Why wouldn't you? I read an article yesterday on kveller.com about a mom who was stunned and happy that her five year old wanted to come and vote with her. She wrote four or five paragraphs on it, how she's not sure that she's ready to talk to him about issues, and she and her husband are always careful to not talk about politics in front of him. I was baffled... I've been hauling my kids into the voting booth since they were born. On more than one occasion, I've taken other people's kids into the voting booth with me. Because why wouldn't you?
I've always discussed politics with my kids. Age appropriate, and I'm not a hugely confrontational person anyway - so I tend to present at least a nominally balanced viewpoint, but I make it clear which way I vote, why I vote that way, and what the opposing arguments are. I also really encourage them to make up their own minds - to have opinions. They might not be able to vote, but they are certainly capable of deciding where they stand on certain issues.
So we're all voting together this afternoon. I asked if the kids wanted to this morning, and Sam enthusiastically yelled "YES." Jessie said yes as well, although qualified it as saying that she didn't really have much choice in the matter, because we had to take her with us. I told her that technically, we could vote while she was at school and not take her, but that yeah, even if she didn't want to go, we'd make her. Because you vote. In our family - we vote. I don't care how she votes, I just care that she does.
Is it indoctrination? Maybe. But I think we all indoctrinate our children to one extent or another. And I'm careful about how I do it. Especially as it relates to religion and politics. I don't get to make their decisions, I don't get to decide how or when they worship or vote when they are adults, but I do get to teach them that it matters. That spirituality and political viewpoints are important, and worthy of thoughtful consideration. In the end, that's why I make them go to religious school, and that's why I drag them into voting booths. I think it's my job as their parent to show them these things, to expose them to a spiritual path that will encourage them to think and learn and make up their own mind, and to know that every November, their little butts belong in a voting booth - because they matter. In the end, it's not about indoctrination, it's about empowerment.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
The blog post I wasn't going to write
I haven't blogged in a bit, mainly because this post (which I obviously really needed to write, for myself) is kind of angry and kind of hostile - and I wasn't sure I wanted to go there on a public forum. That being said, I find that, after writing it, I feel a LOT better about everything. Back to cheery parenting posts tomorrow. Maybe even later on this afternoon.
It's more than just politics. It's also about religious evolution and emotional evolution and the way life changes and you grow. When I was eighteen, I was a volunteer on Bill Clinton's campaign, a card carrying member of the National Abortion Rights Activist League and a self described witch. When I was twenty eight, I miscarried twins. That, more than anything, changed my mind on abortion. I had three children between the time I was twenty nine and thirty six. And they were Jewish kids. Did I convert to Judaism because of the kids? Maybe. Did I change my mind on abortion because of the kids? Absolutely.
Somewhere along the line, I realized that maybe those pro-life people weren't wrong. They knew that the pregnancy that resulted in miscarriages at ten and eleven weeks was more than just a vague collection of cells. Maybe those pro-life people might have a point. After losing my babies, I couldn't accept that abortion was just another choice. Those were babies. They were my babies. When they died, it was a loss that I continue to grieve. If I had chosen to end that pregnancy, how could I pretend that it wasn't ending a life? Abortion isn't nothing. Should it be safe and legal? Probably - because inevitably, people are going to get pregnant and not be able to carry the baby to term. But should it be considered just another choice? Is it nothing? I don't think so. I don't have all the answers. But I do know that it's a lot more complicated than I had thought. I know that because I'm a woman. I know that because I've had those pregnancies. I resent the hell out of being told that I need to deny what I know as a woman because I'm a woman, i.e. I need to vote Democrat to preserve abortion rights.
Somewhere along the line, I realized that organized religion was more than just suppression of independent thought, that it was about a community and a people and a way to explain the universe. Somewhere along the line, I started really liking having religion in my life. I liked having religion in my kids' lives. Not just having God, but having religion. Rules, tradition, guidelines that were shared by a community. Being a witch seemed... insufficient to me. I wanted Shabbat dinner. I wanted Passover Seders and a religious tradition that would teach them that they have a unique and personal relationship with the Divine, and also that they have responsibilities to make the world a better place because of it. This means that Saturdays - I'm going to be unavailable. It's Shabbat for me. I don't ask you to go to synagogue with me, but please understand that this is important to me. It's important for my kids.
