The number of catty things to say about this woman who is bored by her children are mind-boggling, so I will limit myself to one. Given that the only things that seem to interest her are her hair, shopping, and work, if she wants to find the source of boringness in her household, the mirror is a good place to start.
What truly mystifies me is why it is presented--by both sides--that the only parenting approaches are either devoting one's every moment to waiting upon their every need, or dodging them at every opportunity. Are the only places to put one's child in the priority list somewhere well above God or somewhere well below the hairdresser? Must one either talk as if one delights in wiping up every drop of drool, or spend one's days complaining to the girlfriends about the fiends you bore?
I certainly hope not, because neither approach sounds human to me, or beneficial for children or parents. What one does with children is raise them. This implies that they start out rather lower-downish and end up rather higher-uppish. It also implies that the parent is higher-up and remains there until the child catches up.
So, no, good parenting does not require one to remove from one's mind every thought or interest that has not entered the mind of a two-year-old. Quite the opposite. My chief duty as a mother is to be a worthy person of emulation: spiritual, intelligent, curious, interesting. My second duty is to actually spend time with them--and yes, enjoy it-- so they have the chance to know and emulate me.
Fortunately most pursuits worthy of human endeavor are every bit as interesting to children as to adults, especially if the adults give them half a chance to understand what's going on. I feel no obligation to surround my children with things I don't care for, no matter how proper they are considered to be for children. I don't like children's television, beeping electronic toys, elaborate crafts. We don't have them. I do like reading, cooking, music, running around outside. We do those--together.
There still are, especially at this stage, a fair proportion of things that they enjoy that do not particularly enthrall me. I do not get a huge thrill from climbing up a flight of stairs over and over. I don't like drool. That's ok. Love means caring enough about a person to put up with an occasional divergence of interest or moment of ookiness. I also have no interest in football, but I do not run screaming from the house every time DOB wants to check the stats, nor do I proclaim to the world that my husband is a boring lout. (Because, as it happens, he is not.)
The author winds up by proclaiming that all children need is food, clothes and being told that you love them. Perhaps. But if you tell them that you love them while avoiding any contact with them, what exactly do you mean by "love"?
Edited to add: A belated HT to Barbara Curtis of Mommylife for passing on the article. Although I shouldn't need such kind remarks to remind me of my netiquette, I do very much appreciate them.