This post is sponsored by the new movie “Daddy’s Home” starring Mark Wahlberg and Will Ferrell. “Daddy’s Home” is releasing in theaters nationwide on Christmas Day, and it’s perfect for the whole family. Here’s the synopsis: Brad Taggart (Will Ferrell) is a kindhearted radio executive who wants to be the best possible stepfather to his wife’s (Linda Cardellini) two children. When her impossibly cool ex-husband Dusty (Mark Wahlberg) breezes back into town, Brad’s feeling of insecurity quickly develops into an inferiority complex. As Dusty demonstrates his flair for athletics, home repair and bad-boy charisma, Taggart finds himself in a no-holds-barred battle to one-up his rival and win the approval of his family. #DaddysHome
The trailer is really funny, and it will definitely make kids laugh because it shows adults being ridiculous. Kids love it when they get the best of their parents, which has happened to me and my husband once or twice. (Or 200 or 300 times.) Like when we tried to keep the kids safe from bad TV shows.
We set up parental restrictions on our TVs as soon as our boys figured out that the remote control wasn’t just a chew toy or a weapon. Or, even worse, a fun thing to hide in the vegetable crisper, which subsequently led to our famous “For the Love of God, We Can’t Change the Channel and Now We Have to Watch PBS During Primetime!” crisis of 2010. (Seriously, just try staying awake during NOVA without a handful of amphetamines and a Klieg light. Sorry, PBS nerds, but it’s true.)
Of course, the big reason for parental controls is so our kids won’t see or hear anything inappropriate for their age when they’re flipping through the channels. Chris and I feel very strongly that Sam and Jack shouldn’t learn any bad language from a random TV show; they should instead learn it by watching the two of us try to move a bookcase upstairs in the middle of July. That’s the way my parents did it and I have the swearing ability of a Jersey mob guy now.
Also, since we have 200+ cable channels, there’s always the risk that the kids will one day try to find their favorite show, and instead accidentally click on something that might scar their little psyches for life. Something truly heinous, like a Donald Trump press conference. Or a Kardashian being waxed. Or, God forbid, a Mickey Rourke sex scene, which would probably frighten them so badly, they’d spend the rest of their pathetic lives peeling potatoes in a Belgian monastery. Which is fine, I guess, if that makes them happy, but then who’s going to give me grandchildren?
That’s why years ago we set it up so our TV won’t switch to certain shows unless the correct four-digit code is entered into the remote control. This didn’t really bother the boys when they were smaller, but now they hate it. Not because they actually want to watch mature shows, but because they can’t stand it that their remote control freedom has been thwarted by The Man. So for the past five years, they’ve randomly punched in numbers and desperately tried to crack our airtight parental code at least once a day. And in all that time, they’ve never once succeeded.
Until the day they did.
We’d just come home from school and I was standing in the kitchen either preparing a gourmet meal or licking Cheez-It dust and old wine splashes off the pantry door, when I heard them in the living room hooting and cheering like they’d just won a game of Plinko on The Price is Right.
“JACK! JACK! YOU’RE AWESOME, JACK!” Sam screamed.
“I know! Can you believe it?” Jack screamed back with complete victory in his voice. “Oh, yeah, baby! We did it, we did it! Uh-huh, we did it!”
“Did what?” I yelled, to which they, of course, responded like every kid ever who’s out of their parents’ line of vision: “Nothin’.”
The giggling and cheering went on for a few more minutes, then suddenly Jack yelped, “LET’S FIND A WHORE MOVIE! WHAT CHANNEL ARE THE WHORE MOVIES ON? 527? 528? WHORE MOVIE!” and I almost broke my ankle zooming across the hardwood floors like I had a ballistic missile attached to my ass. What the? Whore movie? Who the hell told them about freaking Skinemax? Weird Thaddeus, the creepy neighbor kid who I’ve never trusted?
I flew into the room to the sounds of them chanting, “WHORE MOVIE! WHORE MOVIE! WHORE MOVIE!” and found the two of them grinning like idiots while Jack joyfully clutched the remote to his 7-year-old chest. “Give me that right NOW, mister! NOW!” I barked, then I spent the next ten minutes chasing him, knocking him down and yanking the Holy Grail/remote control out of his sweaty, little hands after he took off running. Not only had they somehow managed to figure out the code, I learned, but they’d been manically trying to turn the channel to an off-limits scary movie, too. A “hor-ror” movie. Horror. A word that takes on a completely different meaning when you say it with just one syllable.
After a rather long, rather boring lecture about trust and responsibility and why it’s very important to pronounce two syllable words with both of the syllables, I sent the boys outside to play, then immediately got to work resetting our parental code. I really didn’t want them to figure it out again, so I spent hours and hours making sure I came up with a four- digit combination that was pretty much impossible to crack. So impossible, in fact, that it immediately flew out of my brain and I haven’t been able to change the channel ever since.
So, anyone want to know what’s on NOVA tonight?
For this reason, and because it’s just damn funny, I’ve been watching the trailer for “Daddy’s Home” a lot. Take a look: http://bit.ly/1NHH1jr
For more info on “Daddy’s Home,” follow:
This blog post is part of a paid SocialMoms and Daddy’s Home blogging program. The opinions and ideas expressed here are my own.” Please note that new FTC blogger guidelines recommend posting the disclosure clearly at the top and at the end of sponsored blog posts. Disclosure Guidelines: http://ftc.gov/os/2013/03/130312dotcomdisclosures.pdf
WIN A $50 GIFT CARD TO AMAZON! That’ll buy a lot of horr-or movies.