For the third morning in a row, I’m having my morning coffee outside near the former “Little Dig” in the backyard. Spring is sprung, and while the grass isn’t actually riz yet, I don’t have to wonder where the birdies is; there’s a Mockingbird on my fence telling me all about it.
This has me feeling so mellow, I decided to skip the usual morning reading of Very Bad News, and go see what some of Polimom’s reader/bloggers are talking about these days instead.
CLG (Outside My Comfort Zone) writes about the importance of Moms at kids’ events — even if (especially if!) attending means Mom will have to do the chicken dance.
…And if you are the mother who is not there to chicken dance, you can pretty well write off your child getting playdates with any of their school friends….
Of course, the dance Mom has to do just to get there at all is pretty crazy…
Slate (New Orleans Slate) purged over a week ago, doing her best to off-load the terrible negativity that accumulates sometimes.
I was miserable. I read my usual blogs and news, read the comments. Everywhere were comments about how NOLA folks were a. drunk (sometimes, that’s true), b. stupid (also sometimes true, hell Nagin and Jefferson got re-elected), and c. should be wiped off the face of the earth for various reasons ranging from our ineptitude, to corruption, to the murder rate, to some nebulous moralistic “you guys are having way too much fun” thing. (Please forgive the lack of links in the following text.)
I had had it. I love New Orleans.
Her pain, I’m sorry to say, was amplified by the tone and nature of comments that came in on a series of posts Polimom has written over the last couple of months. Given that the people who read my pieces are (usually) representative of the more open-minded in the blogosphere, it really is very discouraging. I have actually given up writing for a wide audience on the subject. I’m so sorry.
And finally — Thanks to Ed T, it’s with great relief that Polimom can finally disclose this most personal and troublesome item:
Enjoy your Friday, everyone.