Somewhere along that line, I started voting Republican. It might have happened when I met Marc - because prior to that, everyone I knew just voted Democratic without thinking. Everyone who was good and right was obviously a liberal. But Marc wasn't evil, he was the smartest man I'd ever met. If he saw some good in opposing viewpoints, then perhaps it was worth a look. I don't ask you to vote the same way that I do. I just ask that you stop demanding that only good and rational people vote your way.
And somewhere along the line, I realized that the world isn't black and white. It's not good versus evil most of the time, it's just people doing the best they can with the circumstances we have. And people don't always rise to the occasion, sometimes terrible things happen, and people aren't strong enough to handle it. You don't always get back what you put out, and you can't always make things better by willing it to be so. Life is hard, sometimes. Life is complicated, most of the time. But if you can find people you love, people who respect your choices and welcome your input, if you can find a spiritual home where you feel valued and satisfied, then you're doing okay. I don't think anyone has to agree with me, and I don't think that if you are a witch or Christian or pro-choice or a lifelong Democrat, I don't think I need to convince you to see it my way. I accept that everyone is different. I love that everyone is different. I think that these things are too personal, too private to try and convince others to feel the same way.
I just know that I've made my choices. They aren't always the choices I'd have thought that I'd be making, but they are the choices that have led me to here. The lessons I've learned, they might not be your lessons. But that doesn't make them any less valid.
Here's hoping for a quick resolution to the election and an end to the negative ads and misery on facebook and everywhere else on-line. And thank goodness for tonight, our pre-election taco party, and for a fun night tomorrow night watching the returns come in.
It's more than just politics. It's also about religious evolution and emotional evolution and the way life changes and you grow. When I was eighteen, I was a volunteer on Bill Clinton's campaign, a card carrying member of the National Abortion Rights Activist League and a self described witch. When I was twenty eight, I miscarried twins. That, more than anything, changed my mind on abortion. I had three children between the time I was twenty nine and thirty six. And they were Jewish kids. Did I convert to Judaism because of the kids? Maybe. Did I change my mind on abortion because of the kids? Absolutely.
Somewhere along the line, I realized that maybe those pro-life people weren't wrong. They knew that the pregnancy that resulted in miscarriages at ten and eleven weeks was more than just a vague collection of cells. Maybe those pro-life people might have a point. After losing my babies, I couldn't accept that abortion was just another choice. Those were babies. They were my babies. When they died, it was a loss that I continue to grieve. If I had chosen to end that pregnancy, how could I pretend that it wasn't ending a life? Abortion isn't nothing. Should it be safe and legal? Probably - because inevitably, people are going to get pregnant and not be able to carry the baby to term. But should it be considered just another choice? Is it nothing? I don't think so. I don't have all the answers. But I do know that it's a lot more complicated than I had thought. I know that because I'm a woman. I know that because I've had those pregnancies. I resent the hell out of being told that I need to deny what I know as a woman because I'm a woman, i.e. I need to vote Democrat to preserve abortion rights.
Somewhere along the line, I realized that organized religion was more than just suppression of independent thought, that it was about a community and a people and a way to explain the universe. Somewhere along the line, I started really liking having religion in my life. I liked having religion in my kids' lives. Not just having God, but having religion. Rules, tradition, guidelines that were shared by a community. Being a witch seemed... insufficient to me. I wanted Shabbat dinner. I wanted Passover Seders and a religious tradition that would teach them that they have a unique and personal relationship with the Divine, and also that they have responsibilities to make the world a better place because of it. This means that Saturdays - I'm going to be unavailable. It's Shabbat for me. I don't ask you to go to synagogue with me, but please understand that this is important to me. It's important for my kids.
