Live and Let Di

Eat, Pray, Love

I recently finished Fieldwork by Mischa Berlinski and am still so consumed by its beautifully crafted plot and unique perspective that I can't yet do a book review. However, last night I flung Eat, Pray, Love (I refuse to bend to the oh-too-cutesy lack of caps on the book cover...sorry Amy) across the living room and could hardly wait to arise this morning and tell you why.

Eat, Pray, Love (sorry, if I pan the book, you only get two links...the one in the first paragraph and the one linked to the book cover) is on every shelf. From my own personal experience at Kroger last night, I can tell you that it's easier to find this book in the grocery store than it is to find Steak-Umms. (Special thanks to Ruth. I ran into her at Kroger as I was limping around trying to find them and as I was getting ready to meet the manager in the frozen section, she emerged triumphantly waving a 24-pack that somehow eluded me during my three passes through aisle 11.) I am sure that this book will appeal to many who will delight in the author's self-indulgence. I, for one, and Amy for two, do not find her truth- and healing-seeking travels to be entertaining or insightful.

Since one of my feelings about the book is that it tends to be shallow, I shall be shallow myself and point out that the lovely Ms. Gilbert looks strikingly like the beautiful Elizabeth Mitchell who stars in Lost. Now, if I wrote a book and some boneheaded book-blogger decided to pan it, I would be completely mollified if she likened my appearance to that of a movie star. Besides, I linked to her web site so that my readers can visit and decide for themselves if this is just another example of me being a snobby, elitist reader. And by the way, Ms. Liz, I bought this book TWICE!!! Yes, I left my first copy in the laptop bag I bought at the Apple store and subsequently returned. So not only did I contribute to your royalties TWICE, I BAFAB'd inadvertently and foisted your work on a potential fan who shops at the Apple Store in Boca Raton.

I can't help but feel that her descriptions of how her marriage ended may have been somewhat doctored in hindsight. Who am I to say that an author is bending the truth to her own purposes? A reader, that's who I am. And also a master of self-justification myself, when I need to be. I'm sure that lots of women would happily take a long physical and metaphorical journey of self-discovery if they were fortunate enough to have a book deal waiting at the end of it and didn't have to worry about mundane things like earning money, paying a mortgage, etc.

I must admit, I did find some joy in the early chapters about her time spent in Italy. I long to visit Italy myself and after reading about Liz's experiences, I desperately want to have some of that pizza in Naples! I love Luca Spaghetti...the name, the person, etc. But I found it hard slogging through the self-absorption to get to the sensuous descriptions of mouth-watering food, the joy of hearing that someone else gains weight while traveling and the sound of the gently spraying fountains in the piazzas of Rome.

Chapter 16, with its awkward personifications of Depression and Loneliness, points out all that I didn't like about this book. As someone who has lived with depression for over 20 years, I can relate to someone like Tracy Thompson personifying our illness as The Beast.  But Elizabeth Gilbert's contrived metaphor in chapter 16 combined with her opinionated view of the use of often-life-saving medication made me feel like her "depression" was something she dabbled in and then decided would make for this cool personification thing. Didn't work for me. While I respect each person's right to make her own decision about treatment options, I worry when a book that is so widely read as this one reinforces the dangerous assumption that depression is some kind of weakness that can be overcome and that one should "strive" to be free of the medications that help so many people survive and thrive in spite of the debilitating effects of depression. I'll step off my pedestal now, but if you want to read more, I suggest you visit the category of Depression on my blog, read Tracy Thompson's books and have an open mind about an illness that is terribly misunderstood.

I usually try NOT to read other critics' comments on the books I review, lest I be swayed from my initial take on a book. But when I clicked on Ms. Gilbert's site, I couldn't help but notice the following:

New York Times: "If a more likable writer than Gilbert is currently in print, I haven't found him or her.

Let me introduce you to Anne Lamott, Alan Alda, Nora Ephron, John Grogan, Claire Fontaine, Laurie Notaro and Ruth Reichl to name just a few.

