Today I am very pissed off.  It started with Facebook.  I am so very sick and tired of looking at it and seeing the happiness and utter joy experienced by everyone else while I sit here frustrated by life's annoyances big and small.  So why don't you stop looking at it?  I ask myself.  For the same reason I obsessively check a zit on my face that I hope is disappearing but seems to exponentially grow bigger each time I check.  I don't know.  I must have a master's degree in self torment.  I'm working on a doctorate in self deprecation in order to prepare for my career as a professor in the instruction of self worthlessness.  OK, that's a little much, but you get the picture.

It seems that I am stuck in this paradox where I feel like no one hears what I say, and yet I am held accountable for things that others think I said.  Clearly, at home no one listens to a single thing I say.  No matter how many times I ask a question, I rarely seem to get an answer.  I can ask my kids twenty times if they did their homework and get no response.  But if I mumble that I would consider taking them to a water park at some point this summer, I am held to that because "I promised". 

If I try and turn the tables to say "what about your promise to do your homework"  I get the response of "that's different." It's as if a panel of experts convened to create the most frustrating scenario known to man kind and gave my children intense training on how to implement it.

Other places in life, you have to watch what you say.  I learned the hard way never to say anything remotely negative or that could be construed as negative in a mommy group.  Even if it's warranted, you will still be punished for saying it.  For example, two years ago when a crazy mother called ahead to a field trip I was on with my child and told the director of the nature camp to watch out for me, I thought that was pretty crazy and inappropriate.  But the response I got from some of the other mothers when I mentioned it was that "I don't want to take sides".  I wasn't trying to amass a coalition of mothers to put a question on the ballot of whether or not this woman was crazy, I just wanted someone to say "wow, that was extreme.  I'm sorry you had to deal with that".  No such luck.

After my cross country move, I have not tried very hard to make a new group of friends.  I still have an aftertaste of the tension and stress associated with having to map out all the social angles.  I need someone I can just relax and be myself with.  Until I find my new peeps, I am very content to not deal with the social pressures of the social circles.

Anyway, I guess that means that I am using my quiet, rather than my voice, to be more selective and care less about the opinions of people whom I don't enjoy.  In a way, it is very empowering to make that decision and not pursue a new group.  It is an uncomfortable feeling to pursue others. I feel like I am trying out for a sorority and hoping that people vote me in.  I have evolved to just hanging out in the student union and seeing if there is anyone whom I want to hang out with.

I'm not sure how I got so far away from the topic of where is my voice, but I'm sure you will figure it ou.

I understand the need for people to put on a façade and hide their flaws.  I even think it is necessary most of the time.  After all, it’s kind of selfish to impose your misery on the rest of the world.  It takes up other people’s emotional time and energy to be constantly responding to someone else’s problems.  That energy should be spent trying to deal with your own crap. When someone is constantly complaining there are two responses I have.  The initial response is to try and listen and determine if they are asking for advice or simply want sympathy.  However, if the same person is consistently moaning and complaining, I find it hard to repress saying “listen bitch, you think you have problems.  I have my own problems.  Some people have terrible illnesses or addictions.  Some are homeless or living in poverty.  But please, tell me again how your internet is too slow or how you can’t find the Lululemon sign on your pants.”

Who doesn’t love to complain?  After all, it’s kind of fun to express your problems and have someone else acknowledge them.  But, it also takes something from the other person.  After you have unloaded, they are still thinking about the problem and feeling sad that you are upset.  For some reason, I think this is true for fictional characters as well.  I am still really mad at a character in one of my favorite TV shows who left his wife, that bastard.

On the other side of the spectrum is those people who go around pretending their life is perfect.  I hate those people more because they are closed and unreal.  I never feel comfortable talking to someone who always says her kids are great.  No one’s kids are always great.  Every kid is annoying and does something that you wish they didn’t.  But the mom who pretends her kids are great makes me angry.  It makes me want to hire a private investigator to find her kid doing something wrong and post it all over the internet.  Perhaps that is insane of me, but this façade of perfection makes me think that this person is dishonest and completely unreal.  I cannot relate to someone who claims their child goes to bed on time, is never disrespectful and hates sweets.

Since these are my thoughts and I get to decide how the world should exist, I decide that people should have a scale of 1-10 for their façade.  If you are talking to a sister or best friend, you get to be a one.  You can complain, cry your skin blotchy and wear unflattering sweatpants. (As if there are flattering sweatpants!)  If you are going on a job interview, you should be a ten.  Although I must confess that I feel totally fake on job interviews and want to yell at the job interviewer that I will only wear spanx during the interview and will devolve into a sensible-shoe wearer by the third day on the job.  In fact, I got the job I have now because I already had a job offer and was less concerned about the façade.  I was a little more real, without cursing or referencing my undergarments, and was offered a better job.

Anyway, it’s important to read your audience and figure out what number they are on the scale and then act accordingly.  Too much on one side or the other and you will end up with the wrong crowd.  

Let’s talk about that awkward moment when you are at a function with other parents and the moms ask if you work or stay at home.  For many many years I was a stay at home mom.  I know how hard it is and frankly, I think it’s harder than being a working mom.  The main reasons I think it is harder to stay home is that you don’t get a break from your kids, you are rarely told you are doing anything right, you are often told you are doing things wrong and most people had a previous profession for which they trained and feel underutilized. 

For me, it was all of the above plus dealing with the other stay at home moms.  There seemed to be a competitive channeling of energy into who was doing the most for their kids.  This is made a thousand times harder because you cannot compare the needs of one kid to another.  So for some kids playing violin, soccer and volunteering at the animal shelter may be an average amount of effort.  For other kids, getting through one playdate a week might be a herculean effort.  But it’s hard to be the mom who brags that her child had a huge accomplishment of not biting another child.  There are no trophies or ribbons for that.

Fast forward a few years and now I am a working outside the home mother.  I have gone from the realm of moms who provide creative home-made bento box lunches for their kids to the mom who relies on the kindness of the lunch lady to extend them credit because I forgot to fill up their accounts.  I no longer have any input or care into which parts they get in a play.  I am unknown to most of the other parents.  I sometimes miss those convenient mid-day “read with the class” activities. 

I don’t want to come off as feeling superior to the stay at home moms. Instead, I feel happy not to be one because to be brutally honest, my kids can drive me crazy.  Being a stay at home mom made me feel incompetent.  The goals I set were for my kids, not me.  I had no way of knowing if I was heading down the right path.  I had no boss to check in with to provide me with some perspective about the outside forces which I couldn’t see.  Instead, the stakes were too high and I was lacking the right training. 

I want to hug stay at home moms and tell them I know their pain.  However, that would be arrogant because most stay at home mom’s like what they do.  They do not have my kids or my insecurities.  They are happy to be with their kids all day.  So I guess since I can’t be a happy stay at home mom, I will be a happy working mom.  Or at least a moderately grumpy mom.

