The Remote Is Mine!

And so it begins.

The daily war over who gets to watch what they want on tv! Mornings go fairly smoothly. Noone wants to deal with my moodiness at the start of the day so I win. Since I am the only person home during the day, I retain dominance over daytime tv. However, the evenings become a constant battle of wills between the three of us.

To be honest, the babe normally gets to watch her Disney Channel shows or some other tripe after school. This is simply due to the fact that I am usually organizing dinner and sorting her school bag etc.

It is when you add the man of the house to the mix that the situation is complicated. Viewing then depends on what mood the littlun is in and how badly we want to keep the peace. Us adults prefer programs such as Eggheads whereas our darling daughter likes The Simpsons. Personally I cannot stand it but 9 times out of 10 she wins. If she chooses to dispute the decision it involves her talking constantly so we can't even hear the tv anyway! You see the problem here?

Moving on to bedtime it should be easy for us to agree. It is not. If there is live sport on then I lean in that direction. Obviously. If there is a show on that we watch regularly then I am happy to work around that and to flick in the adverts. My partner is always difficult though. He insists on putting on some random episode of CSI, or another such show. I fail to see the point as we have watched most of them a multitude of times. Plus I have very little interest in any of the home makeover rubbish he likes. Why do I need to know how to do these things? I have him or Dad to deal with that side of life.

Last night was typical for us. I was enjoying the Man City match and he was on the pc. As it comes up to half time his hand begins to hover near the remote. Of course I attempt to perform the old 'cuddle and swipe' maneuver but he was on to me. Much frustration on my part!

Thereby ensues a war of sorts. I grumble. Mark tells me to shut up. Followed by various psychological little digs that still ends with him possessing the controls and me empty handed.
The physical altercations only begin once all avenues have been explored. His pure size means that wrestling and fighting would only leave one winner. My tactics are childish, I admit, but it allows me to level the playing field.

So I licked my finger and stuck it in his ear. No luck. I poked him in the arm. Didn't work. He shoved the remote in his pants. No way I was going in there! I made spit balls. He sat on me and broke wind. Now I never agreed to chemical warfare! It's last resort time. I smother him with one of his own rank, stinky socks.

Aha, victory!
Too late though because the football had finished. :(