I will help you, April Purinton

I caved.

At first, the whole idea of being a TV-free family seemed quite hip. I had visions of us sitting around at night, listening to classical music, enjoying stimulating conversation, and sipping our tea. After about a month, this vision was replaced by the reality that has taken over our evenings: running back and forth into our room to calm a baby that has decided for the sixth time that it really isn't yet bedtime. Where the classical music should be is instead the constant hum and static of the baby monitor. Instead of tea, we're sipping beer. Stimulating conversation is anything that doesn't involve the words "poop" or "spit up."

I don't know what I had envisioned for my TV-free daytime hours. I think it involved a picnic blanket, butterflies, and leisurely naps under a tree with the babies. Ticks, mosquitoes, and the "no sunblock for six months" rule put a damper on that. My days without TV started looking an awful lot like the same four walls of my living room, a perilous addiction to all things internet, and a soundtrack I like to call "looooooook at the fuzzy bunny! Seeeeee the fuzzy bunny? The fuzzy bunny's gonna get yooooooooooou!" At least TV gives the semblance of adult conversation, albeit in a totally one-sided and voyeuristic manner. But hell, I'll take it.

So on Friday I called my friends over at DirectTV for the start of what I like to call, "Mission: Just give me some damn TV already!"

I explained my predicament to the tentative customer service rep who answered. I skipped the parts about the butterflies and the beer. "Oh." She said. "You'll need to speak to somebody in programming then. Let me transfer you." I seemed to be headed in the right direction. The rep from programming picked up the line. It seems the first rep neglected to share any of my rather lengthy story explaining why I was calling. No matter. TV - beautiful, sweet TV was getting closer by the second. So I explained again. "Oh. You need to speak to someone in our re-connections department." Really? They have a specific department solely dedicated to the plight of wayward customers like myself? The rep picked up the line. "Hola. Gracias por llamar DirectTV." Small problem here. Considering that my best second language is pig latin. I apologized in a polite and somewhat embarrassed manner. Explained that I don't speak Spanish. The rep continued. In Spanish. I waited for a pause and repeated our language dilemma. He continued. In Spanish. Repeat. And again. I finally interjected with a frustrated: "I CAN'T UNDERSTAND YOU!!" "Oh." He said. He switched to English.

I now need to pause my rather lengthy story for a quick disclaimer before continuing: I respect and admire the many varied cultures and languages from around the world. I follow the instructions of the bumper sticker and Celebrate Diversity. I think we'd all be better off if we were bi- or tri-lingual. I find accents to be intriguing, mysterious, and generally cool. And wish that I had one myself, aside from the not-so-cool, "wicked awesome" New England accent that I may or may not possess.

So my third rep had switched to English. I explained why I was calling, and he responded. Only I couldn't understand him. He was speaking English, but with a healthy smattering of Spanish mixed in. What to do? At first I tried the subtle, "I'm sorry sir. Could you repeat that?" to no avail. Repeat or not, I couldn't compute. I decided that there was no reason why I couldn't get politely and delicately assertive. "I'm so, so sorry, but I am having a hard time understanding you. Is there somebody else I could speak with?" He responded with a less friendly, "No" and continued. I repeated my request. He repeated his "no," this time adding on, "I will help you, April Purinton. I will help you. Listen harder." I listened. I really did. I wanted to understand him. I did not want to call back, to speak to three more reps. I just wanted my TV back. I wanted Oprah and Ellen to be my friends again. "Please, sir. I'm trying, I really am. And I'm sorry. But I REALLY cannot understand you. Can I PLEASE speak to somebody else?" His response? "I will help you, April Purinton. Listen harder!" We went back and forth like this for several minutes. Exasperated, desperate, and on the verge of tears, I cut in: "I'm hanging up now. I'm sorry. But I'm hanging up and calling back."

And so I did.

Two calls and six transfers later, I succeeded in scheduling a re-installation of my service.

I really should also mention that the guy who came to do the install made some crack about how he "followed the banjo music" all the way into town (which I do believe is an insult toward my place of residence), and later, while using my telephone without permission, commented to his boss that "this phone really bites."

Screw it all. Mission: Just give me some damn TV already? Accomplished.

And I don't even miss my tv.

Here's my dirty little secret: I LOVE television.  

Given the slightest excuse, I've been known to spend an entire day parked on the couch watching god knows what.  I have what I like to believe is a discriminating but wide palate for programming. Most recently, I was totally into Planet Green.  I'd sit and drool over World's Greenest Homes, although I have to say that while I endured it, "Living with Ed" really sucks. Sorry, Ed Begley Junior.  But I just don't know who you are.  Or care.  Even though you're living green, which I really, really like.  And your wife's a bitch.  Sorry 'bout that.

Anyway.  Despite my deep love for TV, we've tossed around the idea of GETTING RID OF IT for a while.  Not the TV itself.  But the shiny and pretty shows that flow into it from outer space. Because for one, it's expensive.  And suddenly having two babies in the middle of a recession means getting serious about being frugal.  (We all know this is an excuse.  Recession, shmession. I'm just frugal.  Or cheap.  Maybe a little bit cheap.  And I say "suddenly" having two babies, like "WHOOPS!" too much wine and here I am knocked up.  Now we all know that didn't happen). Anyway.

It also made sense to get rid of the TV because of this:

Well, that's a bit staged.  But here's what's not:

That's right.  In this picture we have my sweet husband changing a diaper, which is fabulous. Now he's a bit distracted by the TV, and so it's likely that he may not fasten it properly thus leading to some leakage.  But leakage I can handle.  And do, daily.  What I would rather not handle is the smaller human being in that picture - happily watching TV at about 8 weeks of age. 

So we sent DirectTV back their little box of magic.  Interestingly, they sent us a return kit, including packing tape, a box, and padding.  The box was about 16" by 16" and probably 6" tall. What I found interesting were the instructions, that warned us NOT to put the satellite dish in the return box.  Phew.  Thanks for the warning, DirectTV.  Because truly, I was considering climbing onto my roof, dismantling the dish, and cramming it into a box the size of a small suitcase.

And then the magic pictures were gone.  I expected to grieve.  I braced myself.  Waited for it. But it didn't happen.  I wholly expected to be bored out of my mind.  (Do you hear the insanity here? I have three month old twins.  Twins with colic - and reflux - and I expected boredom?) 

But instead of grief, instead of boredom, I've found some space, and quiet.  Because while I love having Jerry, Elaine, and Kramer (not George.  I do not like George.  I know you're not supposed to, but I really dislike him.  On top of the pre-planned dislike masterminded by the folks at NBC.) keep me company from 7pm-8pm every night while I nurse/rock/cook dinner, eventually they get kind of obnoxious.  

Still, I'm no saint.  This house hasn't gone completely dry.  We've discovered Hulu (hi, Hulu. Kisses and hugs.  Please don't go away).  Hulu keeps me sane and informed about the important happenings on The Office and 30 Rock.  And while I'm super embarrassed and have to say this very quietly, americanidol.com keeps me apprised of the happenings on a show I love and adore and want to kiss, kiss, kiss.  And so can I also just mention that Simon Cowell, I love you truly and deeply.   Anyway.

I don't need my TV anymore.  I feel so free.

But seriously, DirectTV: you advised me not to put it in the box.  Soooo.  Are you gonna come get this dish?