Let’s talk about that awkward moment when you are at a function with other parents and the moms ask if you work or stay at home.  For many many years I was a stay at home mom.  I know how hard it is and frankly, I think it’s harder than being a working mom.  The main reasons I think it is harder to stay home is that you don’t get a break from your kids, you are rarely told you are doing anything right, you are often told you are doing things wrong and most people had a previous profession for which they trained and feel underutilized. 

For me, it was all of the above plus dealing with the other stay at home moms.  There seemed to be a competitive channeling of energy into who was doing the most for their kids.  This is made a thousand times harder because you cannot compare the needs of one kid to another.  So for some kids playing violin, soccer and volunteering at the animal shelter may be an average amount of effort.  For other kids, getting through one playdate a week might be a herculean effort.  But it’s hard to be the mom who brags that her child had a huge accomplishment of not biting another child.  There are no trophies or ribbons for that.

Fast forward a few years and now I am a working outside the home mother.  I have gone from the realm of moms who provide creative home-made bento box lunches for their kids to the mom who relies on the kindness of the lunch lady to extend them credit because I forgot to fill up their accounts.  I no longer have any input or care into which parts they get in a play.  I am unknown to most of the other parents.  I sometimes miss those convenient mid-day “read with the class” activities. 

I don’t want to come off as feeling superior to the stay at home moms. Instead, I feel happy not to be one because to be brutally honest, my kids can drive me crazy.  Being a stay at home mom made me feel incompetent.  The goals I set were for my kids, not me.  I had no way of knowing if I was heading down the right path.  I had no boss to check in with to provide me with some perspective about the outside forces which I couldn’t see.  Instead, the stakes were too high and I was lacking the right training. 

I want to hug stay at home moms and tell them I know their pain.  However, that would be arrogant because most stay at home mom’s like what they do.  They do not have my kids or my insecurities.  They are happy to be with their kids all day.  So I guess since I can’t be a happy stay at home mom, I will be a happy working mom.  Or at least a moderately grumpy mom.

I have been away from the blog for the past year or so for no particular reason.  Although a lot has been going on in my life, including a cross country move to my native Massachusetts, sending a child off to college, leaving a job I loved, interviewing for many jobs I almost got, finally getting a job I love and a mild canine injury, I still could have blogged.  Like the many photos of my first child, my thoughts remained unorganized in a box.

Now it is time to share what I have learned from all of these experiences:

Friends are important

It was hard for me to leave my friends in Houston.  Friends are especially great because they voluntarily hang out with you.  It’s not a school or work obligation.  It is not a family obligation that involves eye-rolling.  It is a choice that another person or persons make to spend time with you.  That is very affirming. 

The other side of that coin, is that when you move, you have no friends.  I am blessed to have close family to spend time with.  I get that having three kids at home plus working full time does not leave a whole lot of socializing hours.  But still, you need your friends.  It feels creepy to approach other adults and try and get them to be my friends.  Like a Halloween costume I once wore in college, it makes me feel like a Hare Krishna.  If someone came up to me and said “Hello fellow adult with like demographics.  Would you like to spend time with me to see if we are compatible as friends?  Would you like to see if our spouses can tolerate each other?  Perhaps the big leap to see if our kids get along.  Oh, and can we do this from 8:00-10:00 pm on a Saturday?”  I would take out a restraining order.  Yet there does not seem to be a good way to easily make friends.

I have considered joining various groups and will still try this route.  But it is a long and arduous process.  It is also a big leap from sitting next to someone at a lecture or cooking class to setting up an actual time to socialize.  I don’t want to assume the other person likes me enough to invade their calendar.  And yet, if I say nothing, I get nothing.

The next lesson I learned is…. Oh wait. I forgot what it is.  That’s what happens when I get excited about a train of thought.  The other train leaves the station.

The other things I bring from Houston are the memory of the three friends I lost there.  Robin and Josh are always in my thoughts.  I don’t mean to sound mushy, it is that they are literally always in my thoughts.  It is not always a good thing.  But I try to remind myself that my job is to be grateful and appreciative of all the things I get to experience.  And if that means that I cry like a baby at the fifth grade winter concert, so be it.  I think about how Robin and Josh can’t be at their children’s concerts anymore and I am wistful and grateful at the same time. 

Yes, I did write three.  I also lost a friend, Shari, who was a mom of another girl in my youngest daughter’s class.  She was taking a morning walk when she was hit by a car which had lost control and came up onto the sidewalk.  The look of loss in her husband and daughters eyes still haunts me. 

Over the last year, I had some unpleasant experiences with another mother in that same class.  I need a new box of wine before I start to blog about that, but I promise it’s coming.  Since I’m no longer in Houston, I do not have to worry about the repercussions of being completely honest.  Watch out!

Thank you for taking the time to read this.  I appreciate having an audience for my insane rantings.  

Perhaps it's just me, but I don't think so.  The maddening frustration of my evenings is driving me to drink.  What could bring an otherwise competent and fabulous woman to her knees?  Why, fourth grade homework, of course.

After work today, I found myself in a store called "Tuesday Morning".  This store, which is a complete mystery by it's name, is a gift store.  As I looked around at the other customers, I noticed that we were all women and we were all looking for cute gifts for friends and colleagues.

As I watch my daughter apply to college, I see things very differently from when I was that age and trying to chart my future. Back in my day, I was so worried about going to the right school, picking the right major and starting my career. Looking back now, what they should teach in college is a full year of time management and stress management. That would have been useful. Now, I could be the professor in these subjects. Here is what is stressful:

Simple math- It doesn't add up how much work people, especially women, have to do and how little is accomplished at the end of the day. Hours of planning, preparing, schlepping, carpooling, cramming in errands while the kids are doing an activity all yield just about nothing at the end of the day. No child will thank you for being clever enough to slip in an oil change during ballet lessons. No husband will appreciate the specific type of apples you bought and no one except you will notice how you went to three stores to get just the right kind of cereal. At the end of the day, as you lie exhausted in bed, spending what little energy you have left, planning the next day's activities, all that expended energy will have little use or appreciation.

Whatever you think is important, is in fact, not important. Sometimes when I feel strongly about something or someone, I expend a lot of mental energy worrying and plannning and scheeming. I will be driving and thinking about a project or a person and all that energy spent will be for nothing because a week later, I will not remember what all the fuss was about.

You cannont anticipate what will happen or how it will affect you. I first learned this on 9/11. Having worked in the World Trade Center previously, it was unfathomable what happened. All those sad stories of innocent people who were killed on a regular workday reminded me that we have little control over things. Since then, having lost 3 friends in car accidents, I am still very aware that we plan and God laughs.

Small things consume lots and lots of time and energy. I learned this the hard way in my 30s when I volunteered at the school and synagogue. It was always the smallest projects that kept me up until 2:00am gluing center pieces together or editing a newsletter.

Friends are key to reducing stress. It is so important to talk to someone who gets you and who you respect. This helps enormously. I make it a point to be there for friends going through hard times.

