Mommy and Daddy are big believers in using things until they no longer function.
We didn’t by a new car until my old car just flat out refused to start, ever, even after going to the shop three times. We have bent and dented frying pans with only about 25% of the non-stick coating still left – but hey, they still fry stuff, so who cares if they aren’t pretty? My husband has polo shirts where the collar is attached with random 1/2 inch bits of the seam still intact – but since you can’t see the gaps when the collar is folded down properly it’s still a functioning shirt, right? Most of Soapfi’s wardrobe is either gifts or hand-me-downs, her outfits scream St. Vincent De Paul & Value Village, and we love that – there is plenty of love and wear left in those little clothes!
So all that being said, it should be no surprise that the TV in the Sarlacc Pit is at least 12 years old. I know I had it for many years before Daddy and I even met. It’s huge, heavy, and the remote was lost ages ago – but hey it has a power switch, channel and volume controls on the front of it, so it still works just fine – and when hooked up to the cable box it kinda sorta has a new remote.
A few nights ago Soapfi and I were in the den playing at ABCMouse.com (“ABC Song! ABC Song!”) and the TV was on CBC for whichever playoff game they were showing at the time (for those to whom the connection of CBC and playoffs in the same sentence mean nothing – I’m sorry that the Stanley Cup Playoffs aren’t a bigger part of your life, or that you’re stuck watching an American feed – I thank my lucky starts to live in a state so close to Canada that my local cable provider sees fit to include a channel where I can watch my hockey properly – hockey without Ron MacLean and Don Cherry just isn’t right! But I digress…). All was well and happy in our world, we were following the bouncy ball as it strolled through the alphabet, pointing out the various letters in the background picture, when POP, BANG, FIZZ. There was a brief moment of screeching static, a big spark, and a cloud of black acrid smoke.
Mommy unceremoniously dumped poor Soapfi to the floor, ran to unplug the TV, made sure nothing was still on fire, and opened the window to air out the god awful stink. Poor Soapfi was crying “up, up, up” followed by “scary, scary, scary”. I went into comfort mode and got her calmed down. However, the remainder of the night she refused to go in the den, even going near the door to the den would elicit exclamations of “scary TV”. Many days later the stink still lingers, and Soapfi still shutters at having to walk by the TV to get to the bathroom to brush her teeth or wash her hands, her two most favorite things in the world!
We do fully intend to remove the TV, however it’s *very* heavy and we’ve got to make some room in either the garage or the basement to put it, so it is most definitely a “project” as opposed to a mere “task”. But in the mean time, I guess we are helping her learn to deal with fear and scary things. And no, it hasn’t turned her off of TV’s in general, just that one specifically.