And:

Entertainment Weekly: "This insightful, funny account of her travels reads like a mix of Susan Orlean and Frances Mayes."

I've read Susan Orlean and she's no Susan Orlean.

I hope you are the person who found this book at the Apple Store...that is the kind of serendipity that makes life so much fun. I hope that if you have read Eat, Pray, Love, you either want to tear me to pieces for my insights or delight in finding another dissenter in the Eat, Pray, Love-fest. Let the comments begin!

Di

Sicko - the Sequel

Sicko, the 2007 Michael Moore film, was an eye-opener for those of us who breathe a sigh of relief every day that we are fortunate enough to have insurance. We are annoyed by the capriciousness of our insurance companies when they inexplicably deny coverage for a new medication that would forestall a lengthy illness and possible hospitalization and blithely cover medications that are subject to potential abuse or dependence (I won't name them...we all know what they are) because they are available in generic form! But we soldier on, the lucky ones, the insured.

As it happens, having insurance is not a guarantee of good medical care or of avoiding the financial disaster that looms when the uninsured cross the threshold of any medical facility. Moore points out the many examples of insured citizens in the U.S. receiving care that is inferior to third world counties or being bankrupted due to the whims of managed care. While we await the election of a Democrat who will tackle the monster of healthcare reform, we can rest assured that if things get too bad, we can always go to France or England or...Cuba?

OK, now on to the sequel. The sequel will tackle the question of how insurance companies can possibly make money when they don't seem to have a lick of business sense in their collective heads.

Here's a quick question to determine if YOU have a lick of business sense:

You are a large, well-known insurance company (for the sake of this example, we'll call it True Floss...since I don't want to cast aspersions on any particular company). You need to explain to a customer what was paid and what wasn't paid during a 13 day hospital stay. What is the most cost-effective means of accomplishing this goal?

(a.) e-mail the pertinent documents to the customer

(b.) mail an itemized listing of the charges and benefits via mail

(c.) send a total of 16 separate Explanation of Benefits forms in 16 separate envelopes with 16 separate stamps on the same day

Hmmm...cue Jeopardy music. Yes, YOU have a lick of business sense because you opted for (a.), with (b.) as a reasonable back-up. True Floss, in its infinite wisdom, chose (c.)

So in the mail today I received a separate Explanation of Benefits for EACH DAY I was in the hospital, a separate EOB for the ER, a separate EOB for each test I had and strangely, a separate EOB for my release from the hospital. They even charge you to LEAVE!!! This takes us up to the day of my discharge. I have been back to the hospital as an outpatient five times since then, so I can only imagine the trees that are shivering in their boots in anticipation of the mountain of paper THESE visits will waste!

How can I feel like I am making an impact when I recycle my newspaper, carefully breakdown, fold and recycle boxes and painstakingly rescue every can or bottle from the trash and bring it to the proper bin in the garage? The amount I recycle in a week can be undone by one insurance company's paperwork on one hospital stay.

I have no more words.

Di

Di Does Art

While at the hospital, my favorite thing to do was Occupational Therapy which was usually some kind of artwork. I found out that when forced, I could do artwork I would never try at home. Here are some of my pieces:

A tile mosaic I made for my daughter. I did a tile backsplash once in my kitchen. Now I think I will want to do a tile backsplash and make my own tiles.

Leather stamped keychain I made for my son.

A watercolor that my sister says she would like to have for her house!!! My first piece sold.

So next time you are presented with an art project, don't automatically assume you can't do it. You might just be able to do it...and it might just do you some good!

Di

Shocking news flash!

Here is an article from last Sunday's paper about UNC and ECT. ECT is the treatment that has most effectively handled my clinical depression. Depression is as debilitating as many other illnesses. Amazingly, depression still carries a stigma that is nothing compared to the stigma of this treatment.

