Ever heard the saying “looking at life through rose-colored glasses”? Then you know it refers to someone who looks at life with a rosy optimism. I wish I was guilty of that. I’ve always envied people who manage to be endlessly upbeat and full of optimism and hope. You know them, they’re the ones who make lemonade when handed lemons. When I get handed lemons I suck on them and make a sour face.  Anyway, Melanie in “Gone With The Wind” was one of those lemonade-making characters. No matter that the Civil War stripped her of everything, no matter that she was starving, no matter that Scarlet was so mean to her and secretly on the prowl to steal her husband Ashley – although heaven knows why she wanted that man pansy when she had Clark Gable  – that Melanie, she could find the good in everything and everyone. I hated envied her.

But that’s not the point of this post. The point is that I’m guilty at looking at life THRU something all right.  But it isn’t rose-colored glasses.

I’m guilty of looking at life through a Canon digital camera viewfinder. And as I only recently came to realize, there’s nothing rosy about it.

I was at the Hollywood Bowl a couple of weekends back. It was the first trip for my daughter Julia (who is eight) and we took her to the Bugs Bunny show where the L.A. Philharmonic plays along to the cartoons projected on big screens. And as I was videotaping the fireworks finale at one point I turned the camera toward my daughter, you know, to capture her expression. I could see her there, in profile, her wide eyes lit by the flashing fireworks in the sky, her face filled with awe and the joy of the moment. I paused for a moment, sort of taken aback by the utter rapture  she seemed to be experiencing. I mean, what we were doing was cool, but was it truly that amazing? 

At first I attributed it to the fact that she was only 8 and at 8 one is experiencing so many things for the first time. And as we all know, the first time is the most exciting. After all, it had been that way when we took her to Disneyland for the first time. So thrilled was she by the sights, the sounds, the magic of it all that it even rubbed off on jaded old me who had been to Disneyland too many times to count – for whom the magic had completely worn off.

But when I put down the camera that night at the Bowl and I looked at what she was looking at, I mean REALLY looked at it, through my very own eyes, not the viewfinder of my camera – I realized, her feeling of awe had nothing to do with being 8. I looked up at the fireworks in the sky, big and beautiful and sparkly, shattering light over the dome of the Bowl. At the crescent moon that hung in the distance on that crystal clear summer night. At the 18,000 upturned faces all experiencing this moment together. And you know what? To my amazement, it truly WAS amazing!

And I realized, I hadn’t been seeing it. I mean, I was  seeing it on the tiny video display but I wasn’t seeing  it seeing it.

And in that instant, it also occured to me that this has been the case for the last 8 1/2 years of my life! Why 8 1/2 years exactly? Because that’s how long my daughter’s been in the picture – figuratively and literally.

Since she was born and I got my first high quality digital camera, I have chronicled every move, burp, smile, gurgle, and later dance recital, talent show, piano recital, etc.  It’s the reason  Randy the perfekt husband gave me the nickname MAMMARAZI. And while I have recorded all these moments in her life for posterity, I never really experienced them first hand because I was separated from these events  as they were happening – by the camera!  So busy was I  making sure the images were centered, that no one was walking across the frame, that the focus was right, that there was enough head room – that I never truly got to enjoy them. Because I was never, not once,  in the actual moment – watching my little girl sing joyfully at the top of her lungs, tap dance to the perfect rhythm of a song, or even smile shyly as she was handed an award for being an exceptional student.

And suddenly I was very sad. Suddenly, the loss of the last 8 1/2 years hit me like a ton of bricks.

And I realized we have become photo obsessed, we parents these days.  That’s right. It’s not just me. There isn’t a single birthday party or school event I go to that doesn’t feature dozens of parents jockeying for position to get the perfect picture or video of their kid.  It’s such chaos and madness you’d think Brangelina was on the red carpet announcing another adoption! One MAMMAKAZE joked about the fact that whenever her one year old heard the word SMILE, he immediately struck a pose, even if there wasn’t a camera around! This is how conditioned our kids have become to having a camera in their faces.

I mean, my stepdad was a professional photographer and he never took as many pictures of the four of us kids the whole time we were growing up as I have taken of my one, single, only child in the past 8 years!  

I don’t know if it’s the ease and cheapness of taking pictures now – the fact that we can immediately see what we’ve taken and delete what’s bad without having to wait a week and pay a fortune for images that feature closed eyes, a partial thumb over the lens or some wise-acre sticking two fingers up behind someone’s head.

