There’s been a lot of hand-wringing and outrage ever since Viacom added a block of Mom-centric programming to its schedule last month. Much of the grievance stems from the fact that the nighttime content is too “racy” or “foul” for the preschool Nick channels. But I could care less whether a woman swears or disrobes on the same channel my daughter watched eight hours earlier in the day. What chaps my hide, and has so ever since I saw the first misguided promo during an umpteenth viewing of my kid’s favorite Max & Ruby episode, is the strange idea that I’d ever turn to Nick for comfort or distraction after a long day of playing with and chasing and cajoling a child.
Instead I want to watch Homeland, even though I’ve yet to make it past last season’s amazing cabin and now feel hopelessly out of the cultural conversation. I want to watch Parenthood, not because it’s entertainment cynically directed at parents but because it is beautifully acted and exquisitely written. (And because Monica Potter is extraordinary and she better get nominated for an Emmy for this cancer arc.) I want to watch, and perhaps I’m blowing any credibility here, The Real Housewives. (It’s for work. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. And seriously, if you ever want to feel like a good parent, just watch a couple of episodes of any city. All the kids, except for Beverly Hills’ Portia, look miserable and the moms look at their children with the same disconcerting mixture of judgment and unfamiliarity.) READ FULL STORY »