For me, ECT has been a life raft when I was sure it could get no worse. The first series I got was in Florida in 2006 after a period of almost 6 months of a "medically recalcitrant major depressive episode". For 6 months I was not myself. I was simply going through the motions of life. My eyes were vacant. I got no joy out of my usual interests...volunteering at school, doing stuff with my children, reading (OMG...can you imagine?), doing the Sunday Times crossword, etc.

The first 3 or 4 treatments were done bilaterally which means the electrical stimulus was applied to the right and left temple. I experienced tremendous short term memory loss and confusion. Following each treatment, I experienced crushing headaches and muscle aches. After the treatment, I couldn't remember the clothes I was wearing, the woman who had been taking care of me for the last month or where my children were (we had sent them to stay with friends in NC). As questions arose in my mind, I felt panicky that I couldn't remember things. After the first treatment, my sister suggested that I write a letter to myself to be read after the treatment which helped to stimulate those memories and reassure me that everything was OK.

There was discussion at that point of doing maintenance ECT, but after the initial series of 6 treatments, I was stabilized on medication, so the maintenance was forgotten.

Several months ago, I began to slip into the abyss again. I don't know what triggered it. I was shaken by my aunt's sudden death, realizing that I had never lost anyone suddenly in my adult life. We had moved AGAIN (for the 4th time in 3 years)...and although this was a welcome move BACK to where we wanted to be, moving is still incredibly stressful. And yes, I was overdoing, as is my habit.

For me, the onset of a depressive episode begins with fatigue. For a while I try to rationalize it...oh, maybe my iron is low, I should have my thyroid checked, I'm doing too much. But eventually the fatigue becomes so burdensome that I wake in the morning and my first thought is, "When can I take a nap?" As days pass and I am in bed most of the time, the depression spawns episodes of guilt and relentless crying as I ponder the horror of my abandonment of my family while I lay abed. On December 20, the situation became particulary dire.

My friends Sharis, Karen and Kim formed an ad hoc team to get me help. Kim ensured that my children were taken care of. Sharis and Karen drove me to UNC. They called my husband and told him where we were headed. He was in Florida and was immediately headed toward the airport to be back by my side. Karen and Sharis stayed with me from 6 p.m. until almost 1 a.m. when I was finally admitted to the hospital and my husband had arrived.

While in the hospital, I had no responsibilities, no decisions to make and nothing to think about except helping myself, availing myself of the programs the hospital offered and being honest about the state I was in. Amongst the "inmates", as my 12 year old son described us, everyone was open and forthright about why they were there...which gave rise to my realization that "We are all different; We are all the same." I began my ECT as an in-patient, having my first two treatments while I was hospitalized.

At UNC, they seem to be much more up-to-date with their methods. They used "modified bilateral" placement...one stimulus on the temple and one on the forehead. They said this placement resulted in much less memory loss and confusion. I came out of the first treatment remembering the other patients on the floor, the nurses, etc. I had a headache and muscle aches. But each time I go back, they ask me about the aftermath of the previous treatment and make adjustments to the meds they administer in the IV.

I feel well cared for. I know my doctors and nurses...and all are wonderful (hello, Mary Jane and Ginny if you are reading this!). I feel like I have input into and control over my treatments because they listen to me. And then there are the small, special touches...like Laura, one of the nurses in the procedure room, who touched my foot as I was about to go under anesthesia and said, "We'll take good care of you."

So, why do I go on and on about this? Well, for one thing, when I am NOT in a depressive episode, I am the poster child for the high-energy, effervescent, outgoing and I-can-do-anything woman. When I tell people that I have Depression, they are shocked because I seem like the antithesis of depression. I know that there are many, many people who experience depression and aren't diagnosed because they are ashamed of their behavior, they wallow in the guilt and believe their own negative thoughts and they don't "believe in" mental illness and don't understand that it can be a physiological state genetically encoded in their brain. So if that's you, or someone you know, I want to encourage you to get help. Go to your regular doctor first and rule out the iron and thyroid issues. And proceed from there.

