Current management recently joked that they missed the good ole days when readers would complain about my column. Alas, with kids mostly grown and out of the house, a job and husband I adore, and an almost total boycott of news outlets, I simply have less opportunity to make bad parenting decisions, judge other soccer moms and care about life as we know it. I also think I’ve become more patient as I approach 50 and understand that on certain things, what I say won’t make a hill-a-beans difference, anyway.
So, yes, I could regale you with my thoughts on Stepford women who relish shaming anyone who’s not breastfeeding, staying at home or cooking only organic food (guilty on all three counts!). Or even better, I could discuss my views on the religious folks who like to bad-mouth those of us who don’t go to church every Sunday or participate in “small group.” But now that I’m older and infinitely wiser, I realize supermoms are merely compensating for their own insecurities about motherhood and the devout are just trying to keep me from going to hell.
Of course, if I wanted to really stir the pot, I could go on and on about the nightmare of a president we have, but what good would it do? His supporters are still going to vote for him in November and I’m still going to experience intense stomach pains when I accidentally hear about his latest idiotic tweet (Obama 2020?).
See how much I’ve grown through the years? PTO volunterrorists, anti-vaxxers, global warming deniers … you do you, people. I’m not one to comment.
Peace out.
