All parents have been there at one time or another. Usually, it’s when the little peanut is still in utero that we begin our list of things that we, as parents, will never do. Many of these rules were inspired by watching my friends set enviable standards; some were inspired by watching my friends make what I considered egregious parenting errors.*

At one point, I vowed that I would never buy my child plastic high heels (we have 6 pairs, and counting), makeup (she has her own bag of last-season M.A.C. castaways), or Barbies (we completed our princess collection this afternoon, when I tore the new Tiana from the store shelf, nearly rendering some drippy-nosed kid unconscious. When I presented Tiana to Ava­–after picking up the other kid from the floor­–she said, “Who’s that?” Okay, the movie hasn’t come out yet, but when it does, every kid is going to want Tiana. And who has her? I do. I mean, Ava does).

But the one thing that I felt most strongly about­–one thing that could not be compromised­–had to do with a tiny-butted little yellow sponge. Yep, no “SpongeBob SquarePants” in my house.

The first couple of years went by pretty well. Ava liked the standard “Curious George” (snore) and “Clifford” (really, people, how hard is it to keep that dog drawn to scale? He’s either two-heads taller than Elizabeth, or he’s the size of a tugboat. Pick one). Then she evolved into “Sesame Street,” which I mostly enjoyed with the exception of that whinny Baby Bear, whom I wanted to set on fire. But one day while I was flipping channels, SpongeBob flashed across the screen in all his Technicolor glory. 

“Stop!” Ava cried.

“What?” I asked.

“Go back.”

 “No.”

“Go back.”

Really, what did I have to fear? My highly advanced 3-year-old would not fall for such buffoonery. It’s not cute, it’s not funny, and it doesn’t have a princess.

I didn’t account for subliminal messaging.

That’s the only way I can account for how SpongeBob and his rag-tag gang of undersea pals (and one squirrel) have made their way into our once respectable lives.

Ava’s enthusiasm for the show has been unmatched by any other program. Plus, it’s always on. A SpongeBob marathon is there for me when I need to make dinner, or when I need to get her to stop crying.

And here’s the kicker. I initially couldn’t stand the show, but I wasn’t really watching it. I would just hear the nonsense from the other room. But once, just once, I looked. The show was titled “Fungus Among Us” which made me laugh since my mom always warned my sister and me not to catch the fungus amungus that lingered on shopping cart handles. I laughed along with Ava throughout the entire episode, and caught myself saying, “That SpongeBob is so crazy.” To which Ava responded, “I know mommy. I know.”

If you don’t think it’s funny that SpongeBob has a pet snail named “Gary” who meows like a cat, then go ahead and judge. Otherwise, you gotta check this out.

But I’m not buying the SpongeBob bedding. Ever.

*Yes, I did judge you, but that was before I entered the trenches myself. Please accept Ava’s six months of not sleeping through the night as my penance.