I am writing this in reference to the blog I wrote yesterday, ” Singing the Blues at the School Music Recital” and the lukewarm reception it received. (And also to thank the few brave souls that did actually like it.)
Of course no one really knows why a blog is ignored. In fact you could actually be thinking to yourself, “Did Marissa blog yesterday? I didn’t know that!” But I am going to work on the assumption that it was a bit harsh, especially for some of the mommies out there. And though I would have rather received hundreds of scathing comments, promoting my blog to the controversial masterpiece it deserves to be, I will have to settle with what I got. But maybe what I am about to say needs to be said anyway.
After I wrote that blog, I was unsure if I wanted to publish it because I thought it might come across as a bit insulting. So I did what any woman does when she is indecisive. I called my mother.
My mother grew up in a different time, when things were not as politically correct. Children did not get medals for losing, and sometimes they were told that they weren’t the best at everything, maybe if only in the hopes that they would then focus their attention on something more worthy of their time.
I know some of you have children that are younger than mine, some older, and some of you may not yet have kids. But I can guarantee you that if child rearing is, or ever was, or ever will be, a part of your life, you will find yourselves spending a weekend in a dank auditorium or a hot baseball field, where there will be screeching violins, a game prolonged because one player does not have a good understanding of the rules, or a recital practiced for months only to be ruined by a little girl with two left feet. You may react with a suppressed giggle or a discreet eye roll, and indeed this may be better etiquette than writing a blog to live forever on the pages of the internet or until such a time when you hit delete.
The point is, we all love our children, and we all make sacrifices for them. and not every weekend will go the way we want it to go; and sometimes the best thing we can do, is laugh.