I am admittedly bad with history and geography, like Leno-stupid-people-bad or “Are you smarter than a 5th grader?” bad. It’s embarrassing and something that needs to be remedied before the girls are old enough to realize mom’s kind of a ditz. Luckily little things like floor size puzzles of the United States I no longer imagine Wyoming and Montana being reversed. Next up, maps of Europe, South America, with Asia and Africa to follow. The history thing is going to be a wing and a prayer and a whole lot of, “Hmm, ask Daddy,” I think.

I used to be proud of my celebrity knowledge. It was my thing: who dated which star, what movie starred which actor etc. I still follow some of this, but lately Perez Hilton has lost a bit of its allure. I don’t really care to spend time checking to see what state of undress Amy Winehouse is stumbling about London in, or how hard it is for Jessica Biehl to get people to understand that her relationship with Justin is sacred.

Last night a promo for the Golden Globes came on, it was a blur of flesh, bling and excess. I was shocked by how visceral my response was, never one to sort of decry the inappropriateness of something, I flinched. I remember after 9/11 they were canceling award shows, stating that to celebrate seemed disrespectful. Now I find myself wondering, how, in a time when so few of us can even afford a movie ticket, they can think this is respectful.

I want no part of this celebration. For once I have no interest in gawking at dresses, with their plunging necklines and million dollars jeweled accessories. I don’t want to root for this person or that person. I want to turn inward and be thankful for what I have. As that show airs I’ll be sitting with my girls, likely in a pair of jeans and unkempt hair. The only fancy frocks will be on the girls as they twirl and giggle on our kitchen floor. We don’t have a villa in France and I haven’t played any role other than mom, wife and a friend, but we have plenty to celebrate and we’ll be doing it in the first person, rather than in some virtual audience.

I’m surprised, not sure if this is fueled by my age or my situation, but I think we have some re-evaluating of values we need to do. A little less idol worship and a bit more self-awareness and presence in the moment. I think ten minutes listening to five minutes of your kid theorizing on the ingredients in a cucumber (no, really, five minutes) will sustain and delight you in ways that five minutes of Jessica Alba blathering on about the art of whatever never could.

Go ahead, ignore the drama of the pampered, polished and privileged for a moment and just live in your own story.