Well, today it dropped.
When I came downstairs this morning, I was greeted by a somewhat disheveled Diva. She was wearing a purple sports bra, which generally isn't a bad thing except today she was wearing it underneath a white t-shirt. She was also wearing a pair of blue jeans that were several sizes too big...because they were a pair of MY blue jeans! Of course, she didn't notice - or care - but she obediently trudged back upstairs for a wardrobe change.
These types of things don't both normal people. They certainly don't bother Husband. But they bug the hell out of me. Why? First, because I'm a Tiger Mom. I haven't read Amy Chua's book "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" yet, but I read a review somewhere, and I still remember the moment I learned that my crazy, perfectionist parenting style had a name. According to Wikipedia, a "Tiger Mother" is a mother who is a strict disciplinarian, who adheres to traditional, strict child-rearing versus a more indulging, self-esteem-focused approach. In my case, take a crazy, perfectionist parent and add some obsessive compulsive tendencies - viola! You have a Tiger Mom on crack.
I tried to prepare myself that the Diva was having a Down day, so her soccer game would likely suffer a bit. But her lackluster kicks and lazy jogging was too much for her Tiger mom to handle, down day or not.
"DIVA, YOU GET GOING OUT THERE!" I heard myself yell. During warm-ups. A startled Diva added a little bit of effort for about thirty seconds, then reverted back to her amoeba movements. She looked lost. She was one of the captains in coin toss - how cool is that? - but she wasn't into it. After the coin toss, she sat way down on the end of the bench, away from her teammates. I hissed at Husband to tell her to sit with the rest of the team (my own Jed Rubenfeld). He complied in a nice, normal and pleasant tone of voice.
The first half of the game was agonizing for me. Daughter was back in her small three foot box. She wouldn't leave no matter how loud I yelled/pleaded/begged for her to RUN TO THE BALL! There was a moment where she chased the ball into the corner, and a large boy chasing the ball somehow slid and tripped underneath her, such that the untrained eye might think my little Diva shoved the boy over. I felt a wave of pride wash over me. But it soon passed as the boy ran away with the ball, probably to score yet another goal.
So there I was during the second half of the game, thinking to myself, how am I going to pull out some genuine mom approval here? Do I just plain lie and say she did a great job when it is apparent that she is playing far below her average performance? Do I praise her attitude and avoid the skills conversation? Do I tell her she looks great in her uniform? When all of a sudden, a big kid kicked the ball hard - directly into the Diva's gut.
Now, keep in mind the soccer ball is a nerf, sponge-like thing. There was no way the Diva could be seriously hurt, and besides, she basically blocked what was likely another goal. Like any good (Tiger) mom, I cheered as loud as I could, "GOOD JOB!!! WAY TO STOP THE BALL!!!"
The Diva just looked pissed.
She grabbed her side a few times, obviously annoyed that such a thing had happened to her. I yelled encouraging things like, "YOU'RE FINE! YOU'RE A TOUGH GIRL!" During a time out, when Diva was looking at me, I pantomimed holding my side and rubbing it, as if I had been hit by a soccer ball. She started giggling and said, "Mother! What are you doing?" Then I pantomimed to Husband to rub my tummy, and Daughter said, "NO! I'm fine!" We all laughed.
Wouldn't you know, it happened to her AGAIN! She got in the way of a goal-bound ball, I cheered as loud as I could, Daughter looked pissed. And when the coaches asked if she was alright, I held my breath...and sighed with relief when she nodded that she was fine. At the end of the game, I stormed the floor and gave her a big hug. I asked her if she was alright. She smiled, laughed, and said "Yes, I'm tough."
And they say Tiger parenting doesn't work...
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