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"  For one week, I couldn&amp;#039;t find the middle. With one kid at baseball camp all day and the other pretty much playing Sim City much of the time, I had a lesson in extremes - and I&amp;#039;m not sure I liked either end. By the time Friday rolled around, I swore I&amp;#039;d never again lose that sweet spot between too much and too little. If only it were that easy. My Week of Extremes reminded me of when I visited my brother at soccer camp 30 years ago. I watched him doing the same drill over and over and thought, Why the heck would I want to play soccer all day?  Though I loved soccer - and still do - the idea of getting up at 7 a.m. to dribble a soccer ball around a dewy field with a hundred other kids before spending the day playing even more soccer was largely unappealing to me. I preferred variety. I preferred to swim in the morning, play tennis after lunch and do arts &amp;amp;amp; crafts before archery. So, I went to a different camp - a camp where no one had to tape up their ankles every morning. So when my nine-year-old announced that he wanted to attend a week-long baseball day camp, I shuddered. I pictured him in the scorching heat, his hand sweating in his leather baseball glove, throwing and catching and throwing and catching and throwing and catching. All. Day. Long. But the boy loves baseball, and his friend was going to the same camp. I&amp;#039;d have the afternoon pick-up at a college thirty minutes away. He&amp;#039;d have a blast. Right? Meanwhile, my eleven-year-old had no such plans. In fact, he had no plans at all. Except for one afternoon playing with the boys across the street and a day of spoiling (Cinnabons, anyone?) with my mother, he sat at his computer and played Sim City most of the day. When I warned him that he was spending too much time in front of his computer screen, he pointed out that I was, too. I explained that I was writing a book. He replied that he was building a city. When we ate lunch together, I told him about the chapter I was working on, and he told me about the railroad tracks he was laying down. It was like lunching in the deli nearest the city planning office. Every morning, he rolled out of bed and fired up his computer. His brother, on the other hand, groaned. &amp;quot;I hate getting up for camp so early,&amp;quot; he complained. I explained that he was getting up the same time he gets up for school. He replied, &amp;quot;But I&amp;#039;m so tired.&amp;quot; And he looked it. When he grabbed his mitt and sunscreen and climbed into his friend&amp;#039;s mom&amp;#039;s SUV, my stomach did a little flip. It was too much for him. Then I&amp;#039;d grab my tea mug and head into my home office, passing my older son along the way. Though he looked content, flying over his growing city in a virtual helicopter, he also looked like he needed a good airing out. It was too much for me. After I picked up my nine-year-old at his last day of baseball camp, I asked him if he&amp;#039;d like to do it again next summer. He mumbled and took a swig of water before staring out the window. I told my older son that his computer time would be limited for the rest of the summer. He shrugged and stared out the other window. I&amp;#039;d found our way back to the middle. For now. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a22222/my-tweens-week-of-extremes/?src=shelter_footer>