Do not feel guilty or weak about taking anti-depressants. Depression is not a character flaw!!! It is not something that you can resolve by pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, by muscling through it or by prayer. You need a professional diagnosis, a treatment plan and probably therapy to help you build the skills and coping mechanisms that can help you deal with depression. If you were a diabetic, would you feel that needing insulin was a character flaw? Would dialysis for a kidney problem be a sign of weakness? Would you eschew chemotherapy and try to tough it out if you had cancer?

OK, I'm getting down off my high horse now. If you would like to read other accounts of my experiences with depression and books that I recommend, please go to:

Book review of The Ghost in the House by Tracy Thompson (her blog is Maternally Challenged)

 Book review of Shock by Kitty Dukakis

Kitty e-mails Di!

Meeting Kitty

You can comment or e-mail me privately if you want. Also, if you are interested in ordering any of the books referred to above, please click on my BookSense icon and support your local independent bookstore!

Di

The Colors of Depression

While on the "Neurosciences Unit" (Crisis Stabilization Unit)...you have my permission to just call it "Psych Ward"...there was artwork. I think everyone who walks into "Occupational Therapy" and sees crayons, pastels, paints or whatever on the table, groans inwardly and thinks, "OMG, I need to do elementary art to get through this place?" But it was amazing to see how much people enjoyed it and how truly therapeutic art can be.

These are some pieces from our Watercolors OT that were given to me with the artists' permission to scan them and put them in my blog before mailing them back:

M's watercolor - M kept everyone laughing and she claims there is no filter between her brain and her mouth. I don't think anyone would argue with that!

K's watercolor was one of the most beautiful in the class. She is young, beautiful and not very confident about her beautiful artwork. Everyone who came into my room and saw these three watercolors commented on how stunning this one was.

Di's watercolor...I looked at the sky in this picture and lack of variety of blue paint and was stumped for a while...and then remembered the brilliant colors of sunrise or sunset and reached deep inside to do this. I had no idea I could.

So, next time you are at Wal-Mart or Michael's, pick up some art supplies...whatever captures your eye because I now believe anyone can do any kind of art...and enjoy some very inexpensive therapy!

Di

 

I am humbled...

I am physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and since I could NEVER blog anything even close to this, I am just going to give you the link and you can LYAO!!!

Yesterday we moved from our house which is soon to be loaded onto steel beams and moved from our property thus making us a little pocket change PLUS saving us the money of demolition and debris removal...yes, we are selling our house on craigslist! We moved into a MUCH bigger house which we are renting during the building process. Our paltry collection of furniture makes it look like a palace...and to us, it is. The location is perfect. The kids can actually bicker and be far away enough that WE CAN'T HEAR THEM!!! The master bathroom is as big as our kitchen was (and it's not huge...our kitchen was just THAT small).

Everyone knows that I suffer from depression, an illness that often announces its presence by excessive fatigue and exhaustion. It is also exacerbated by stress and overdoing. Moving to a new house, even though it's just a few houses down the street? Stress. Physically moving stuff from point A to point B? Overdoing.

Somehow we got through it with only a few glitches...like the doors had to be removed from the refrigerator to get it out of the old house and would not fit in the door of the rental house. And when you plugged it in in the garage, it kept tripping the breaker. And we had already emptied all the cold stuff. So I put it all back in my car at about 7 last night and brought it to my angel from heaven above friend and neighbor's house and loaded it in her two garage refrigerators. Tired? Doesn't begin to describe it. I think I was asleep by 9:45.

I woke up this morning and took the kids to school and went straight back to bed where I slept until about 11:30. I called my husband and told him I was just completely lacking energy and utterly exhausted. He said that was fine and there was nothing that needed to be done immediately. Now, let me preface this by telling you that my husband is a white knight on a steed when I am sick or hit a depressive abyss. But he seemed to miss something this morning.

