub-conscious are completely hooked.
“Kiki, Kiki,” Jeremiah said this morning as he handed me the clicker. It’s probably bad that my son has named the remote control after his favorite character on the show.
“No Kiki today,” I responded. “Those four idiots kept Mommy up all night.”
“Kiki, pwease,” he countered.
Now how do I say no to that?
“Don’t you want to watch something a little blander like Wendy Williams? Dr. Oz?”
Guess I’m losing this round. Damn you Fresh Beats and all of your catchiness.