If I were planning a college course today, I would have the followig items on my syllabus:

1. Time management: Figure out how much time you will allot for each of the following situations and stick to that limit:

boyfriend breakups

Frenemy drama

Arguing with parents and siblings

Reality TV

Waxing and other personal grooming

2. Coping skills:

disappointment at work and home

Not judging yourself too harshly

Don't compare yourself to anyone at the gym

Rich people have problems too

Alcohol is your friend

3. Get over yourself:

You are not the end-all, be-all in the world

Everyone else is only thinking about themselves and do not care whether you wore those same pants last week

You need others as much as they need you

Don't feel bad when other people's kids seem perfect - Jeffrey Dahmer was well behaved and charming, I'm just sayin'

Hello,

After being away from the blog for many months, I am returning in full force.  Why have I returned?  I have had several requests and I also need an outlet to vent my pent up rage.  Sounds like a fun ride. Here goes....

Here is the rant of of the over-stressed mother (what I would actually say to my kids if I could afford to pay for the therapy needed to process this):

WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?

Why on earth do you think that just because you were born, that gives you a never ending entrance ticket to the unlimited buffet you call the kitchen?  I'm so sick of constantly standing in the kitchen taking orders for an endless varity of foods.  Or worse, the child who will only tell me what she doesn't like.  Tuna?  Sure, I will take out the food processor, assemble the ingredients, put it in a sandwich and before I can rinse out the bowl hear "what else do you have?  I'm starving?".

Sure, I can make a grilled cheese, after painstakingly reassembling the last broken piece of bread because Gd forbid one of my children should have to eat mangled bread, only to hear "I never said I wanted grilled cheese, you know I meant a hamburger when I said that". 

At the very same moment comes the "I can't eat that" child.  Can't eat half the foods in creation due to extensive orthodontia.  Can't eat foods that have a crust.  Or contain brown.  Or have cheeses other than cheddar. Or are past their expiration date, which everyone knows is a corporate ruse to try and get me to throw out marginally good food.  Can't eat anything that may look spicy. Nothing with too much green.  Unless it is broccoli.  But wait, she will only eat broccoli with a specific chicken dish I make.

Then is the super skinny teenager who will only eat foods she deems "not gross".  That is limited to about four items, one of which is sushi.  Why don't I just make sushi.  Sure there are a lot of large white women rolling up their sushi mats to try and please their teenager.  Surely that would cost a fortune in ingredients I would never ever use again and equipment that would require extensive washing.  Of course it would come out "gross", and why was I too cheap to just take them all out to dinner every single night.

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That’ll Cost Ya

It is very clear when we browse through the clothes at Nordstrom Rack exactly what it will cost us to get that fabulous pair of jeans.  Whatever the tag says will tell you once and for all what that will cost you.  Not so with our friends and acquaintances.  

Many relationships ebb and flow, and with that goes the cost of sharing information.  Imagine that you feel close to someone you don’t know all that well.  You might even be trying to impress them or get in with the cool mommies - something I have long since given up on.  So you share a juicy rumour that you heard from a very reliable source, your friend’s cousin’s ex-wife.  

Or you may share something very personal about yourself.  You may reveal something you did long before you were married that may or may not have resulted in a misdemeanor.  You might reveal that you are a frienemy to a mutual acquaintance or share inappropriate financial information.

A few weeks later you notice your friend is distant.  She is too busy to meet for coffee and her child has taken up kick boxing and is never available for a play date.  You immediately start to panic.  You have no idea what she will do with the private information you shared.  Will she tell her new BFF?  Will it be an agenda item at the Parent Teacher Organization?  What will it cost you?

We all have very close long term friends that we share all sorts of things with.  These people have stood the test of time and have earned our trust.  Make new friends, but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold - not my words, but that of a Girlscout song. You can be fairly confident that none of them will be putting your tummy tuck in the alumni newsletter.  If for no other reason, than you have a huge pile of dirt on them.  It costs less to tell them your innermost dirt because you have a trust and an insurance policy that binds you together.

Even with your own family, sharing things can cost you.  When I was younger and had a fight with my friend at school, I told my mother all sorts of things about this girl.  Some of them were even true.  Of course two days later we were friends and I invited her to my house.  My mother only had this image of a she-devil who wanted to socially ruin her daughter.  You cannot hide the evil eye of your mother.  There is really no way to explain to the friend why my mother was so cold.  

Sharing is an important part of life, without it we cannot connect with others.  But because these connections are both valuable and fragile, we better be aware of the cost.

My cynical view of people's behavior has been challenged.  I tend to think that often times when someone is doing something nice, they are doing it for selfish reasons.  Perhaps they want to appear to be a saint or they like to be in the middle of things.  Often times people flock to the scene of an accident, not to help the victims, but to take in the visual drama as entertainment for themselves.

That is how I have looked at efforts in the past to be "helpful" to others, at times.  Is that lady at the door with the casserole really trying to bring comfort to a grieving family, or are they just wanting to tell their friends that they came to the house and know the real story about what happened?  Is that acquaintence coming to your house to see your newborn or report back what a pig sty you are now living in?

I know, I know, I'm very cynical about this.  Why?  Because I have been burned like this in the past.  People who were being "nice" turned into gossips or disappeared when you really needed something.

Now I have seen something different. 

After the death of my friends, Robin and Josh Berry (Gd, it even hurts to type those words), people have been coming out of the woodwork to help in ways that are actually helpful.  Rather than have hundreds of people mobbing the hospital or the doorstep of the mourners, people have been doing grassroots fundraising to get the surviving injured children what they will really need - Money.

This part is not cynical.  Money is really what they will need.  Their family will provide compassion, love, healing and support.  That is a given.  But what is hard to ask for from others, is money.  It costs a lot to raise three kids, it cost an unthinkable amount to raise your siblings orphaned and paralyzed three kids. 

Think about the new, handicapped friendly  house they will need, nursing care, motorized wheelchairs, etc.  And lest you think that insurance is going to cover it - think again.  Many health insurances have lifetime maximums.  Also, any only cover 80% out of network benefits.  Not to mention the medical planes that had to be involved to transport the kids  to their rehab place.

People from all around the world have been touched by this and are doing the two things that can actually help this family.  Sending messages of support and money.  Everything from Lemonade Stands, Bake Sales, Stores donating percentages of sales, all the way to a connection reaching out to Justin Beiber who started a celebrity awareness campaign. 

I have seen some comments on some of the news stories from people who say that giving to one family, rather than another, is unfair.  But what is really unfair, is having another driver cross over into your lane because he was looking for a DVD in his car and killing your parents.  What is really unfair is not being able to walk when you are 8 and 9 years old.

Yes, there are tragedies every day.  But most people feel better helping a family that they can put a name and a face with. 

What I haven't seen, thankfully, is the cynical behavior I was dreading.  I haven't seen people jockeying for position or attention.  I haven't seen a "mine fundraiser is better than yours" attitude.  I haven't seen a "no, I'm too busy with Pilates to help" response. 

I have seen people who loved Robin and Josh, who have never met or heard of Robin and Josh or who knew someone who knew someone who knew someone, all gathering together to help the Berry kids.

So lets give ourselves all a big round of applause and recognition for being superhuman, rather than just being human.