Somewhere along that line, I started voting Republican. It might have happened when I met Marc - because prior to that, everyone I knew just voted Democratic without thinking. Everyone who was good and right was obviously a liberal. But Marc wasn't evil, he was the smartest man I'd ever met. If he saw some good in opposing viewpoints, then perhaps it was worth a look. I don't ask you to vote the same way that I do. I just ask that you stop demanding that only good and rational people vote your way.
And somewhere along the line, I realized that the world isn't black and white. It's not good versus evil most of the time, it's just people doing the best they can with the circumstances we have. And people don't always rise to the occasion, sometimes terrible things happen, and people aren't strong enough to handle it. You don't always get back what you put out, and you can't always make things better by willing it to be so. Life is hard, sometimes. Life is complicated, most of the time. But if you can find people you love, people who respect your choices and welcome your input, if you can find a spiritual home where you feel valued and satisfied, then you're doing okay. I don't think anyone has to agree with me, and I don't think that if you are a witch or Christian or pro-choice or a lifelong Democrat, I don't think I need to convince you to see it my way. I accept that everyone is different. I love that everyone is different. I think that these things are too personal, too private to try and convince others to feel the same way.
I just know that I've made my choices. They aren't always the choices I'd have thought that I'd be making, but they are the choices that have led me to here. The lessons I've learned, they might not be your lessons. But that doesn't make them any less valid.
Here's hoping for a quick resolution to the election and an end to the negative ads and misery on facebook and everywhere else on-line. And thank goodness for tonight, our pre-election taco party, and for a fun night tomorrow night watching the returns come in.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Repost
I've got major writer's block (aka everyone I know is in a bad mood and I think I've absorbed all of it, because although there's nothing for me to be cranky about, I am) so am reposting an old blog post. I was going to look back a year, but last November was, arguably, one of the worst months of my life, so I went back two years. Everything I wrote is still true - only more so.
That's really why I blog. I do it because about twenty years ago, my mother found a journal that her mom had wrote in about her kids and was so incredibly moved by it. Knowing how her mother felt about she and her siblings when they were kids was amazing for her, and I remember thinking that when I had kids, that's what I was going to do. Only I wasn't going to do one little journal - I was going to write and write and write. Plus I like writing. A lot. It's my therapy, my way of making sense of what I'm doing and how I'm doing it. And even though I've had some problems with this blog, I'm not going to stop. I flat out love this blog, I love looking back three years ago and seeing where I was, and how I was thinking about things. I love that other people read it, I've found connections and relationships and major support (hello, JoEllen :-) when I needed it. But at the heart of it, I blog for me, for my kids and for Marc.
Jessica Mary - you are my angel girl, my first little love. You were my baby - and I wanted to have a little girl just like you for the longest time. You are brilliant and kind, funny and sweet. Maternal and loving and emotional and dramatic, and so beautiful it still takes my breath away. We have an intense relationship, there's nobody who can make me crazier than you, nobody who can bring me to tears faster. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
Samuel Earl - you are my baby boy, my love bug boy and the child I never planned on. Not that you weren't a planned pregnancy, I just never thought I'd have a boy. And from the very beginning - you just swept me away with your love and devotion. I can't imagine how I ever started a morning without my Sammy-love. You're stubborn, loving, sweeter than honey and everything that I never knew I needed so desperately in my life. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
Julianna Ruth - you have been such a joy, right from the very instant you were conceived. I knew, right away with you - I started throwing up immediately. My pregnancy with you was torturous, and you have been such an amazing addition to my life, I'd even consider doing it again. You are all sunshine and happiness, big beautiful eyes and a smile that lights up the room. I can't remember my life before you were in my arms - and thank God for you everyday. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
And Marc - I wouldn't have any of this without you. Not my brilliant girl, my lovebug boy, or my sunshiney baby. I wouldn't have this beautiful home, this loving family -I wouldn't be the woman I am today without you by my side. I don't know what I did in a past life to deserve you - to be loved as passionately, as sweetly - you know me inside and out and have never, ever made me feel anything other than completely cherished. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you and the family we've built together.
