Beware of Peppa Pig on YouTube

Parents, if you listen to nothing else today, please heed this warning. Peppa Pig can lead to very questionable content on the internet.

Like most parents, my children enjoy watching videos on YouTube. My daughter has been a huge fan of Peppa Pig for years, and aside from the annoying random snorting, I’ve never had a problem with the pig herself or her sweet British family. I often hear her snorting from across the room and typically think nothing of it.

I frequently double check to make sure my children aren’t stumbling upon inappropriate videos their little eyes shouldn’t see. The other night, I was going through my daughter’s browser history on her tablet when I came across a series of very disturbing videos.

Multiple random videos featuring fecal matter and defecation loaded onto the screen. I clicked on not one, not two, but several videos about poop. Literally a load of shit appeared before my eyes.

Disgusted and aghast, I immediately called my daughter into my office and questioned the content.

“I wasn’t watching poop videos, Mom. I swear I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, what is this then? It most certainly looks like you were watching videos about poop.”

“I was trying to watch Peppa Pig. I promise mom. That’s gross. I don’t want to watch anyone pooping.” Who would really? (5.9 million people. That’s who.)

“Well, you cannot watch YouTube anymore, and frankly, if Peppa Pig leads you to these videos, then I don’t even want you watching Peppa Pig at all. Ever.” I ushered her out of my office holding onto the tablet for safe keeping.

Later, I decided to investigate further and asked my daughter to tell me how she managed to watch so many poop videos.

“I was typing Peppa in the search, Mom.”

“You were typing Peppa?”

“Yeah.”

I sat looking at the videos clearly not featuring an animated pink pig wondering how she could have stumbled upon the videos.

“Did they start off as Peppa videos?”

“No, they were poop.” She wasn’t even being funny.

I thought for a little bit trying to make sense of this.

“How did you spell Peppa, sweetheart?”

She wiped the tears off of her face and looked up at me with her bright blue child eyes, and with 100% certainty spelled out, “P-O-O-P.”

“Mmm hmmmm. What makes you think that’s how you spell it?”

“I asked Kell (big brother).”

“I see.”

And then I promptly grounded big brother from his tablet for a week.

You see, Peppa Pig videos can lead your child to inappropriate content. Particularly if her brother thinks he’s funny.

Consider yourself warned.

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Why Moms Yell

I’ve often said that every day is Groundhog day when you’re a mom. One thing, in particular, that remains an ever present constant in my house is the struggle for my son to put on his shoes. Every single morning, we do the same thing. Wake up, get dressed, comb hair, eat breakfast, brush teeth, and the last thing is to put shoes on before we leave the house. Yet, EVERY.SINGLE.DAY, it goes something like this….

 

 

The fabulous Deva from MyLifeSuckers let me collaborate on this one which was inspired by this meme:

Apparently, it’s not just my kids. Do your kids do the same thing? Are we being punked? Is it Groundhog day? (Of course it is. We’re parents.)

The Explanation of a Queef

It was a typical evening dinner at my parents’ house. My brother and I both were both in town visiting, so my mother did what she does and cooked a huge, tremendous meal. Really, it was full of love.

At my mother’s table, any topic of conversation can come into play. Having four brothers and too many nephews to keep count, the topics tend to lean in one direction. In typical Castle fashion on this particular evening, the conversation turned that corner.

It doesn’t really matter how the word queef was brought up. Actually it does, but some might take offense to it, so I’m going to leave that little detail out so as to not upset anyone.

But it happened. Someone said queef. It was my mom, and the boys in the house lost their minds. Multiple mouths spat tea across the table, plates upturned and a roar of laughter echoed across the golden plains of West Texas.

I looked down at my plate avoiding any kind of eye contact with anyone in my family. Anyone.

“What’s so funny?” My sweet mom asked.

My thirteen year old nephew whispered, “Nana said queef.”

I squelched the laughter I was keeping at bay.

Another nephew choked on his fried okra. I watched my brother beat him on the back while focusing intently on his corn on the cob.

“What is so funny?” Mom asked again, laughing along with the rest of us who had now lost any resemblance of control.

Tears poured out of my brother’s eyes onto his red cheeks.

My dad laughed his one-of-a-kind laugh. We were a mess. All of us.

“Is queef a bad word?” Mom said again

“Oh my god, Nana said queef again,” my older nephew said.

“Stop saying queef, Mom,” I managed to get out through bursts of laughter.

“Why? What’s  queef?” My mom asked.

The sound of laughter and silverware scratching plates ceased.

Everyone looked at me. The only girl.

Like it was my job to explain female bodily functions to MY MOM!

“I’m not telling her,” I said to my brother.

“You have to. I can’t,” he said, shaking his head.

“I CAN’T EITHER.”

“You have to, Mandi.”

“Tell me,” my mom said.

“No!”

“Tell her,” my dad chimed in.

“No, you tell her, Dad.” I said to him. He shook his head at me.

We were all still sporadically laughing at this point, but the mood in the room had gotten a little more…tense.

I took a big drink of my sweet tea (the strongest liquid courage you’ll find in my mom’s house) and walked over to where my mom sat at the table.

I leaned in and whispered, “a vaginal fart.”

“What?”

A little louder this time, “a vaginal fart.”

“Mandi, you’re gonna have to talk louder and quit laughin’. I can’t understand you.”

I cupped my hands around my mouth and said quietly into my mother’s 74 year old ear, “A queef is a fart that comes out of your vagina, Mom.”

Her blue eyes widened, and immediately, she filled the room with the best sound on Earth, her laugh.

I returned to my seat and started to put a bite of mashed potatoes into my mouth when my dad said, “So, what is it?”

 

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