television is not only rotting my brain, but also my israeli couscous with steamed veggies

I’ve been thinking a lot about some real important stuff.

You know, in between showing my kids how I look just like Tom Cruise when I slide across the floor with my undies and wayfarers on. They might debate it, but seriously, I do. It’s uncanny.

But then I tried it with my fuzzy minky socks, and I almost broke my neck because I was soaring so fast over the hardwood. I felt like an eagle. No, a dove. No, a raven. Yah, ravens are cool. Point is, those minky socks really got me going. You know those socks? The ones that they sell at Target and you’re like, no I don’t need any more socks, what I need is a spatula and dog treats and THAT’S IT. But there you are in the sock isle, AGAIN, perusing for a pair that will not only propel you over that make-shift ramp you configured out of duplos and a roof from the doll house, but also give you some street cred from your kids. Because they’re all, Nah, Mom, you can’t get air off that ramp and That will never support your weight. And you’re like, I’ll show you!! I just need the right SOCKS!

So there I was icing my neck, when we decided to go out to dinner. Somewhere classy. With pendant lights and a violin. Just kidding. We were planning on going to Ruby’s. Just kidding, Corky’s 24-hour diner. Just kidding, we went to Royal Donuts.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter where we went, what matters is mama got a night off from cooking and we all sat together and ate some stuff.

But I noticed something while eating: a TV.

And then we went out the next week, there it was again, a TV.

And the next week, TV.

TV.

TV.

TV.

Why the crap do you need to watch a TV when you’re out to dinner? Is your family so completely lame that you need to be distracted by Survivor to white-knuckle it through? And I’m not talking about cheapy diners either. I’m talking about shelling out close to 100 bucks to take your family of 2 adults and one and a half kids out for a delicious meal.

Is the TV necessary?

Sure we can get into politics about how the television is destroying our minds and rotting our brains. How it’s toxicity is so abhorrent and how the level of addiction is so powerful that we constantly need to have it on in our homes, and now our restaurants. How eating is supposed to be a community experience, and no community is taking place if we are paring down our conversation to lackluster fodder during the commercial breaks of Wipe Out.

Sure I can talk about that.

But here’s what really chaps my hide.

My daughter can’t take her eyes off it.

Basketball?

She’s spell bound.

CSI?

Can’t stop watching it.

Poker tournament?

Might as well be the Disneyland Main Street Parade.

What’s a mom to do?

Perhaps I should just get my ass back in the kitchen and cook for my family, and leave the sliding around in minky socks to my husband.

FOUR!

It’s not easy on me.

In case you were wondering.

You know, in case you were thinking of my emotions while chomping on a cupcake with rainbow sprinkles and dancing in circles.

Because as I watch you grow up I get all sentimental and over-emotional, and I like to have a good cry while I wrap your presents and look at your baby photos. The ones where I am squeezing you and staring off into nothingness with a placid look on my face, because at that time I kept thinking that I couldn’t wait until you were older and you were less needy. Because it was hard when you needed me all the time. But now you don’t need me so much.

Because somehow it’s all about me.

CRAP.

See how that happened? It was quick. You think it’s a post about your fourth birthday, and I just turned it into to something about me.

This is problematic.

I might be screwing you up as I’m raising you.

Nope, take that back…I AM screwing you up. Hope it’s fun for you.

No, it will be fun. I promise. I’ll be just like my mom, and you can be just like me. And then when you have a little girl, the cycle will perpetuate itself. YAY!

But seriously.

Let’s talk about you now:

You’re an outstanding little girl.

You are so bright. I’m amazed at how intelligent you are. No, really. You’re super smart, and I hope you keep that up, because I’ve been slacking on your college fund, and I’m crossing my fingers for a full-ride scholarship.

You love to sing and dance. And it’s my favorite when you do. I’ll walk into a room, and there you are, twirling and making up your own melody. You use words like romantic and beautiful and charming. And then you throw in a word like “toot” because you don’t want to appear too girly, but there’s no hiding it, you’re as girly as they come.

The best part is, when I ask you what “romantic” means, you spout off some fantastical answer like, “romantic is when you eat too many graham crackers and you ask your mommy what you should do, and she says you have to lay down because your stomach is hurting, but while you’re laying down you accidentally fall asleep, and then you have a romantic dream.”

And then I smile and nod, because somehow that made sense to me.

You have an amazing sense of humor.

You make me laugh every single day.

You are so imaginative.

You love to be read to. You’ll drop anything you’re doing to read a book.

You love eating.

Wait, let me rephrase that, you love eating sweet things.

And who can blame you? Sugar makes the world go ’round.

You’re the best shopping companion. You love to try on expensive shoes, and then you say things like, “MOMMY. Oh. My. Gosh. Look at these! Do you LOVE them?”

And I say, “Yes! I do. I love them, now let’s put them back, because mommy doesn’t want to spend (turns over shoe) 700 dollars on shoes today.”

You’re a fantastic big sister.

You’re a great friend.

And I’m so blessed to be your mommy.

I love you baby girl. Happy 4th Birthday.