"Oh, good heavens," my husband gasped as we drove past a scenic overlook. "Did you see that?"

I assumed the majesty of the view of the Grand Canyon had caught his breath, but it turned out he was startled by something even more profound: the stupidity of the parents who had allowed their young children on top of the retaining wall.

"What can they be thinking?" he asked.

The point is, they're not thinking. Their priority isn't safety, it's a photo opportunity. Either that or these particular parents didn't believe there was anything wrong when Michael Jackson held his infant son over a hotel balcony.

Our summer odyssey took us from the Grand Canyon to Yellowstone National Park, where apparently there aren't enough signs to warn parents about the dangers of wild bears. Otherwise a bear sighting would not have prompted several families to allow their offspring to run within 20 yards of a black bear for the chance to take a picture.

Even a lecture from a park ranger didn't deter people from encouraging their children to get dangerously close to an unpredictable wild animal.

That people risk life and limb for the sake of a quick thrill, a good story or a great photo is not new. That they'll teach their children to take such risks confounds me.

"So, how's your girlfriend?" I ask my son out of the blue. "Which one?" he says with a devious smile.

"The new one," I say.

"Oh, her." He shrugs. We both smile.

And that's the end of our update on Jimmy's dating life.

It's all a joke, of course. Jimmy doesn't have a dating life. The "girlfriend thing" remains awkward (his word) and unnecessary (my word).

Instead, we encourage our 14-year-old son to have a host of friends - girls as well as guys - and to forget about dating until the time is right. (That would be a time when he has his own money and a driver's license.)

The fact that we discourage exclusive, romantic relationships for our tween and young teenage children - and that we monitor their behavior to assure they aren't dating behind our backs - puts my husband and me outside the parenting norm. (What else is new?)

We believe in the concept of "late blooming" as far as dating goes, based on the theory that childhood is too short to spend your time worrying, for example, about whether your 13-year-old girlfriend has seen you talking at your locker to another person who just happens to be - gasp! - a female.

So while some 14-year-old boys must attend to the emotional whims of their romantic partners, my son must concern himself only with important things, such as how the Yankees are doing and how long he must wait until I feed him again.

"Mom, those people are staring at us," my daughter says as we prepare to leave the campground in our rented RV. "They're starting to totally creep me out."

When you're a teenager, you're easily creeped out. It happens when you open a Tupperware container of leftovers or when someone in your group (your mother) orders anchovies on a pizza or whenever you walk across a parking ramp.

This is why merely announcing that she was creeped out didn't get my attention right away. It was a bit like telling me she was breathing.

Still, I look across the street at the older couple camped on the site opposite ours, and sure enough, they are staring. And not just staring. They are laughing.

Not guffawing or shoulder shaking. But clearly they're amused by us, and not in a good way.

Pink now is the wardrobe essential for an entire generation of tween and teen girls, so it didn't surprise me when a mom I know mentioned taking her daughters to the new Pink retail store at the mall.

What took me aback was when she said: "I absolutely hate the Pink store and I can't stand shopping there. Yet my two girls are always walking around with the word 'pink' across their rear ends. What can you do?"

What can you do?

Hmm. ... What can you do? What, oh what, can you do?

This is the pivotal parenting question for 21st-century moms and dads.

What do America's shopkeepers, schoolteachers, summer lifeguards, pediatricians and class moms know that politicians don't? Better parenting is the answer to America's problems.

Ultimately, it's the way to reduced crime, improved school performance, lower rates of accidental injuries and deaths, a more educated and dedicated work force, increased health and fitness (ergo, lower health care costs) - not to mention better dental hygiene and the return of table manners.

Better parenting would alleviate road rage, eradicate the always inappropriate "belly shirt," squash the influence of MTV and maybe even reduce wildfires in California and soap scum in America's showers.

Better parenting would produce more responsible citizens - the kind who vote, and not just for the people they think will put money in their pockets. It would reduce pollution, increase private investment and probably even stop global warming.

Let's face it, where Mom and Dad are getting the job done, things look pretty good. And where they're not - well, there is mayhem.

Just look around you at the community pool this week to see if I'm right about that.

Right away when I answer my cell phone, the sound of Amy's teacher's voice tells me this is going to be bad.

"Mrs. Hicks," she said gravely, "we have a problem."

"I have given your daughter several chances to complete her missing work and also to have you sign a slip saying she has told you that she has fallen behind in social studies," the teacher said. "She continues to lie to me about having done the work, and I suspect she is also lying about having told you about the missing assignments."

This is a veteran teacher: Her suspicions are money in the bank.

According to Amy, she somehow "forgot" to tell me she owes her teacher enough workbook pages to wallpaper an airplane hanger. Go figure.

We'll leave the issue of integrity for another day. The other more immediate problem is, fifth grade is about to come to a close. The teacher would like to be sure Amy knows enough social studies to matriculate to the sixth grade. Quite honestly, I'd kind of like to know this, too.

I have been a parent for going on 19 years, which means I have read my fair share of books and magazines about how to raise healthy, happy, well-adjusted children. Through the years, in my effort to do a good job as a mom - or at least ensure I don't scar my children for life - I have made it a habit to consult the "experts" to learn the best practices on everything from potty training and bedtime routines to nutrition and discipline strategies.

Today, as I scan the headlines, I'm wondering why I never read an article on how to avoid raising a teenager who one day attempts to murder her mother. Someone should have addressed this issue because, according to the media, it seems to be happening more and more.

Not to me, thank goodness. But still.

No matter how many times I attempt it, I still haven't figured out how to be in two places at one time. My problem isn't that I feel the need to be with every child at every event. I'm long past the guilt and fear that I'll send a message of favoritism to one child while another feels neglected. No, the issue that still plagues me after all this time is something much simpler, much more basic than the instinct to offer maternal love and support.

This issue is transportation.

Never mind cloning myself so I can demonstrate my devotion to each of my offspring by sitting on multiple sets of bleachers, yelling "Go!" or "Way to go!" or "Go faster!" There are plenty of folks who will stand in for me to cheer on my children at any given sporting event.

No, if I could clone myself, it would be for the purpose of creating a fleet of minivans, each containing extra gym clothes, a replacement trombone and a box of cereal and fruit bars.

The blue light from the TV casts a sleepy glow in my bedroom. I climb under the covers, easing my weary shoulders onto the two pillows that provide the perfect angle on which to doze while watching the news. I must be restless because on this night, it takes me almost a full five minutes to nod off. (Like most mothers, I find falling asleep generally isn't a problem. Sleeping through the night? That's another story.)

As I drift off, pundits are talking about Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton's perseverance versus her sense of entitlement. Someone else mentions Sen. Barack Obama's sense of entitlement versus his unstoppable momentum. No one says anything about Sen. John McCain, which in itself may speak to any sense of entitlement he may or may not have. I'm not a pundit, so I wouldn't know.

Anyway, I fall asleep.