Bear with me, I have found that I can be a bit of a chest thumping, soap box stomping, hanky waving loud mouth. I wasn’t going to say anything, but this morning’s news sent me over the edge. If you have passed the point of being able to even tolerate the Anna and Britney tragedies then come back another day. I know, I’m sorry. I am sick of it too….I mean my god Mark Steines, don’t you have a wife and child or two? Today Show, isn’t there a presidential race or peanut butter recall you could cover? I wish I could stay out of the fray, but a damn pair of hair clippers has made me snap!

Since becoming a mom, and more specifically, since becoming a mom to daughters I have done a major overhaul in the way of recreational reading. No more Allure, no more Glamour. I just don’t have the time to spend studying up on how to apply lip gloss to the center of my lips to make them look pouty and how to dress ten pounds thinner. Beyond the time issue, I am hellbent on projecting a healthy approach to self care and self image to these girls. I do not want them to know “fat clothes” and “ugly days.” I want them to embrace what I know will be tall and muscular frames. I want them to not be embarrassed that they have big feet or that they have throaty voices. I want them to have the irresistible trait of being perfectly at ease and content in and with their own skin.

Don’t get me wrong, I plan on telling them that they are beautiful and I don’t plan on letting my armpits get hairy while my mascara wand gathers dust. I am hoping there will be spa days and track meets, prom dresses and cleats. I just want to try and find a balance. Maybe if I go at these things head on, acknowledging the prevalence at such an early age of eating disorders and self loathing I can help lead them down a different path.

I’m rambling. Look, I just can’t believe I woke up to another disaster. Another mother forgetting her babies. Another mother who so hates herself that she has been blinded by the false panacea of cheap highs and strobe lights… I certainly don’t think I could have saved Anna Nicole or could have any impact on Britney, but what the hell? If I saw this in a movie I’d cluck and say, “It’d never happen.” I literally can’t erase the image of little baby boy toes poking out in a forward facing car seat. I cannot forget seeing video of her being carried out of a club. I ache for them all- the boys who will one day see the photos and read the stories, her mother, and hopefully the woman who will one day experience a reckoning with what she has done, the time she has lost.

I wish it didn’t get under my skin, but it does. She has. I hope those boys are being loved by someone since their folks are otherwise engaged. I hope I don’t wake up to more “died too young” coverage. And I really hope that the whole celebrity hysteria thing hits bottom and we get back to a more normal place. I’m tired of being embarrassed by tv, infuriated by magazines and exhausted by the sexualization of everything from truck advertising to little girls’ toys.

I suppose I say this at the risk of sounding like a prude, which I am not, and a fringe zealot, which perhaps I am if Bratz Dolls are mainstream: Anyone want to go start a colony on an island where we can raise our kids without the relentlessness of society’s downward spiral?