On July 2, the unthinkable happened.  A family was driving home from vacation when a car veered into their lane and hit them head-on.  No alcohol was involved- so don't even go there.  The two parents, who were friends of mine, died instantly.  Their two boys, ages 8 and 9 are currently paralyzed.  Their daughter, age 6, broke several bones, but will recover.

I don't know if I have a visual disorder or I'm crazy, but in my head, things look different than they do in reality.  These mostly have to do with the sizes of things.  I ordered something in the restaurant and when it came out I thought "that doesn't look like it's a lot of food".  Now before you take out your Weight Watcher's scales, sometimes things don't look like all that much.  I was quite full eating it and even left some over (very unusual), but my initial impression was how small it looked.

I have been remiss in writing for a good reason - My son's Bar Mitzvah.  It was modest by most standards, yet it required an intense amount of planning and preparation.  From daily 30 minute sessions of practicing to hammering out details such as the menu of the meal, it is time consuming.

I have discovered something about myself.  Whenever I have something big to worry about, such as a big problem with the kids, a large financial issue or a job change, I do what is most counter productive - I focus on any type of minutia that I can think of.  All of it unrelated to the problem at hand.  

Everyday, when I am stressed, or bored or whatever, I think of that special thing that makes me feel soooo good.  I think of the way it makes me feel, how my body is so liberated and how I hate to leave them.  That's right....pajamas.   Now I know people take them for granted, but hear me out.

At the end of the day, you remove your clothes that encased you while you were frustrated, anxious, nervous and over-whelmed.  And then you slip into the non-judgmental, loose-fitting, skin-pleasing and just heavenly pajamas.  It truly signals a change, a time to relax, the beginning of the end of the day.  Who isn't happy in pajamas? 

Of course, the pajamas have to be comfy.  No belly shirts, tight pants, button hole gapes or worn-out waistbands.  Just plain old cotton, satin or whatever material that's not spandex, pajamas.  I wear them long past their due date.  It was only this year that the last of my maternity pajamas finally gave out.  I cut them up into rags so that I will be comforted when cleaning.

I don't like anything fussy, itchy, scratch, ill-fitting, or odd.  I don't like nightgowns or sleeping shirts.  And I'm not talking about lingerie - that has little to do with sleeping (hopefully).  I mean the clothes that are just for you - not a work like uniform, not acceptable mom clothes and not anything formal with shoes that pinch your toes. 

So here's to my favorite part of the day, pajama time.  Just call me a pajama mama.

I have been remiss in my blogging - sorry.  Sometimes I just get so bogged down in the everyday nonsense of life that it consumes me.  What jolted me back was my recent vacation in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico.

Retreat of the ‘Tiger Mother’

By KATE ZERNIKE

Published: January 14, 2011

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Bob Daemmrich/Polaris

The author at a 2007 book signing.

Related

• Motherlode Blog | Post a Comment: The ‘Tiger Mother’ Speaks (January 14, 2011)

• No More Mrs. Nice Mom (January 16, 2011)

ROOM FOR DEBATE

Is Extreme Parenting Effective?

Does strict control of a child’s life lead to greater success?

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Lorenzo Ciniglio/Polaris

Amy Chua, author of “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” with her husband, Jed Rubenfeld, and daughters Lulu, left, and Sophia.

Declare that the way Asian-American parents succeed in raising such successful children is by denying them play dates and sleepovers, and demanding that they bring home straight A’s.

Note that you once told your own hyper-successful Asian-American daughter that she was “garbage.” That you threatened to throw out your other daughter’s dollhouse and refused to let her go to the bathroom one evening until she mastered a difficult piano composition. That you threw the homemade birthday cards they gave you as 7- and 4-year-olds back in their faces, saying you expected more effort.

Better yet, write a book about it.

What kind of reaction might you get?

In the week since The Wall Street Journal published anexcerpt of the new book by Amy Chua, a Yale law professor, under the headline “Why Chinese Mothers Are Superior,” Ms. Chua has received death threats, she says, and “hundreds, hundreds” of e-mails. The excerpt generated more than 5,000 comments on the newspaper’s Web site, and countless blog entries referring in shorthand to “that Tiger Mother.” Some argued that the parents of all those Asians among Harvard’s chosen few must be doing something right; many called Ms. Chua a “monster” or “nuts” — and a very savvy provocateur.

A law blog suggested a “Mommie Dearest” element to her tale (“No. Wire. Hangers! Ever!!”). Another post was titled “Parents like Amy Chua are the reason Asian-Americans like me are in therapy.” A Taiwanese video circulating on YouTube (subtitled in English) concluded that Ms. Chua would not mind if her children grew up disturbed and rebellious, as long as she sold more books.

“It’s been a little surprising, and a little bit intense, definitely,” Ms. Chua said in a phone interview on Thursday, between what she called a “24/7” effort to “clarify some misunderstandings.” Her narration, she said, was meant to be ironic and self-mocking — “I find it very funny, almost obtuse.”

But reading the book, “Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother,” it can be hard to tell when she is kidding.

“In retrospect, these coaching suggestions seem a bit extreme,” she writes in the book after describing how she once threatened to burn her daughter’s stuffed animals if she did not play a piano composition perfectly. “On the other hand, they were highly effective.”

In interviews, she comes off as unresolved. “I think I pulled back at the right time,” she said. “I do not think there was anything abusive in my house.” Yet, she added, “I stand by a lot of my critiques of Western parenting. I think there’s a lot of questions about how you instill true self-esteem.”

Her real crime, she said, may have been telling the truth. “I sort of feel like people are not that honest about their own parenting,” she said. “Take any teenage household, tell me there is not yelling and conflict.”

Ms. Chua is one half of the kind of Asian-Jewish academic power couple that, as she notes, populates many university towns. Her husband is Jed Rubenfeld, also a Yale law professor, and the author of two successful mystery novels. Ms. Chua, herself the author of two previous books, was reported to have received an advance in the high six figures for “Tiger Mother.”

If she has one regret, she said, it is that the Journal excerpt, and particularly the headline, did not reflect the full arc of her story.

Her book is a memoir that ends with her relenting (sort of) when the younger of her two teenage daughters refuses to go along with the “extreme parenting” Ms. Chua uses to prevent the kind of decline that she thinks makes some third-generation Asian-Americans as soft and entitled as their teammates on suburban soccer teams where every child is declared Most Valuable Player.

“I’ve been forced to answer questions about a book I didn’t write,” she said. “It’s not saying what people should do, it’s saying, ‘Here’s what I did, and boy did I learn a lesson.’ ” All this is captured, she said, in the book’s three-paragraph subtitle, which concludes with the words, “and how I was humbled by a thirteen-year-old.”

Born to Chinese parents who were raised in the Philippines and attended the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Ms. Chua, 48, graduated from Harvard and Harvard Law, where she was an executive editor of the Law Review. She confesses in her book that she is “not good at enjoying life,” and that she wasn’t naturally curious or skeptical like other law students. “I just wanted to write down everything the professor said and memorize it.”

Related

• Motherlode Blog | Post a Comment: The ‘Tiger Mother’ Speaks (January 14, 2011)

• No More Mrs. Nice Mom (January 16, 2011)

ROOM FOR DEBATE

Is Extreme Parenting Effective?