5 minutes after my call, he came back to the house, called up the stairs and said, "Di? Can you help me with this?" In the back of the borrowed from the same angel from heaven above truck was our dining room table. He wanted me to help him get it in the house...not so we could sit around it as a family and have dinner and discuss our days...but so he could set up his office on it! And I did it!!! Not sure which part of exhaustion and lack of energy he didn't pick up on, but perhaps I need to be a little more direct.

Read the link I recommended. Trust me...it is more fun, more interesting and less DEPRESSING!!!! Thank you to Marcy for providing it!!!

Tune in to this week's Thursday Thirteen when I will thank all of the people who contributed to this move...and will probably have to exceed my limit of 13 and continue next week!

 

Di

Tom Cruise Boycott

An innocent exchange of e-mails with Nicholas of A Gentleman's Domain, turned into a full-fledged rant on my part about my feelings about Tom Cruise.

I admit I drooled in the Top Gun days. I had respect in the Born on the Fourth of July days. I thought he sold out with that racing car movie. But his fate was sealed with me when he made his comments (obviously formed from his many years in medical school and private psychology practice) that Brooke Shields should not have taken anti-depressant medications when she was suffering from post-partum depression.

[Insert not included in original e-mail: If he had called Brooke and offered his support privately, like Tatum O'Neal apparently did with Brittany Spears, although of course the media got hold of it, that would have been a much different scenario. His public admonishment of Shields was uncalled for and inappropriate.]

I like celebrities whose work I admire (Meryl Streep, William Hurt, Joan Allen)...or rather, I like their work. If they happen to give something back to the community and the world at large (a la Audrey Hepburn and her selfless, un-publicity-motivated dedication to UNICEF) then more the better. But when they start thinking that their celebrity status gives them expertise on subjects on which they have no business commenting and the authority to judge others for their choices, I can't help but let that spill over into my feelings about them as artists.

I am torn now because I swore off Tom Cruise movies as a matter of principle (thus, I guess, conradicting myself and applying my personal opinions to him as an artist) and now there is a movie coming out called Lion for Lambs which, in addition to Tom Cruise, stars Meryl Streep, Robert Redford and Peter Berg...all of whose work I respect and enjoy. What ever to do!!!

Does Freedom of Speech apply to blog? Or am I going to have to defend myself, due of course to my incredibly large readership, in Tom Cruise libel suit funded by the deep pockets of Scientology?

Blogiversary of a (now) Blogoveteran

I thought it appropriate that on my first blogiversary (which passed without fanfare...or a post) I would return to the roots and original intent of my blog...and see if I could even remember what it was...I think it had something to do with reviewing books given my clever choice of "Di's Book Blog" for the title. The "etc." came after when I realized that I couldn't limit my writing to reviewing books...I just had to share the humor, heartache and hellaciousness of my daily life.

I honestly can't remember what inspired me to start a blog...but I do know that Tracy Thompson's Maternally Challenged was a huge part of that inspiration. On August 14, 2006, in my blog-o-virginal naivete, I raved about Kathleen Gilles Seidel's A Most Uncommon Degree of Popularity. Her incisive capturing of the land-mine-filled world of female adolescence and the mirror world that exists among the mothers of those females still slays me to this day...and is a book I recommend whenever the conversation turns to the "mean girl" reality of middle/high school.

In the year since the birth of my blog, I have reviewed 50 books. For many, that would be a huge year of book-reading. But for me, having read 100 books one year when I was working full-time and my kids were small and much more needy, it's rather mediocre. That's about a book a week (you won't believe this, but I did that on a calculator before I remembered that there are 52 weeks in a year and it was fairly obvious what the average number per week was). It could have been more...but damn that Karen and her Sudoku-pushing...she shouldn't be allowed within 50 yards of any location where obsessive, puzzle-minded middle aged women might congregate.

HOWEVER, (and glass-half-full kinda gal that I am, you know there had to be a "however") I have found that writing this blog has made me more selective in my reading. I tend to be more judicious about what books I finish and what books I toss aside as a waste of time. I figure that if I don't want to waste my time finishing a book, you certainly don't want to waste your time reading a review of it.

