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My son is a boy's boy, a rough and tumble kid. He likes football, plays baseball, watches racing. He doesn't hold hands with mom much anymore, and he only says "I love you" at night.
So that's why I owe a big debt of gratitude to "Wallace and Gromit."
I don't know if you've seen this British series, but my kids love it. I think it's just okay - but I'll admit, it's growing on me.
There are "Wallace and Gromit" movies and "Wallace and Gromit" shorts, and they all revolve around the harrowing adventures of cheese-loving Wallace and his very intelligent dog Gromit.
There was a marathon of shows on the other night. My son came up to me as I wrote on the computer.
"Mom," he said. "Do you want to watch TV together in your room? 'Wallace and Gromit' is on!"
I couldn't jump out of my chair fast enough. We giggled, snacked and snuggled - me, the boy and about 20 Mario plushies - for hours. His sister, sometimes far too sophisticated for such things, even saw we were having a plushie party and joined in.
As my kids get older, these invitations don't come as often as they used to. I'll take as many as I can get. Even if I have to watch an entire "Wallace and Gromit" marathon.