CBS Los Angeles: What I NEVER thought I’d tackle on TV.

The hardest job of a parent is to raise our kids in the world we live in — not the world we want it to be.

I started working in television as an entertainment reporter back in 2005. No way did I ever want to talk about hard news — murders, tragedy, destruction — ever. EVER. Fun fare was my limit. Forever and ever. Or so I thought. Until the most tragic mass shooting in U.S. history happened in Las Vegas this past weekend.

This morning, for my FAB Mom segment on CBS Los Angeles, I tackled (and I quote): “What Parents Can Do in an Active Shooter Situation.”

(It took everything I had not to cry on-air as the words quoting “How to Protect Your Children in an Active Shooter Situation” (citing a most eye-opening and tactical piece from A Mother Far From Home) came out of my mouth… READ IT. READ IT. READ IT. (Another informative read that includes tips from the FBI can be found HERE.)

Earlier this week I kept telling myself I should talk about bullying or teen social media usage instead. As I was writing the script last night (to send to producer) I thought, “What the hell did I do?!? This feels so awful.” But no. THIS was the conversation us parents have been weeping over and questioning this week. So we talked. On TV. No fun fare here.

Last Monday morning I woke up suspiciously motivated and optimistic — ready to knock off major to-do’s on my deadline list (for work and home duties). My kids got dressed, I packed their lunches, we hopped in the car and I dropped them off at school. I was ready to conquer the day until I heard Ryan Seacrest talking about “what happened in Vegas” in a tone that told me he was not referring to partying stupors at the Wynn.

I got home, sat at my kitchen table with my computer and phone and checked social media. The feed of firsthand, horrifying posts from several people I’m personally connected to through circles of work and friends seemed surreal — one writer I know posted about how she “kept running” until she found a dumpster to jump in to hide (I met and sat next to her at a ‘Wonder Woman’ media screening just a few months ago). I then turned on my TV — that did me in.

I cried. I sat on my couch. I checked Facebook. I turned off the TV. I checked my social feeds again. Despite not knowing anyone who didn’t make it through the tragedy, I was beyond distraught. (We all still are, no?)

I made a huge pot of pasta for my lunch — with borderline-sickening amounts of butter and cheese in it — pretty much because it was the only thing I could muster to do last Monday.

I was mentally absent when I picked up my girls from school at 3pm. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling. I couldn’t manage to make a decent dinner for my family that night either (all week, actually). I couldn’t manage to be patient with anyone. My seven year old told me I seemed “sad or mad” yesterday. I told her I was both.

Sad and mad for all the families and friends grieving the unthinkable for their loved ones lost right now. Sad and mad that I can’t go to a mall with my daughters anymore without my eyes buzzing around to keep watch on our surroundings. Sad and mad that I no longer want to do a family concert outing at our beloved Hollywood Bowl because I’m worried about being there, exposed. Sad and mad that I can’t tell my child what I’m sad and mad about because I refuse to shatter and terrify her at the age of 7. I am so, so sad and mad.

(Come to find out this reaction of mine has a technical name: Secondary Traumatic Stress — apparently, its symptoms mimic those of post-traumatic stress disorder.) And I wasn’t even in Las Vegas.