In this blog-o-licious year, I have corresponded with at least a half dozen authors whose books I reviewed and even became e-friends with a couple. I corresponded with and subsequently met Kitty Dukakis after reviewing her book Shock and sharing our experiences with depression and ECT (electroconvulsive therapy).

During this year I have shared my experiences traveling to new places...Scotland, Ireland, Savannah, Long Island and Hollywood. I have made new friends, introduced them to you and made them a part of the "etc." world that is so much more important than the book-reading world. I've shared my birthday celebration, the milestone of my 15th wedding anniversary (the 16th is this Thursday), a sudden death and a friend's hole-in-one. I have been Googled...yes, Googled! L'il ole me...Googled!

Blogging has proven to be a cathartic experience for me. It has helped me sort out things just by writing about them. It has introduced me to new perspectives from my readers' comments. There are some things I don't blog about because they are too personal, too painful or they would hurt someone who might read my blog. But even my process of deciding whether or not to blog about something has helped me to understand why some things roll off of me and make me see the tragicomic nature of a situation and some things pierce me to the core and continue to rise up and cause me pain despite the passage of time.

I have had my grammar corrected via comment by my daughter. I have had my mother and sister tell me that they read my blog to find out what's going on in my life when I'm too busy to have a phone conversation of more than three minutes. I have even gotten my husband to read my blog on occasion. I feel like Ali, Karen, Nicholas, Haley-O and Tracy are true friends, despite the fact that if I ran into them, I wouldn't recognize them unless they happened to have the very expression on their faces that they are wearing in their blog photos. For a while there, I thought I would only recognize Karen if somehow the world was all in black & white! And if Haley-O ever has that baby, I won't recognize her without her well-documented belly!

So to all my readers, commenters and lurkers...thanks for a great year...I've been having fun with it and it makes me feel great when I find out that you have enjoyed it too!

Love, Di

Tears

I can't think of a more appropriate title because that is what my days have been filled with since Thursday night. When I got home and settled in to catch up on my Thursday Thirteens, I received an e-mail from my cousin Mark telling me that his mom, my Aunt Barb, died unexpectedly from complications from diabetes. I was taken by surprise by the intensity of my reaction...the constantly flowing tears...because ours was a relationship that I expected to continue for years.

Mark and I had the distinction of being born into the 3rd or 4th generation of a dysfunctional family, long before the word dysfunctional was even used. (And in an unrelated conversation last night with 6 adults, we all agreed that all families are in some way dysfunctional...it's kind of like the group version of "nobody's perfect".) Naturally, Mark and I came out completely normal and fine because we had great parents, strong wills and of course our good looks.

I remember seeing my Aunt Barbara when I was little on holidays or weekend visits since she never lived close by. When I was in my late 20’s we were able to catch up when I was on a trip to San Francisco. We have not seen each other since then, almost 20 years ago, but during that time we have become close friends via e-mail and I felt a connection that went beyond that of an Aunt and a Niece.

Barb and I apparently shared a genetic predisposition for depression and from what I can see, we got about the worst of it. Last year at this time, I was going through ECT treatments that were miraculous in treating the most severe depressive episode I had ever experienced. I was fortunate to have a supportive husband and family, and in addition Barb was someone who truly understood the darkness and the pain that I had been experiencing. She had just started making jewelry and I admired a picture of a bracelet that was made of tiny chili peppers. She sent it to me and we convinced ourselves that it was imbued with magical powers and it accompanied me to each ECT treatment.

Without going into detail...my Aunt Barb suffered some very difficult times in her life in addition to and probably exacerbating her depression. Her first husband Vaughn, a ground-breaking and iconic artist of his time, loved her so much that I remember my cousin telling me he brought flowers to her when they were signing their divorce papers. was . They had one son, Mark, who is a famous artist and cartoonist in his own right as well as a brilliant tattoo artist. Barb was fortunate to find love for the second time with Rick with whom she shared the remainder of her life.