Whatever it is, we’ve created a whole generation of parents that will have a lifetime of memories of taking pictures of their kids , but not of the moments themselves. Very sad.

So I have VOWED that next time Julia gets an award or does a performance or blows out a birthday candle I will sit back, relax and take it in, burning it forever on that brilliant little hard drive known as the cerebral cortex.  Well, I mean, as long as Randy is taking the pictures with the Canon. Oh. And my brother John is doing video on that amazing Nikon he has with the super long lens. That thing captures images like nobody’s business!

I was going to do a post today about the hidden horrors of orthodontia…to the parent. However, my attention has been drawn to yet another horrific example that has popped up this week of bad parenting.

I don’t know if you’ve seen this video that’s going around of the 2 year-old INDONESIAN BOY with a 2 pack a day smoking habit, but if you haven’t you should take a gander.

WHAT THE WHAT THE?!!!!!

I mean, did you see that kid? The leather jacket, the way he flicks that cigarette around. What is he? The reincarnation of Charles Bukowski or something? The last time I’ve seen that kind of behavior  it was 50ish and sitting next to me at a blackjack table in Vegas.

And the toddler lights his own cigarettes. Julia’s 8 and I still won’t let her handle fire! I’m pretty sure Child Protective Services would be against it too. Apparently they don’t have that agency where this kid lives.

And his dad thinks he’s healthy?! Is he kidding? If the lung cancer doesn’t get the kid, the obesity will. And the whole thing about the dad not being able to take the cigarettes from him because he’s pitches a terrible tantrum. Well, I DO remember the nightmare it was taking the bottle away from Julia. Yikes! Toddlers CAN be terrifying. BUT YOU’RE THE PARENT! TAKE SOME FREAKING RESPONSIBILITY!

Then again, maybe the cigarette smoking is the least of the kid’s problems. Because if you look closely at the end of the video when he’s settling down for his afternoon nap with his ba-ba after a long morning of chain smoking – I’m pretty sure that’s a GUN that other little kid is waving around his head.

What a tragedy. What idiot parents.

Well, next time you’re being eaten away by rot-gut guilt over the fact that your kid didn’t eat a green veggie all day, or that you’re two weeks behind on their annual well child checkup, remember that at least you’re not spending their college education on cigarettes … for them! And at least that  checkup won’t have to include a chest X-ray screening for lung cancer.

Welcome to Mommy Confessions, where I confess my mommy sins for all to read in the hopes that it will make other mommies feel less guilty and/or lame about their failings in the area of mommyhood.

My Confession for Today:

I suck as a cook.

Okay, I have always sucked. That is no big news or secret. Especially amongst the members of our household who are reliant on me for nourishment.

I am not, nor have I ever been one of those women who can whip up a gourmet meal from the handful of items around the kitchen. And I HATE watching those shows on TV where they do that and make it seem so easy. They make me feel inadequate, even though I know that behind the scenes they have 20 people doing the prep work. I’m not instinctive that way. Or ever prepared enough.

I have wanted to try recipes, but I never seem to have the right ingredients or spices hanging around in my fridge or cupboard. And it REALLLY bugs me to have go out and buy an expensive bottle of spice only to use one teaspoon on a recipe I will probably never make again because it sucks because I am unable to focus for long enough to keep track of how many cups or ounces I have put in. Yeah, that’s right. I can’t even follow a recipe. I get really, really distracted when I cook. Probably because my heart is not in it. Or I’m missing the gene. Yeah, that’s it.

Pretty lame, huh? Well, it gets worse than that. And this is where the real confession comes in.

This last weekend Randy the Perfekt Husband accompanied me on a trip to Trader Joe’s. He rarely does this as I do most of the grocery shopping. But he does love him some Trader Joe’s. He feels about this place the way he does about Costco - like a kid in a candy store- because they have so many fun and interesting items.  And when he goes to either place we always end up buying a lot more stuff than we plan on.

Anyway, as we were going down the aisles at TJ’s he spots these overpriced stuffed chicken breasts. They were stuffed with some kind of fancy cheese and cranberries and ingredients I’m certain I don’t have anywhere in my house. You know, the kind of thing I could do at home for a lot cheaper if I had any clue or inclination – which I don’t.

Well, here they were, this overpriced pack of 2 fancy stuffed chicken breasts, and Randy said he thought those looked good. So I thought, what the heck. I’ll get them. It’s like making a gourmet meal without me making a gourmet meal. And all I had to do was bake them for 40 minutes or 165 degrees. I couldn’t screw that up, right?

WRONG!

