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Feeling Judgy? Have More Kids!

Kristen Chase — Tue, 22 Mar 2011 12:00:00 EST

Filed under: Opinions

You could probably rattle off about 10 hot button parenting issues right now without even thinking.

Breast-feeding, vaccinations, spanking, circumcision ...

OK, so that's four. But you get the idea.

However, these days it seems as though you can pretty much debate every single parenting choice. Say, for example, whether kids should share a room.

I would never have thought about that as a debate, but rather a personal decision based on house size, available space, that sort of thing. Or, you know, a necessity. Like food.

But apparently, like food, it's debatable, see:

To be fair, I'm a huge fan of Brain Child magazine, where Meagan Francis's piece was published, and, while I haven't read it, I'm fully aware the magazine's "debates" are way more about opening up a dialog than actual fights. I trust that it's smart, intelligent and not at all some sort of cat fight about sleeping arrangements.

But, then again, I have to say to myself, "really?"

Now, I love a good debate as much as the next person. When done well, it can get us thinking, which is good for our brains that are slowly turning to mush from having to repeat ourselves 4,000 times.

I definitely have opinions -- lots of them -- which I'm happy to share if asked. Or, if you try to give me a hard time about them, I'll be happy to rip you a new one.

But, I'll be honest, after having more kids, I have way less time to care about what other people think.

It's liberating, actually.

Now, that doesn't necessarily mean people with fewer kids have more time to be judgmental. But I do think that after you have more than one kid, you start to care much less (if at all) about what people think of you because you're just concerned with keeping your kids alive, let alone fretting about where they're sleeping.

Or, hey, maybe that's me.

But if you really don't want to care at all about what people think, just keep breeding. Whether my fourth kid is sucking on a pacifier or not is the least of my concerns. Actually, I'm more apt to try to make her suck on one so I can get some sleep.

And, even better, I could care less about what other people do. Granted, I'm not so keen on giving your kid a Coke Zero for breakfast, though good for you -- no sugar! If you're keeping them out of harm's way, then what do I care?

So, if you're looking for a way to let go of worrying about your parenting choices or what people think of your parenting choices, have more kids. Lots of them.

Then you'll just be focused on actually getting your kids to sleep as opposed to thinking about where they are when they're, hopefully, actually sleeping.

Trust me.

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Opinion: When Did Day Care Become a Bad Thing?

Kristen Chase — Tue, 15 Mar 2011 13:45:00 EST

Filed under: Opinions

Do you scoff at summer camp? You obviously don't have four kids. Credit: Getty

In the five months I have spent as a mom of four kids, I've learned that I'm probably always going to be behind.

I'm regularly late on the payments for my daughter's ballet class. I've had to drain my own stash of juice boxes and animal crackers to cover snack duties at my son's preschool. And thank goodness for the gift closet, which has provided birthday party gifts more times than I'd like to admit.

The combination of home schooling, chasing after four little ones younger than 6 and running a business -- all with a husband who travels -- means I've had to compromise and prioritize. And, as someone with a type A personality, that feels pretty much like giving up.

However, I do need to sleep -- or at least try to sleep -- so I just have to accept that I can't do it all.

But that doesn't mean I don't still feel guilty. Or overwhelmed. Like when I get announcements for summer camp registration at the beginning of February. Heck, I'm still buying mittens and hats for my kids. And now I'm supposed to be thinking about camp?

Suddenly, I'm tucking my Supermom cape between my legs and worrying that I'm somehow depriving my children because I'm too busy just trying to keep my head above the water.

Then, I felt even worse when I asked another mom about the camp, which seemed like a fun, well-rounded day camp my two older kids might enjoy, and she described it as "day care." And not in a "Yay! Day care is such a great place for kids to learn and interact while their parents work or catch a break!" sort of way. But rather, it was a "Day care is where parents who are too wrapped up in their own lives to give a crap about their kids dump their children" tone.

And, as a way to somehow make the way she said it seem less judgmental, it was followed by "if you're into that sort of thing."

But these days, I could really care less what someone else thinks. Because I am so very much "into that sort of thing." And I bet if she had four kids, she probably would be, too.

Aside from the fact that I was just proud of myself for considering a summer camp within plenty of time to pay for early bird registration and not begging them to squeeze my kid in with a late fee, since when did a camp where your kids get to play in the dirt, swim in a lake and ride horses become a "bad" thing?

I guess I'm supposed to be able to do all that regular old stuff with them and leave the Chinese lessons, yoga classes and specialized math instruction to the experts.

Sounds like a really fun way to spend a summer.

As an alternative to summer camp, there's vacation Bible school -- no, that's not day care. Because it's free. And you're learning about Jesus.

Now, if you would have asked me several years ago when I was newish mom, toting around my lone toddler, I might have scoffed at the idea myself. But it doesn't take a mathematician to figure out that more kids means less individual time with them. Much of my time with my kids is spent going from here to there and everywhere, all of us together, with all the kids pitching in to do more than their fair share.