A beautiful result of her untimely death at 63 has been a cathartic and surprising exchange of thoughts and feelings between me and my cousin Mark. Mark is going to be creating a 60 foot mural in San Francisco, using characters created by his father Vaughn when he was married to Barbara and dedicated to my Aunt Barb. I would like to go out there when that is complete so that my cousin and I can celebrate together rather than mourn together. Who knows...maybe I'll even see if he'll do a tattoo for me! 

This is Barb in 1973, photographed in front of one of Vaughn's pieces. She carried the strong Italian features of our family, the beauty of a woman adored by her husband and the warmth of a mother who was proud of and deeply loved her son.

In her last months, what I heard from Barb was hope and an abiding love for the family that surrounded her. I know that she experienced some moments of true joy, moments that are few and far between for one suffering from depression. She reveled in the companionship of her dog Jo-Jo. She was incredulous at Rick's patience and support through the good times and the bad and talked constantly about their dreams for the future. She unabashedly bragged about her granddaughter Zara and her amazing musical talent. She raved about the wonderful Italian dinner Mark prepared for her when he and his wife Molly returned from a trip to Italy! (Please understand that Mark and I both have Moms who believe with good reason that they make the best spaghetti sauce on earth, so making an Italian meal for his Mom must have taken some guts on Mark's part. I usually play it safe and fix something from far away from Italy when I'm cooking for my Mom.) In the last few months, Barb  was hopeful about getting some relief from her depression and was planning to build her dream cabin in the woods with Rick.

Barb has been a strong presence in my life these past few years and I am going to miss her words of love, encouragement and understanding as well as her acerbic wit. I will continue to wear the magical chili pepper bracelet, think of her and hope that she is free of pain in an afterlife that is beautiful and peaceful.

Di

The Price of Privilege: How Parental Pressure and Material Advantage Are Creating a Generation of Disconnected and Unhappy Kids

I was sold on The Price of Privilege by Madeline Levine, Ph. D the minute my friend Sheri described it to me. It seemed written with our community here in Boca Raton in mind. Two years ago I moved here from a neighborhood of "collaborative" parenting to an atmosphere of "competitive" parenting. I don't believe that the competitive parents are in the majority, but they are very vocal and obtrusive, often leaving those who don't fit their mold of family and parenting feeling judged and condescended to. Additionally, our community is "blessed" with affluence and my concern since I have moved here is how to continue to raise my children with the values that are important to us while surrounded by people who value external beauty over kindness, money over character and possessions over people. This is challenging in a world where 11 year olds simply must have shirts from Abercrombie or feel like hopeless losers, where a 13 year old is teased for having a "fake" Dooney & Bourke purse and where a 40-something Mom is asked, "Whose purse is that?" When I responded, "Mine." I realized that what was really being asked was what brand the purse was...I think it was Target which I don't think would be considered the "who" they were looking for.

In an early chapter, The Paradox of Privilege, in a section provocatively titled, "Why Kids Who Have So Much Can Feel Empty" I found myself reaching for the highlighter as I read this passage:

"Parents who consistently fall on the side of intervening for their child, as opposed to supporting their child's attempts to problem-solve, interfere with the most important task of childhood and adolescence: the development of a sense of self. Autonomy, what we commonly call independence along with competence and interpersonal relationships, are considered to be inborn human needs. Their development is central to psychological health."

Of course, we always highlight the sections that support and underscore our personal beliefs. But more poignantly for me, this passage summarized a basic dichotomy between seemingly similar parents and in my case, was partially the cause of the dissolution of a friendship that I valued. And during that same week, I heard of another incident where parents differing on how much to intervene in a rift between adolescent friends resulted in an unpleasant situation between the adults. So, I surmise that this is a more common occurrence than I had imagined before I experienced it firsthand.