Does strict control of a child’s life lead to greater success?

•  Post a Comment

She was determined to raise her daughters the way she and her three sisters had been raised — which, she said, left them adoring their parents. By her account, her elder daughter, Sophia, complied, excelled and played piano at Carnegie Hall. But the younger, Lulu, rebelled. At the turning point of the memoir, Lulu, then 13, begins smashing glasses in a Moscow restaurant and yelling at her mother, “I HATE my life, I HATE you.”

Ms. Chua’s husband appears only peripherally in “Tiger Mother” — though there is one battle in which she lashes out at him after he worries that she is pushing their daughters to the point that there is “no breathing room” in their home.

“All you do is think about writing your own books and your own future,” she says to him. “What dreams do you have for Sophia or for Lulu? Do you ever think about that? What dreams do you have for Coco?” He bursts out laughing — Coco is their dog.

She concludes, “I didn’t understand what was so funny, but I was glad our fight was over.”

Initially, Ms. Chua said, she wrote large chunks about her husband and their conflicts overchild rearing. But she gave him approval on every page, and when he kept insisting she was putting words in his mouth, it became easier to leave him out.

“It’s more my story,” she said. “I was the one that in a very overconfident immigrant way thought I knew exactly how to raise my kids. My husband was much more typical. He had a lot of anxiety, he didn’t think he knew all the right choices.” And, she said, “I was the one willing to put in the hours.”

Still, she said, her children got pancakes and trips to water parks because of their father, the son of parents more inclined to encourage self-discovery.

The reaction to the book was particularly anguished among those who are products of extreme Asian parents. “I’m horrified that she’s American-born and hanging on to this, when most of us are trying to escape it,” said Betty Ming Liu, the daughter of Chinese immigrants from Vietnam and author of one of the many blog posts about the book. A California woman recalled how her sister became the perfect Asian daughter Ms. Chua aspires to produce, only to kill herself because she was afraid to tell anyone she suffered from depression.

Ann Hulbert, the author of “Raising America,” a history of a century’s worth of conflicting child-rearing advice, who is writing a book about child prodigies, notes that it is not hard to reignite the Mommy Wars.

“There is a kind of utter certainty in her writing,” she said of Ms. Chua, “and that confidence goes so against the underlying grain of American parenting and child-rearing expertise that it immediately elicits a response that then suggests a kind of certainty on the other side that isn’t there, either.”

Friends describe Ms. Chua as self-deprecating and a dry wit, her children as happy, and their home as humming with music and activity and, yes, love.

“Not that she’s without opinion, but she’s writing a memoir, not a parenting guide,” said Alexis Contant, who describes Ms. Chua as her closest friend for 20 years. “She will say sleepovers are overrated, but I have never heard her say, ‘I can’t believe so-and-so let their kid do it.’ ”

Ms. Chua said that her daughters have been eager to speak out in favor of the book; she is shielding them from the publicity. She said, however, that they did ultimately have play dates — though not many between the ages of 9 and 13, due to music practice. Sophia, now 18, has a boyfriend, she told me. “My kids have whatever those things are called — iPods,” she said. “They have iTunes accounts.”

Ms. Chua wrote most of the book in eight weeks, yet struggled with the end, she said, reflecting the East-West tug on her parenting. “It’s a work in progress,” she said. “On bad days I would say this method is terrible. I just need to give them freedom and choice. On good days, when Lulu would say: ‘I’m so glad you made me write that second draft of my essay. My teacher read it out loud,’ I think, I’ve got to stick to my guns.”

This week, her book tour will take her to the places where she has surely sparked the most debate: the Bay Area, Cambridge and the northwest quadrant of Washington.

But first, the family was planning to celebrate Lulu’s 15th birthday. They were taking her and eight of her friends to New York City. For a sleepover.

This edition is a reaction to the new book by Amy Chua about how she raised her two daughters.  She raised them in the Chinese tradition of being extremely focused at their outcomes - prizes, admissions to good schools, etc at the cost of their childhood fun.  I will attempt to link the article at the end of this post.  She never allowed them a playdate or sleepover and threatened to burn their stuffed animals if they didn't master tough piano pieces.

Resolutions are all around us now that the new year has begun.  I personally hate them.  I think they are setting us up for failure.  Why put so much pressure on ourselves?  Now that we are done over eating and over spending, don't you think that we would automatically know to cut back a bit?

What do you do when two people in a relationship want different things?  In this case it's fish.  Not the delicious pistachio encrusted halibut that I dream about.  This is about pets.  Pets that live in liquid. 

My husband wants to get a fish tank and fish.  He loves animals of all kinds and really wants fish. I, on the other hand, do not want anything that either costs money, entails responsibility or both.  I have four children and a dog for that.

So what are we to do?  I am hearing the familiar refrain that I will not have anything to do with them and that they will not be my responsibility.    I am skeptical about promises of any kind.  I don't believe in them because as circumstances change, sometimes its not possible to keep your promises.

So here we are at a crossroads. He wants fish, I don't.  There isn't a lot of room in the middle.  We can't get half a fish, or rent them for a week to see how we like it. 

I guess the challenge is to see how to solve these types of problems.  More important than the actual fish is the process of handling the negotiation. By definition negotiation means taking opposite sides.  But, as spouses, we are supposed to get along and survive the negotiation process.  Either way the one who "wins" really loses.  The one who wins ends up with a spouse who is resentful.  At least for my husband. 

I don't think its really possible to come to a resolution we will both be happy with. If there were something I wanted in return, we could make a trade.  But I don't want anything right now.   

Probably what will happen is he will get the fish and I will have an IOU stuck in my head so that when something comes up that he isn't thrilled with, I can take out the fish.  It's almost like banking a compromise.  I would like a hotel on Boardwalk made out of fish, so that when we roll the dice I have a way to avoid monopoly.  I'm sure there is some kind of message in there, but I haven't figured that out yet.

I am sorry if you are sick of reading about my inability to handle the death of my father.  But, this time, on what would have been his 74th birthday, I am focusing on the lessons he taught me by accident.  These are not the lessons I endured countless hours of lecture about, nor ones that I was quizzed on in school.  They don't even contain SAT words.  I will share three today:

1. True friends make you happy.  This seems cheesy, but I apply it to my life by remembering that my friends are people who make me happy and whom I'm comfortable around.  This exempts me from the social climbing that I witness around me.  I often see people worrying about who is invited where and how often.  Which friends spend too much time with one person and not enough with another.  In other words, the politics of seventh grade never dies - unless you choose to ignore them and just be a great friend.  No one can ever accuse my father of picking his friends based on their social status.

2.  Try not to look back - My dad spent too much time looking back and saying that if he had made a different decision at different times, his life would have been better.  Well, duh, all of us feel that way.  Everything from the unnecessary brownie I ate yesterday to jobs I should have taken and trips I should have scheduled weighs on me.  But it doesn't do me any good.  It is my biggest struggle to look ahead and not behind, but I try every day.