So last night I go to make these lovely overpriced gourmet chicken breasts that someone else has done all the hard work on. I heat the oven, remove them from the packaging and put them in a shallow pan covered with aluminum foil per the instructions. I set the timer for 20 minutes. BEEP! I remove the foil and set the timer for another 20 minutes.

I’m feeling pretty proud of myself at this point because while this was going on I managed to whip up some whole wheat couscous (microwave instructions 3.5 minutes) and edamame (stove top 5 minutes). I’m thinking, my family’s going to be doing some gooooood eatin’ tonight.

BEEP! Chicken’s done. At this point I stick the thermometer we got for a wedding present and have never used (why not, as long as I was being uber domestic, right?) into one of the breasts. I watch the temp climb but it never gets past 140. What the what the? How can this be? I have followed the instructions to the letter. And I know for a fact that my oven runs hot so it can’t be a temperature issue.

Perplexed, I stuck a fork in one and started to turn it over. And that’s when I saw it .

A SHRIVELED, PARTIALLY MELTED PIECE OF PACKING PLASTIC!

You know what I’m talking about. Those little liners they put between meat and the styrofoam packaging. I’ve encountered them before, in packages of turkey or beef. Usually however, they are large and VISIBLE! Not squares smaller than the chicken breast under which they sit! Completely hidden from view! And yep, upon further investigation, there was one under each breast!

AAAAAGGGHHHH! I mean, how was I supposed to know they were there, sticking to the bottom of my overpriced piece of stuffed chicken?!

I know, I know. If I was a better, more experienced or even caring cook, I would have known. I would have at least known to look.

I felt like a total idiot. A complete and utter mommy moron in the kitchen. And the worst part was confessing it to my family who looked at me with word-filled eyes but who said ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! (Definitely the best way to go given my emotional state).

Naturally I couldn’t feed the chicken to my family. Not after all the articles I have read about toxins that are released from plastics into food when they’re heated. And then there was Randy’s proclamation “I’m not eating that!” which also greatly influenced my decision.

In the end, after a period of mourning during which I spent a little time with the breasts imagining the meal that could have been, I dumped them uncermoniously into the trash.

Yep, I threw out those breasts and threw some sausages on the grill (organic, no preservatives, natch!) and my poor family was deprived yet again of anything resembling a special meal.

And though it’s not in my nature, I’m trying to look at the bright side. Had I not decided to use a thermometer for the first time in my life, I might have assumed those breasts were done. I would have then scooped them onto plates and served them up, only discovering AFTER A MOUTHFUL, that there was an unwanted ingredient in them.

Then I would have felt lamer. Nah. I couldn’t have felt lamer. Just maybe more guilty. Yeah, that’s it. Guilty. From now on, I’m sticking to what I know. Boiling pasta noodles and heating sauce from a jar. You know, for my family’s sake. SIGH.

HOW ABOUT YOU? ANY EMBARRASSING MOMMY MOMENTS IN THE KITCHEN?

Be warned. I’m in a complaining  mode. Specifically about how much of my life is consumed by my child and her activities. Oh don’t act like you’ve never been there. If you don’t occasionally feel totally overwhelmed, irritated and maybe a teeny bit  resentful by how much of yourself you have given up for the sake of your children then you are either a pod person or heavily medicated.

I mean HOW FAR SHOULD OUR MOMBLIGATIONS GO?  When I was a kid, parents didn’t play with us and schlep us around to every activity under the sun. In fact, the extent of their involvement with us (other than feeding and clothing us) was to shout – whilst fixing dinner or gluing together the broken coffee table, “Go outside and play and don’t come home until the streetlights come on!”

Nowadays, my kid has such a social schedule you’d think she was the President of the United States of Children.

Especially this week when all of her activities have come together in a sort of PERFECT STORM.

MONDAY – school/ piano

TUESDAY – End of year conference/ school/dance class/ rehearsal for Talent Show

WEDNESDAY – 2 Talent Show performances for the school in the a.m./ Dance competition rehearsal after school

THURSDAY - School Awards Assembly (she’s getting an award…shhhh!)/ Orthodontist appt./ Talent Show Rehearsal/ Evening Talent Show performance for parents

FRIDAY - Dance competition at a location SO FAR AWAY that will take hours in rush hour traffic on Memorial weekend to get to…ARRRGH!

Crazy, huh? And yet, I’m not the only one. All the parents I know have gone hog-wild crazy catering to their kids and their kids’ activities. And most other parents have more than one child so you can multiply their madness accordingly!  