"Intrusion and support are two fundamentally different processes: support is about the needs of the child, intrusion is about the needs of the parent."

As one friend said, "It's a fine line. I try to walk the line. Sometimes I cross it, but I try to walk it." It is something we struggle with as parents. I remember a child in preschool whose bite marks always seemed to end up on my daughter's sweet, pudgy little arms. Now the bite marks aren't evident, but the wounds are much more painful and the scars last longer. When my child comes home with tales of meanness, deception and duplicity, the feral mother instinct compels me to lash out at the perpetrator, blame the sad excuses for parents and raise hell until the right is wronged. But there is also a part of me that recognizes that:

a) there might be times when MY child (yes, my child is less-than-perfect) is the perpetrator.

b) there may actually be two (or sometimes three or four) sides to the story and my child's perspective may be slightly skewed to downplay any culpability she might have.

c) I have to help her learn to deal with and work out these difficult situations without parental interference, while also knowing that we are here as a safety net.

The book goes on to say:

"America's newly identified at-risk group is preteens and teens from affluent, well-educated families. In spite of their economic and social advantages, they experience among the highest rates of depression, substance abuse, anxiety disorders, somatic complaints, and unhappiness of any group of children in this country."

Is this ironic? We are the generation that started doing things like "waiting until we could afford it" to have our children. We planned our financial moves around when our children would be in college. We felt that if they could have more advantages (material advantages as well as intangibles like travel, access to cultural events, etc.), then certainly they would be happier and more successful!

The book goes on to address the overscheduling of our children, the intense pressure to succeed and the focus on results over process. It makes the distinction between parents being able to provide activities and parents actually being "present", knowing their children and accepting them even when they don't fit into the mold. Surprisingly, "there is an INVERSE relationship between income and closeness to parents."

Materialism has made luxuries into necessities. Materialism has made "retail therapy" a realistic strategy instead of a tongue-in-cheek euphemism for shopping. What happens when this generation goes off on their own and maybe on their starter salary cannot afford to buy a new outfit at the mall because they had a bad day with a co-worker? When financial success for the purpose of amassing possessions becomes the raison d'etre of one's career, important issues like personal satisfaction, interpersonal relationships and philanthropy become optional and are not recognized as fulfilling aspects of one's self.

One tiny issue I have with the author is one incident of a flippant reference to antidepressants: "Much better for your son to find out early on that he's not suited to being a lawyer before wasting ten years in a profession he hates and relying on Prozac to get him through the day." I think this passage perpetuates the common misnomer that Prozac (and all antidepressants) are "happy pills". There are plenty of people who are not suited to their careers who do not experience depression as a side-effect and many people who love their jobs who do rely on Prozac...not to get them through the day per se, but to manage the chemical imbalance in their brains that causes depression.

Although the premise and initial assertions of this book grabbed me because I felt they connected to my own beliefs, there were plenty of things in the book that made me cringe with self-realization. I certainly don't have this whole thing figured out. Just a couple weeks ago, talking with a friend about "the line" when asking her advice about whether or not I should intervene in a particular situation, she responded by saying, "I want to intervene in certain situations because in addition to my children learning to handle things themselves, I want them to learn that there is always someone to turn to who can help you handle a situation." Well said...and it has made me think as this book does.

I believe that books on parenting are not meant to be sets of commandments or Gospel to be quoted and adhered to, but are supposed to provide parents with insights into themselves, a better understanding of others and challenges to their own paradigms. The Price of Privilege has accomplished that in a way that makes me want to go out and buy a copy for everyone I know. Wouldn't it be great if we had all read the book and instead of judging one another for our parenting choices we could openly discuss the reasons behind and the ramifications of our choices.

I know there is only more and more of this coming down the line for me as my kids get to the ages where kids are driving, well-meaning parents are providing beer at parties in their homes, parents are bragging about SAT scores and writing college entrance essays. I feel now like I have a resource for when I feel myself sneaking over the line and needing to pull myself back!

Di