3. You never know what will happen, so don't over-worry it.  This was not a lesson he meant to teach me.  My dad was a healthfood fanatic who never ate red meat, excercized frequently and most of his food looked like cardboard.  This is supposed to keep you healthy.  That didn't end up working out.  So now I don't respond to every study that comes out saying "eat more fish" then the next week "too much fish will poison you" then the week after that "Why aren't you eating fish, dammit?"

The only study I really listen to is the one that says "drink red wine".  That one I can handle. 

Happy Hannukah or whatever.  I say this because I really can't understand the competition between Channukah and Christmas.  We don't try and compare Chanukkah with Diwali or the Tet holidays.  Maybe they do in India and Vietnam, but I think the whole thing is silly.  Here are my politically incorrect views on the subject.  ...don't hate me...

Anyone who has young children, boys or both knows that feeling that starts in the back of your neck and turns into full blown panic when you are at a public place or someone else's house and they start to act wild.  The wrestling, the screaming, the intense demands on you to deal with a Pokemon issue, all cause you to feel like you should somehow whip out the duct tape and cover their mouths and hands. 

I feel responsible for trying to make sure my boys don't bother anyone else or break anything, but that is like trying to contain sand in a mesh bag.  It is a futile effort that leaves me angry and exhausted.  Yet, I cannot let them run wild.  Guaranteed - they will break something or someone.  I try two different approaches - proactive and reactive.  Proactively, I explain to them why they need to behave and what the consequences are.  They of course, ignore me.  I plead with them to act, and I use the word act for a reason, like normal human beings.  I tell them that if they fight they will get thrown off the plane and I will not get off with them.  It doesn't necessarily work.

Reactively, I try and explain that if they keep throwing a rubber ball around, it will break something or hurt someone. I take the ball away and before I can slip it into my purse, they have found a way to make a plastic bag into a weapon.  There is a reason why MacGyver was male. 

I talk in hushed tones telling them not to stand on furniture.  I  am not above giving them a small pinch to not throw straw wrappers in a restaurant or talk to loudly in my mother's condo.

Just so you know I don't expect them to be in straight jackets, I give them outside time.  I have them play where they can release their energy in an appropriate place. I bring lots of electronic gadgets on the plane along with plenty of snacks.

I understand that the nature of a child is not to be confined and restricted.  But if I don't teach them proper social norms, how will they ever function in the real world.  And worse, they will need to move back home after college. 

So I continue my struggle with letting boys be boys and not being sued for assault with a deadly weapon when one of those bouncy balls "accidentally" knocks out a senior citizen's teeth.

I have strange mixed feelings about missing two reunions within the past 2 weeks.  My 25th year high school reunion was last weekend.  I really wanted to go, but it wasn't possible.  So through the magical world of FB, I was able to see the pictures.  At first, since no one was identified, I thought that I am loosing my memory and that people must have changed so much that I didn't recognize anyone.

What a terrifying experience I  had yesterday.  I was sitting in my office, attempting to bill Medicaid, which is very similar to Alice in Wonderland's tea party, but not as satisfying when the phone rings.  "This is the school nurse".  "Which school?  I have kids at three schools".  Ok I figure out it is my older son's school (because the nurse told me so) and she says "I'm concerned about Joe".  And I though, "Yeah, me too - who isnt?"  In my head I'm thinking that it must be some sort of stomach ache that shouldn't necessitate me picking him up.

Tonight is election night.  I never feel good about who I vote for.  Usually its the lesser of two evils.  I don't belong to any political party because I am disgusted with both of them.  They are both full of obnoxious people who focus on telling us why the other one is bad.  Its like two fighting siblings.  Neither is right and obviously, neither have the answers.  I don't care whose fault anyone says a problem is - no one has been able to solve so no one is an ideal person to have running the show.

It was like a bad sitcom, only it was my real life.  I finally decided that I need to find a grief support group to help me deal with my persistent feelings of sadness and loss about my dad.  So, I looked around and lo and behold, my synagogue has a grief support group.  So, I planned my week around it, cancelled some plans and made sure I could make the wednesday meeting.

I am proud to say that I am not the kind of parent you will see on TV (except maybe Jerry Springer) who hovers over their child -or for that matter even remembers their names.  I can never remember who is doing what activity unless I am reminded several times. 

We have all been on both sides of this equation.  On the one side is the power holder.  The person or people who we really want to invite us to hang out with them.  We look up to them, think they are entertaining, cool and socially slightly above us.  We really enjoy their company and want to be just a little bit like them.   They invite us to hang out and to go places and do things.  It really makes us feel great.  Until.....we read on Facebook or hear from another friend that they went off to do something really fun with someone else.  Now you feel like a jilted lover.  How could they go see that movie with another person and not invite me?  What did I do?

"Relax, chill out". These words  make me nervous and anxious.  Who can possibly relax?  Apparently many people who are not me.  Its not that I don't want to relax, I would love to.  But I have a constant "to do" list going on in my head.  Its like the credits at the end of a movie that just keep rolling. How can I sit and enjoy my TV show when there are three loads of laundry to be folded?  How can I kick back when there are mounds of paperwork to go through, bills to pay and emails to answer?

Do you ever find yourself wondering what would have happened if you had chosen differently?  What if I had taken another job?  Another school?  Another city?  Never had kids?  Had fewer kids?  Had more kids - OK not that one.

I apologize for being away from the blog for a while.  I was dealing with some health issues.  Nothing that will kill me and nothing that is anyone's business.  I don't want to get into the details because I don't want a lot of unsolicited advice.

I think it's a mistake to think too much about things. I tend to over-analyze situations and it depresses me.  Why can't a comment, just be a comment instead of a hidden meaning?  Also, I tend to see only negative comments, rather than positive comments.  It's entirely possible that there are more positive underhanded comments flying around out there that I am missing because I am too focused on what possible negative undertones someone could mean.

In addition to all of my other accomplishments, we can now add diplomat.  I have figured out how to solve the ground zero Mosque issue.  First, let me tell you that I worked at the World Trade Center for seven years, so this is a very sensitive subject for me.  Also, I am Jewish, so the whole Islamic thing is kinda scary for me.

Despite the cutsey commercials about pouty kids and gleeful parents going back to school shopping, it is, in fact a nightmere.  First, you spend a lot of money on clothes.  Why? Not sure.  True they grow, but at a certain rate, like plants. Why they suddenly need a whole  new wardrobe when three months ago their clothes were fine for school is a giant mystery.  Apparently in these three months, all the styles have changed.  What was hip and "in" is now passe, and so-five-minutes-ago.  And these are kids who wear uniforms to school. 

After somehow spending a ton of dough on new shoes, sox, underwear (really, your underwear is now out of style?), uniforms, weekend wear, accessories, hair ribbons, watches, glasses and belts, its time to hit the office supply stores.  With the younger kids, I got a list a mile long for obsolete items such as blue erasable pens.  I believe thats what pencils are for.  Or 220 pages of notebook paper.  Of course they are only sold in packs of 150 pages.  Lest we forget the index card holder and the six quart clear boxes. 

