I’m Asian. I grew up with a Tiger Mom. My two kids claim I’m strict and unreasonable. They have no idea what strict and unreasonable really means.
I married into a big, loving, very Catholic, Italian family that specializes in drama. My husband, in return, got a small, caustic Asian family that specializes in crazy. Seems to me it’s a pretty fair trade: My Baggage for Your Baggage.
As of this writing, our two kids are 14 and 11. I don’t want it to, but our lives revolve around them. Mostly it’s because they can’t drive and none of their activities are within walking distance from our house, so we’re forced to adjust our lives for the great privilege of carting them around places. But it also turns out that, somewhere along the way, their lives got significantly busier, more interesting and, possibly, more important than ours, and their schedules became… our schedule.
But I guess it’s not the worst thing. At least now I have an excuse as to why I don’t have a life.