So, where is MY time, you ask? The pathetic bits and pieces of the day eked out to attend to MY work, MY chores, MY personal hygiene? And why is a girl who says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up so focused on the arts anyway? Good questions. If you have the answers, lemme know.

Meanwhile…. before any of you state the obvious, let me just say it myself.

IT’S ALL MY FAULT!  My kid only has this mad schedule because I have allowed it. Yet, as a parent I have the right, the obligation to JUST SAY NO!

And you know what? I plan on doing just that. From here on out, I’m putting my foot down.

Yessiree. Next time she tells me she’d like to take an art class, or join the school chess club I’ll stare her straight in her big,  chocolatey brown eyes that look at me with such unconditional love and I’LL TELL HER…

“You listen here, missy. ABSOLUTELY NOT…. until I have some time to think about it.”

I know. I know. I’m a total pushover. So sue me. I don’t know  why I do it. Love or guilt or the desire to give my kid what I didn’t have in my childhood. Or just because I’m her mom and think she’s the most talented little thing on the planet and generally, it’s all fun, even for me. Probably it’s a little of everything.  Still, the bottom line is that I bring it on myself. And therefore, I shouldn’t complain.

Buuuuuuut…. since this is my  website and I pretty much do whatever I want on it…. WAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

WHAT DO YOU THINK? DO WE OVERINDULGE OUR KIDS?

 
As a mom, I feel guilty about lots of things. I feel guilty about my lack of patience, about the time I don’t spend with my kid because I’m working, about the fact that I haven’t told her that the dancing light on the headliner of the car is coming from my ring and is NOT a special communication to her from her fairy friend Bettina.

Know what I DON’T feel guilty about? That I haven’t taught my daughter to take apart and reassemble an assault rifle in record time.

I watch the following video and think, if her dad really wanted her to do something in record time, couldn’t he have taught her how to frame a house for Habitat for Humanity or something?

I’m not sure what purpose this talent will serve. You know, unless her name is Sarah Connor and Cyberdyne Systems has finally gotten its hands on that revolutionary new microprocessor that will form the basis for Skynet.

SIGH.

Dog maulings, pool drownings and being left in hot cars. Three completely avoidable tragedies that happen to children every year.

MAMMAKAZE Trudy pointed out the latest hot car tragedy. It happened in Antioch, California. A 7 month-old girl died after being left in the car all night and for much of the next day.

The parents (mid-20s) left the baby in her rear-facing car seat after returning home at night from doing laundry at a relative’s house. Each thought the other had taken the baby into the house.  

It wasn’t until 2pm the next afternoon when the mother awoke that she discovered the baby wasn’t in her crib. She frantically called her husband who was at the gym. He rushed out and looked in the car. The baby was there but by then it was too late.

2 PM THE NEXT AFTERNOON?!  Okay, I gotta ask. How does a mother not notice her 7 month-old child is missing for 14 hours?  I mean, kids that age need to eat and be changed every few hours right? They fuss, they cry, they require attention.  And as a mother your instinct is to be in constant contact with them, right?

Okay. I know exhaustion was a factor. Apparently both parents were working two jobs. And they also had a 2 year old. That’s rough. I personally remember being soooo tired after Julia was born I couldn’t count my toes without losing track. And I wasn’t working 2 jobs nor did I have a second child to run around after.

So I won’t go off any more on these parents. I know they didn’t mean to do it. I know they’re devastated.  And they will live with the guilt of their mistake for the rest of their lives. I can’t even imagine their pain.

But there are things that parents can do to avoid this kind of tragedy. The first of which is to stop thinking it can’t happen to you. Because (except for the occasional selfish moron who leaves his kid in the car so he can get drunk at a strip club)  this sort of tragedy has occured in all age groups, all levels of education and income. The common denominators: exhaustion and change of routine.

Also, don’t think you have to live in a hot climate for this to be a danger. The temperature topped out at 78 degrees in this tragedy. But the inside of the car got up to 110 degrees.

So if you have a small child, add the following to your list of ways to protect your child which include outlet plugs and those bumpers for your coffee table.

CHILD CAR SAFETY

1. Keep a stuffed animal in the car seat and place it in the front seat to remind you that there is a child in the back.

2. Put something in the back that requires you to open the back door every time you park – like a purse or lunch bag.

3. Ask your childcare provider to call you right away if the child hasn’t arrived at the normal time.

Bottom line…As parents it’s our responsibility to do everything to protect our children. Nothing is too extreme where the safety of our kids is concerned.