This year my philosophy started out very sane.  If they didn't sell the school supply in the same Walmart where I buy my groceries, I wasn't getting it.  No more chasing after odd, custom-made sizes of poster board.  And lest you scoff at the Walmart reference, their food stores rock.  Same food, but cheaper.  And they sell wine and beer.  What more can you ask for?  True, i have to go to different stores for some fancier ingredients, but thats OK.  I am happy to do most of my shopping where I spend less on the staples.  Plus, I feel good knowing that I feed my kids for the absolute lowest price.

Speaking of Staples, eldest child is picky about school supplies and insisted we drive 30 minutes away to find a Staples because she likes their brand of binder.  Nevermind that we live five minutes from an OfficeMax, Target, Walmart and ten from Office Depot.   Plus, I was on to the Staples trick of having a great price on a couple of items, and very high prices on everything else.  Sure I saved $3.00 on pencils, but I spent an extra $49 on binders.  Never would have happened at Walmart.

Anyway, I know that the first day of school is coming and I will see the children go into the school and meet their teachers.  At the end of the day, I will ask them how the first day went.  And they will hand me an additional list of school supplies that they will need by the next week.....

The hardest part about being a parent sometimes is resisting the urge to choke your children and scream "you idiot, if you would just behave a little bit then I would be able to give you so much more instead of spending my time punishing you".  Sounds like an episode of Sex and the City but it is really an episode of Teenager in the Suburbs.  

Have you ever found yourself in a situation where you are completely and utterly out of place and in a different world?  Sometimes you can embrace it and/or view it as an anthropological study.  Today, for a business meeting, I had to go into a neighborhood right out of a Spike Lee movie.  Not a bagel shop in sight.  Not even big chain stores.  Just hair salons and fried fish restaurants.  I entered the meeting, one of two caucasians, and was wondering if this meeting would be any different because the demographics were so homogenous in a way I'm unacustommed to.  I imagined that many African American people must feel the same way whenever they attend a meeting full of white people.

There were only very minor differences.  One was that there was a prayer.  I think that was more of a Southern/Texas thing than an African American thing.  I am never freaked out by this because I am not uncomfortable with other people praying.  I am comfortable enough with my own religion and spirituality that I enjoy watching others get something out of their own prayer services.  I don't participate, because that would feel wrong to me, but I take an academic view and enjoy learning about how people pray and in my head compare that to all the TV and movies I have seen about church.  Occasionally, I will get a vision of Fred Sanford stuck in my head telling his deceased wife "Lizbeth" that the Lord was coming to take him.

The only other minor difference was more vocal agreements during speeches.  Kind of like on TV, where a lady yells out "Amen brother" there was a lady doing that in this meeting.  But again, I really enjoyed it.  I am very expressive and think that us uptight white New Englanders could learn a thing or two about interjecting "Lord, I hear you brother" when being presented with the current state of a clinic's operations.

Finally, everyone was warm and welcoming.  They all hugged me and we exchanged cards and thought of ways in which we could be mutually helpful to each other.  The underlying business model of the place was impressive and well thought out and well funded.  I was happy to see that with all the strife and differences I read about in the paper and see on TV, in real life I felt very comfortable and happy that the only differences are the ones that we make up in our heads.  Amen brother.   - There is one funny thing that happened earlier in the day.  I got on an elevator and a large black woman started singing the theme to the Jeffersons.  How often does that happen?

Todays thoughts are going to be about the American mall experience.  Yesterday I took my daughter shopping for some clothes.  Sounds like a simple task, but it is analogous to saying "I just went into Iraq to pick up Osama Bin Laden."  Only, its more exhausting than that.  Because it involves hundreds of teenagers and even more anxious, overwhelmed and throughly exhausted parents.  

No kidding, I could not make this up.  Yesterday I saw a man with a tattoo on his forehead that said "1-800-tattoo.com".  On his forehead.  You cannot hide that.  Not even with bangs.  When asked about it, he said that he had a job at a tattoo parlor and he was so greatful for the job that he had the staff tattoo his forehead.  Great judgement- he is no longer working there, but the tattoo is still there.

Oh, the unimaginable frustrations of trying to make someone else do something.  My son does not want to do his summer book report.  This sounds like a small thing, but it's not. It's a symbol of the overall frustration many people, especially women, feel everyday.  

I am definately considering it a bad sign that not one, but two of my psychiatrist reading fans have contacted me and urged me into counseling.  The fact is I would love to go into counseling, but who has time?  Also, I consider it too self indulgent.  I can't help feeling that the poor therapist looking at me must be thinking "milk, eggs, cheese, bread" composing their shopping list in their head.  It feels kind of narcissistic to think that I have the right to complain to someone for an hour.

Some days you feel like a higher power is testing you.  I always have great anxiety about getting places on time.  Not because I am OCD or neurotic.  Its because I have to transport so many people and things all the time.  Take this morning....I get up extra early to make sure that I can leave on time to drop off one child at camp A and two other children at camp B before work.  Of course camp B will not let you drop them off before 8:30.  I am supposed to be at work at 8:00am.  

I just got back from picking my son up from overnight camp.  He is the first one to go of my four children, even though he is number three.  Its not for my lack of trying.  I would have loved for either or preferably both of the first two to go to sleep away camp- but they weren't the type.

How do you know what to worry about?  Sometimes I spend all my time worrying about something that might happen and then get blindsided by something I never expected.  Other times I don't worry about something and in turn, don't act and get myself into trouble. 

Lately, I have been trying to gage what to worry about and how to go about it.  I have been trying to not immediately react to stuff.  Instead, give myself some time to consider all the possibilities and the best ways to handle things.  Sometimes it works, other times its just a vehicle to procrastinate. 

So how do you know what to worry about? You don't.  Or at least I don't.  So I tend to worry about way too many things that don't ultimately matter instead of spending that time enjoying my life.  Not the best plan. 

In fact, right now, I am worrying about what I should be doing instead of blogging.  And when I am doing other things, I worry that I am not keeping up with my blogging.  Sound crazy enough?  In fact, I am signing off to go hit my to-do list so I wont worry about it.

I am picking up the writing again after a conversation I had yesterday with someone at a birthday party.  Not a kids birthday party- an adult's birthday party.  I was very happy to be invited to the party.  Why?  Because it felt genuine.  What does that mean?  Well, I was thinking about that. 

First, it didn't seem like everyone and their mother was invited because of social obligations.  I hate going places where I am invited, but don't feel comfortable being there.  Everyone has this experience, where you are invited to a party, dinner, outing or whatever but you know damn well that it is out fof social obligation.  "Well, I invited Muffy and Fluffy, so I guess I have to invite Diana too because she will find out about it anyway"  or worse "I am inviting all first grade parents"  How ironic when you are invited somewhere, but don't enjoy it!