It still stings to see my baby sitter taking the kids to the playground in the afternoons while I work. But then I remind myself that I'm with them for the entire morning, and will be with them for the entire night.

Adding parenting years under my belt and a few more little ones into the mix has made me understand the value of allowing kids to be kids. Perhaps the best parts of my own childhood were the days spent at regular old summer camp -- floating on a lake in an inner tube, roasting marshmallows over a fire and singing songs that annoyed the crap out of my parents.

So, call it what you want. Or turn your nose down upon it. But if there's anything I've learned, I can't do or be everything for my kids. It's not good for them. Or me.

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The Bigger the Family, the Dumber the Comments From Strangers

Kristen Chase — Tue, 01 Mar 2011 12:00:00 EST

Filed under: Opinions

It really only takes a visible baby in your belly for the opinionated idiots to come out of the woodwork. Your vagina somehow becomes a topic of conversation in the line at Starbucks and now your friendly barista knows way more about you than what you take in your coffee.

And then when you actually have the baby, it's like little so-and-so sends off an asshole beacon, inviting comments about everything from how your baby should be sleeping, eating and, hell, even pooping, from people you were perfectly fine never ever knowing. (And, most often, people who are in no place to be giving advice about raising children.)

But once you decide to procreate beyond two kids, it's like you moved to Doucheville -- where anyone who can count seems to think you need to know that.

"Wow, four kids! You have your hands full!"

Now, if I were some of you with only one or two kids, I'd be offended. Apparently you're underachievers. Wimps! Pussies! Your mediocre breeding efforts are not deserved of the Captain Obvious commentary, even though, technically speaking, your hands are indeed full.

No, you just get the "Oh, so when's the next one arriving?" questions. Lucky you.

I realize it doesn't sound offensive, this innocent, albeit completely inaccurate, observation. But I've yet to actually figure out why people take the time to say it when I'm convinced they're really trying to say something else.

For example:

Ugly man with zipper down holding a bottle of Jack and some Preparation H: "Why can't I find a woman who puts out like you?"
Twenty-something hipster with a basket full of lentils, gluten-free pasta, and her dog: "OMG I have four dogs and I can totally relate!!!!!"
Grandmotherly type in a motorized cart: "When are my ungrateful children going to have some beautiful grandchildren like yours?"
Frazzled mom chasing her one toddler around the store: "Are you fucking out of your mind?"

And of course, they all know you're with your children, so you can't respond with anything more than a gritted tooth grin and a "You betcha!" when really you'd like to tell them what they're full of.

"Sorry dude, I'm not a whore. Anymore."

On our first trip as a family of six a few weeks ago, a man made the effort to come up to us as I was chasing my kids and my husband was chasing our luggage in the baggage claim area.

"I just had to tell you that you guys are comical!" he said.

"Thank you!" I grinned, not even waiting to digest what he was actually saying. My husband was pissed, never having the pleasure of going anywhere with all the kids at once, which tends to earn me at least one comment like that from a complete stranger, though I admit, the whole "comical" thing was new to me.

"What's that supposed to mean!" he said, craning his neck to see where the guy was going.

"I have no idea," I replied, "But if we're comical, then he really needs to get out more."

What stinks is that constantly being on the defensive means you're ready to pounce on the next person who dares to speak to you. I nearly bit the head off of a lovely woman who only meant to congratulate me. "How lucky you are!" she said, sharing with me her infertility challenges in the Whole Foods line, her only child buckled sweetly in a shopping cart cover that was fitted carefully in her cart. "It took me over four years just to have her!"

"You can take this one off my hands!" I replied, pointing to my screeching toddler tossing organic overpriced cheese snacks at his sister.

Then I thanked her.

It's true. My hands are definitely full. And you know what? So is my heart.

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Accidents Happen (Or, How I Had 4 Kids)

Kristen Chase — Tue, 18 Jan 2011 13:00:00 EST

Filed under: Opinions

When people ask me if I always wanted four kids, I laugh. I didn't even want to have one, let alone four.

It wasn't because I didn't like kids. I spent the large portion of my days with other peoples' kids.

Come to think of it, that's probably why I didn't want any.

Really, I just told myself I'd probably never be able to have kids, and that I'd be a terrible parent to mask my belief that I wasn't good enough to deserve my own children. I'd remind myself that being raised in a damaged home somehow made me damaged, and as a damaged parent, I'd only damage my kids.

I couldn't be responsible for their bankruptcy-by-therapy. I was doing the world a favor!

So I gushed about how much I loved my job! And my freedom! DINKS 4-EVER!

And then I got pregnant.

It was "a birth control malfunction!!!" I told my religious mother, with a feigned excitement, hoping she'd be so distracted by the Lord's providence that she wouldn't damn me to Hell for my out-of-wedlock pregnancy.

