Several weeks ago The Mister and I, along with our toddler, visited the house of a friendly couple who were expecting a baby shortly. In the time honoured tradition of which I had been a beneficiary myself previously, I pulled out any useful things I had left from Hawkeye’s infancy and passed them over to the expecting mama. We had some tea and pie and exchanged anecdotes about pregnancy and parenthood while Hawkeye watched a movie between us. As we were leaving, the expectant father gifted us with a DVD for Hawkeye – a cartoon in which he was involved as an animator called Go Jetters that currently airs on CBeebies.
I have never heard of this particular animated creation before, but I have, in a short space of time, gotten to know the first number of episodes very well. Quite well. For a time, I plotted elaborate, terrifying plots for how to wreak revenge on our friend for bringing this into our lives. After a while, however, either Stockholm Sydnrome has set in, or else I became inured to the incredibly catchy theme tune and the spangly disco-loving unicorn and realised that this is by far not the worst cartoon I have watched. I mean, we’ve outright banned Peppa Pig in our house, and I have found that although I have no objection to the content, I really can’t stomach watching very much of Paw Patrol, Bob the Builder, or Thomas the Tank Engine without wanting feeling the urge to go throw myself out of the nearest window. At this point, the damn show has nearly grown on me. Like some sort of fungus. I’m even contemplating (God forbid) getting some more episodes on DVD.
It has also been the result of several amusing new habits in Hawkeye’s life. Lazy weekend mornings now can often be spent dodging a flying toddler in bed as he flops all over the place shouting “Grrrriiiiiiiiimbles!!!”, which is the cursing catch phrase of Grandmaster Glitch, the series’ villain.
Also this weekend he spent a good hour at least on the floor with The Mister surrounded by his Duplo sets, constructing various structures while muttering to himself about “full power” and occasionally exclaiming “Go Lars!” “Aced it!” and “Geographic!” Thankfully, he has not yet picked up on the phrase “souvenir selfie” but I fear it is only a matter of time.
And this morning, while I luxuriated in a short lie in, The Mister sent me a text from the gym nearby where Hawkeye goes to Rugbytots every Sunday:
He spent the entire walk over shouting “Grimbots! Get me my pyramid! Hee hee hee hee!”
I am forced to admit that our parenting adventure has been rather enriched by this show. I am, however, still plotting over what exactly is the most obnoxious, loudest toy I can find to give as a gift when their kid turns one next year. Revenge, as they say, is a dish best served cold.