That is why I so much enjoyed being invited to a reasonably smallish gathering.  The feeling of being included in something is very good.  Especially when you like the people so much.  If you don't like the people and you have to go out of obligation, then its not so good.  Everyone has that experience too.  "Sure, I'd love to accompany my spouse to a retirement party at his work for someone I don't know"

I think everyone seeks a feeling of inclusion because it is a validation.  "Gd dammit, someone thinks its cool to hang out with me"  And of course they are right.  Sometimes I don't care if I'm not included and I find out about it later and sometimes I do.  I usually am pretty dismissive about the whole thing "I'm glad you guys had fun".  Occasionally it irrationally bothers me "you mean you had a dinner for young lawyers and didn't invite me?"

The absolute worst is when you think you are being invited by the "popular" mom, but it turns out it is a fake party to try and sell you something.  It starts out as an evite.  Ohhh, an evite that is not for my child.  What could it be?  Is it a Haddasah meeting?  No?  Ahhh... wait, its an invitation from Darcy, her daughter is in my son's class.  what could it be?  A coffee social?  A cocktails and book discussion?  Nooo.  Big disappointment.  Its a party to sell (pick one or a combination) kitchenware, clothes, jewelry, stationary, hats, and I kid you not, adult toys and lingere.  What could be more uncomfortable than being in a room full of aquaintences where they discuss how and why they use adult toys.  No discounts on the floor models.

Anyway, usually all it takes for me to show up is the promise of food and/or drinks.   Unless its a PTO meeting or a committee meeting of any kind.  Then even the allure of free steak and wine could not move me to attend. 

Well, its been a while since I last blogged.  I am still fighting the urge to just crawl into bed and never get out. 

On sunday, my eight year old son is going to sleep-away camp.  I am full of very mixed feelings.  First, disbelief.  I can't imagine that my son is old enough to go away for a month.  Second, jealousy.  I loved going to camp and wish it was me still going.  Which leads to feeling number three - old.  How did I get so old that I am no longer a camper, but instead the parent of a camper.

As much fun as camp was, it was something of a mixed bag.  It was intense socialization.  Which is great in most ways, but a lot of pressure for people.  It is 24/7 social time.  So for kids who are naturally socially astute, it is utopia.  My son is one of those kids.  He will not want to come home.  For other kids who don't naturally socialize well and need a lot of down time, it's a hard place to be.  For that reason, I don't send all my kids.

I was in the middle.  Most of the time it was so much fun.  But there were times when the social hierarchy got to me.  There were times when I was going about my merry business and later find out that a whole "thing" had taken place that I knew nothing about.  Or I'd arrive at camp and there would be a fashion that I didn't know about and I'd be the odd girl out.

I digress.  Anyway, I am sad to see my boy go away, but happy that a new chapter in his life is beginning.

What constitutes fun as we get older?  When we were younger it was running through a field or going to an amusement park or having a sleepover.  Now, when you really really think about it, what is fun for us to do?

This weekend I went to an all-ladies birthday party.  There was a lot of kareoke.  The birthday girl loves to sing.  I used to really like singing, but now, I am too embarassed to sing.  I have a horrible singing voice, but when I was at camp or with my friends in high school listening to Van Halen (dating myself much?) we would unconsciencously belt it out.  Now, I wouldn't dare hum along to the alphabet song.  The fun has left singing for me.  Why?  I don't know.  Maybe because my kids often remind me that I have a terrible voice and forbid me to sing in front of their friends.  Or perhaps I just don't enjoy it like I used to.

So what then is fun?  Hanging out with friends is fun, that feeling of sharing and acceptance.  But there is no activity associated with it.  I am envious of people who have something they are passionate about.  Like people who go with friends to surf or to hike or to baseball card shows. I don't have anything like this.  The closest I ever came was a book club.  I love to read, but that is too broad a hobby.  It would be more interesting if I had a group of friends who did jujitsu and then we all went out to dinner afterward. 

Not likely, since I never had any hobbies.  I tired some.  I tried scrapbooking, but all I had in the end were scraps.  I have to aptitude for arts and crafts.  I ended up having my pictures glued with stray dog hairs protruding.  I tried yoga.  I found it somewhat degrading to be told to assume the positions of animals.  I especially did not like sitting in rows and then being asked to bend over.  There is no way I was going to stick my tush in someone else's space.  Too humiliating. 

For a while I went to the gym.  That was good, but once I got a full time job, I can't manage to find the time.  Plus, it was one of those things where I was always at the bottom of the pack; I would never be the one training for a half marathon.  I would just barely be able to catch my breath.

The things I like doing are analyzing things and coming up with possible answers.   But I finished business school where we did this in every class and now I do this a lot at work.  It is less fun when your great answer has to fit into a political framework that requires compromise and frustration.  That is how life is. 

Even this very blog has had its issues.  While it is interesting and fun to write, there is also the unrelenting internal pressure to keep it up.  Also, where am I going with it?  Am I going to publish it?  Write a book?  Or just keep writing because it's cheaper than therapy.  I'm not sure.  I guess as long as its still fun, I'll keep doing it.

Have you ever had things to do that you just avoid?  You hear the other moms talk about signing their kids up for camp months ago, but you can't bring yourself to be bothered with the enormous hassle of investigating camps, interviewing people, making the decision and forking over the cash.  Then suddenly, its summer and the kids ask you where they are supposed to report to next week. Oops. 

Its not that I don't want them to have fun and love their summers.  Its that I am hassled all the time that future planning has no place in my life.  If things are sailing along, that is chaotic enough that I can barely function.  The idea of planning another detail is unbearable.  Lest you think I'm a horrible slacker, only one of my four children is without a solid plan for the summer.  And mostly its because of his age group and his inability to attend overnight camp.

I cannot imagine that in two years I will be helping my oldest choose a college.  Aside from the whole emotional "where did the time go" aspect, the idea of adding on a year-long layer of planning into my life is horrifying.  A conflict filled, stress inducing, disagreeable year of deciding the all important decision about college.  When in fact, it really doesn't matter that much where you go to college.

I mean for the ninety percent of us who will go on to lead a normal life, it really won't matter that much whether you went to BYU, BU, AU, UT, NYU, AM, or any combination of these letters.  As long as they have a good program in your area of study, most people will make friends, make mistakes, discover a little of who they are and hopefully discover love.  Maybe for a very specific few it really matters if you go to MIT or not, but honestly, there are plenty of Harvard moms in the preschool pickup line with me.  Thats right, standing in the same line, going to the same birthday parties and dealing with the same tantrum issues. 

Still, you cannot possibly explain this to a teenager who thinks that the tank top she wears today will greatly impact her life for the foreseeable future.  Afterall, the shade of purple needs to compliment the eyeliner- C'mon people.  It takes a lot of work to make it look like you don't care about anything.

Anyway, I'm looking ahead too far.  Lets get through the next couple of weeks and see what camp I can find for the 12 year old.  Some of the computer camps wanted to charge over seven hundred dollars for a week long day camp.  Hell, I will take a leave of absence from my job and open a camp for seven hundred dollars a kid.  It will be called life camp.  I will teach kids how to grocery shop with coupons- but somehow not be able to get everything you need in one store.  I will teach them to multitask being on the phone, cooking, doing laundry, wiping a nose (kid, yours or dog), cleaning and answering ten questions about frogs all at the same time. Priceless.