The difficulties of being a horror fan with little kids living in the house…

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Hello there Minions, I trust you are unwell. Tonight I have to discuss something that’s near and dear to my heart: my kids. Specifically, how much I love them and will do anything for them, including being willing to forego my beloved Walking Dead and instead endure endless hours of Curious George.

Spawn of Scarydad doesn’t handle scary stuff very well. The problem is that she wants to watch scary stuff because she knows that I love it, but I can tell that it bothers her. After the Doctor Who episode a few weeks ago, I’ve learned to keep pretty close watch over what comes out of the propaganda machine.  It’s been more than a month and she STILL talks about the scary man-pig on Doctor Who and how when she grows up she can watch it but not yet.

A few days ago she did something awesome and Bride told her, “You’re getting so big!” and Spawn freaked out, saying, “No, Mommy, I not big to watch Doctor Who yet. Maybe when I ten!”

Precious.

And then last night we were watching Modern Family before dinner. In the Halloween episode, Phil has an open house on Halloween and Claire goes over there to scare him. It’s all very benign, but as soon as they showed Phil walking through the dimly lit home, Spawn immediately became entranced. Knowing that even a simple, “Surprise!” type scare would make bedtime impossible, I decided it was bath time.

“Let’s go!” I said.

To which Spawn responded, “I’m not tryna be scared of that scary mommy. I want to watch her scare that guy.”

I said, “Well, I don’t know if it’s going to be scary or not but you’re too little.”

She said, “It’s not a man-pig, Daddy. It’s just a scary mommy.”

And she came home from day care today bugging me to watch it again.

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“If I can just hold on until morning, Daddy will think I’m cool.” D:

So here we are. The toddler has virtually conquered all media in the house, with the exception of this computer, which I imagine she’ll commandeer soon enough. She calls the movies when it’s her turn, yet still she has a commanding vote in what we watch, r rather what we don’t watch, when it isn’t her turn.

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Because even if it IS my turn, somehow this doesn’t fly on Saturday afternoon before naps.

And that, my friends, is what it’s like to be a horror fan with a little kid in the house: dreadfully deficient of horror and painfully well-versed in Disney Princess movies.

Seriously. The Beast lives in this castle that’s obviously not that far away from Belle’s village. How do they not know about this giant fortress? It’s not the enchantment, because obviously Maurice, Belle, and later, Gaston and the townspeople find it just fine. So who’s been in charge of governing the people all this time? If the monarch just closes the gates and retreats to the tower, what then? (The townsfolk do seem to be pretty happy, though, so that may very well be exactly what happened.) He’s a prince, so where’re his parents? Wouldn’t they be pissed that he got himself and all their stuff cursed, then just left the estate to rot and the peasants to their anarchy?

These are the things you think of when you’ve seen Beauty and the Beast 56 times in less than a year.

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