A Monster in Paris coloring pages are featuring Malik, Zadie and Zeke from Work It Out Wombats animated film. Try to guess who is who.
"Work It Out Wombats!" is what you might get if you crossed a logic puzzle with an eccentric, furry universe where everything seems mildly absurd yet strangely familiar. The stars of the show—Zeke, Malik and Ellie—are wombats who, despite their questionable grasp of physics and reality, seem to have an uncanny knack for solving the sort of problems that would leave most adults weeping softly in a corner. Their community is a kaleidoscope of chaos, the kind of place where you suspect entropy pops in for tea regularly and yet somehow everything gets sorted out. Mostly.
What makes this series more useful than a towel in a pinch is its relentless insistence on sneaking computational thinking into the brains of unsuspecting children. The wombats teach kids to think like a computer, but in a friendly way that doesn’t involve keyboards or accidentally deleting the Internet. They break down impossibly convoluted problems into bite-sized steps, identify patterns where none seem to exist and cobble together solutions with all the flair of someone building a spaceship out of paperclips and good intentions. If that doesn’t prepare kids for STEM fields or navigating the average family dinner, I don’t know what will.
But the wombats don’t stop at teaching logic; they also dabble in the infinitely complicated realm of human—or wombat—emotion. Zeke, Malik and Ellie stumble through empathy, communication and the occasional bout of sheer panic with the kind of enthusiasm you’d expect from someone discovering chocolate for the first time. They demonstrate how to navigate feelings, which, let’s face it, are the ultimate unsolvable puzzle. By the end of it, children are not only equipped to solve problems but also to handle other people while they’re doing it. If that’s not preparing them for the absurdity of life, I don’t know what is.
"Work It Out Wombats!" is what you might get if you crossed a logic puzzle with an eccentric, furry universe where everything seems mildly absurd yet strangely familiar. The stars of the show—Zeke, Malik and Ellie—are wombats who, despite their questionable grasp of physics and reality, seem to have an uncanny knack for solving the sort of problems that would leave most adults weeping softly in a corner. Their community is a kaleidoscope of chaos, the kind of place where you suspect entropy pops in for tea regularly and yet somehow everything gets sorted out. Mostly.
What makes this series more useful than a towel in a pinch is its relentless insistence on sneaking computational thinking into the brains of unsuspecting children. The wombats teach kids to think like a computer, but in a friendly way that doesn’t involve keyboards or accidentally deleting the Internet. They break down impossibly convoluted problems into bite-sized steps, identify patterns where none seem to exist and cobble together solutions with all the flair of someone building a spaceship out of paperclips and good intentions. If that doesn’t prepare kids for STEM fields or navigating the average family dinner, I don’t know what will.
But the wombats don’t stop at teaching logic; they also dabble in the infinitely complicated realm of human—or wombat—emotion. Zeke, Malik and Ellie stumble through empathy, communication and the occasional bout of sheer panic with the kind of enthusiasm you’d expect from someone discovering chocolate for the first time. They demonstrate how to navigate feelings, which, let’s face it, are the ultimate unsolvable puzzle. By the end of it, children are not only equipped to solve problems but also to handle other people while they’re doing it. If that’s not preparing them for the absurdity of life, I don’t know what is.
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