It wasn't completely untrue. I mean, I had been taking the pill. At one point in time ... that I couldn't really remember.

But secretly I was thrilled. And relieved. Perhaps I'd done some good in my life to deserve this baby.

Then she was born and I wondered what hell I had caused to deserve this baby.

Mothering was as natural and as attractive on me as tattooed eyebrows. I struggled for the first 18 months of my daughter's life, trying to figure out what I had gotten myself into and why anyone would actually choose to do this.

And then choose to do it over and over and over again.

I guess that why it's good all my kids were surprises, though people like to chastise me for saying so.

But they were. All of them. Or as surprising as a baby can be when you're having semi-protected sex.

I can't quite understand what bothers people so much about someone having four unplanned kids. Maybe it's because life is so scheduled these days. We get married. Buy a house. Then decide "to start trying" as if there was some sort of life checklist we need to follow.

I'm waiting for someone to start selling "We're trying to have a baby" announcements.

Then we find out the gender of our baby as soon as possible so we can pick his wardrobe and decorate his room in the appropriate, gender-specific colors.

How will our baby survive without clothes in his closet before he is born and a completely finished nursery that he probably won't sleep in until he's at least 6 months old anyway?

We take tours of the best preschools in our town even before he can walk because if he doesn't get into that preschool then he won't get into that elementary school and high school and then Harvard, oh my!

Since when was "spontaneous" and "unplanned" deleted from our vernacular?

With each child it's gotten easier, though I'm far from being a super mom.

But I love all my kids with all of my being.

Unfortunately, all that love doesn't help me remember to get two dozen eggs at the grocery store and ensure that I have the best system for dealing with the daily loads of laundry that taunt me.

And it doesn't keep me from yelling at my kids and then subsequently apologizing more than I'd like to admit.

But if my kids weren't surprises, then I'm not sure I would have had them at all. Sometimes the universe knows better than we do.

Accidents happen. Condoms break.

And for that I'm thankful. Four times over.

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Is Amy Chua's Chinese Parenting Strategy Good for America?

Kristen Chase — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 09:10:00 EST

Filed under: In The News, Opinions

The last time I spoke to my grandmother was early 2000, just after my Chinese mother officially cut her off.

Our relationship was comprised of birthday cards, infrequent holiday visits and reluctant phone calls, forced out of a polite obligation. So when I decided to cut her off out of respect for my mother, there was no love lost. Probably because there was no love there in the first place.

I suppose life would have been different for my mother, a second generation American-born Chinese woman, had she not been born between two "golden" sons. Perhaps the social deprivation and verbal abuse like Amy Chua describes in her recent Wall Street Journal article "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior," would have made her wildly successful.

Instead, my mom left home after high school, got married to a raging alcoholic at 19 and was an abused wife and stay-at-home-mom to three children.

A failure by all Chinese accounts.

I was still raised very much in the Chinese "way," with math drills over breakfast, violin practice into the wee hours of the night and a superiority complex masking my own poor self-esteem and need for unconditional acceptance. She, like her own mother, believed that this "Chinese strategy," as Chua coins, would not only prepare me for the future, but also reflect positively on her.

And so I learned that achievement meant acceptance. And acceptance meant love. And so I did everything I could to get it. I skipped two grades, entered college at 15 and eventually became the youngest director of a college music therapy program in the United States.

I also tried and failed at relationships, even a marriage. And I spent way too much money on therapy trying to figure out why I was so insecure, unhappy and emotionally damaged.

For all the violin recitals performed, ballet shows danced and academic honors earned, I felt as though an entire part of me had been completely neglected.

Bach and Balanchine couldn't give me the unconditional love that I needed.

Contrary to Chua's belief, it's possible to raise happy, well-adjusted, high-achieving kids with kindness, love, and respect. We don't need to be their best friends, but we also don't need to berate them. We can allow them the privilege of sleepover parties and school plays, along with enforcing the hours of practice and homework.

While her daughters' achievements, like many children of Chinese parents, are commendable, they are only a small part of what makes them a person. Their story isn't yet finished. And if it's anything like the many Asian Pacific Americans (APA) who have been raised by Chinese mothers, it won't be full of praise for their parenting methods.

The documented high suicide rates and rampant depression amongst APA women in particular, coupled with a lifelong resentment -- not just for the perpetrating parent, but for the passive one, who stood by and allowed their voice of reason to be muted -- hardly make a happily ever after.

What piece will these girls be playing? What will happen after the curtain closes?

Parenting is as equally invigorating as it is frustrating. It can make you laugh and weep, sending you right to the edge of insanity and drawing you right back within one singular moment.

There is no how-to manual, no proven theorem, no set of guidelines. No recipes to follow or checklists to monitor.

That's why the "Chinese way" is so fantastic for computer software, plastic toys and cars.

But for raising humans?

I'm not sure it's worth the price they'll pay when their kids cut them off.

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