That's really why I blog. I do it because about twenty years ago, my mother found a journal that her mom had wrote in about her kids and was so incredibly moved by it. Knowing how her mother felt about she and her siblings when they were kids was amazing for her, and I remember thinking that when I had kids, that's what I was going to do. Only I wasn't going to do one little journal - I was going to write and write and write. Plus I like writing. A lot. It's my therapy, my way of making sense of what I'm doing and how I'm doing it. And even though I've had some problems with this blog, I'm not going to stop. I flat out love this blog, I love looking back three years ago and seeing where I was, and how I was thinking about things. I love that other people read it, I've found connections and relationships and major support (hello, JoEllen :-) when I needed it. But at the heart of it, I blog for me, for my kids and for Marc.
Jessica Mary - you are my angel girl, my first little love. You were my baby - and I wanted to have a little girl just like you for the longest time. You are brilliant and kind, funny and sweet. Maternal and loving and emotional and dramatic, and so beautiful it still takes my breath away. We have an intense relationship, there's nobody who can make me crazier than you, nobody who can bring me to tears faster. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
Samuel Earl - you are my baby boy, my love bug boy and the child I never planned on. Not that you weren't a planned pregnancy, I just never thought I'd have a boy. And from the very beginning - you just swept me away with your love and devotion. I can't imagine how I ever started a morning without my Sammy-love. You're stubborn, loving, sweeter than honey and everything that I never knew I needed so desperately in my life. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
Julianna Ruth - you have been such a joy, right from the very instant you were conceived. I knew, right away with you - I started throwing up immediately. My pregnancy with you was torturous, and you have been such an amazing addition to my life, I'd even consider doing it again. You are all sunshine and happiness, big beautiful eyes and a smile that lights up the room. I can't remember my life before you were in my arms - and thank God for you everyday. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you.
And Marc - I wouldn't have any of this without you. Not my brilliant girl, my lovebug boy, or my sunshiney baby. I wouldn't have this beautiful home, this loving family -I wouldn't be the woman I am today without you by my side. I don't know what I did in a past life to deserve you - to be loved as passionately, as sweetly - you know me inside and out and have never, ever made me feel anything other than completely cherished. I love you more than you'll ever know - and I'm so proud of you and the family we've built together.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
I love these kids...
My Jessie - all drama and intensity, but with this utterly odd little dash of goofball mixed in. Samilicious Boy, my angel boy cuddle bug, who's world is complete only when he gets his chapter of Harry Potter every night, wakes up first thing in the morning for a snuggle. And my Julie - my little Julie, curles and smiles and utter ruthlessness when she's crossed. I love the three of them together and each one individually. I love the dynamic of all three, and each individual relationship - the Jessie/Julie big and little sister, how Julie looks up to her sister, and how Jessie mothers Julie. The Sam and Jessie dynamic, when they're mortal enemies and best friends, over and over again, constantly cycling thru, and Julianna and Sam, they're buddies and playmates in the sweetest of ways.
I love these three kids. I know, intellectually, that they are no more special and wonderous than any other group of three kids - but secretly, I don't believe that for a minute. They're mine, and Marc's, and combination of the three is magical in ways I could not have anticipated. I can see my husband in Jessie's intensity, in Sam's sweetness and in Julie's odd compulsion to line things up in a row. I can see myself in the dramatic tendencies in Jessie, in Sam's shyness and in Julie's conviction that her way is the best and only way.
Feeling extra blessed this morning...
I love these three kids. I know, intellectually, that they are no more special and wonderous than any other group of three kids - but secretly, I don't believe that for a minute. They're mine, and Marc's, and combination of the three is magical in ways I could not have anticipated. I can see my husband in Jessie's intensity, in Sam's sweetness and in Julie's odd compulsion to line things up in a row. I can see myself in the dramatic tendencies in Jessie, in Sam's shyness and in Julie's conviction that her way is the best and only way.
Feeling extra blessed this morning...
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Not prepared
"A boy at school today told me that I wasn't going to go to heaven because I don't believe in Jesus." We were lying down last night, just before she drifted off to sleep, when my nine year old rolled over and told me that. I was... stumped. I had no idea how to respond. I grew up Catholic, in a completely homogeneous environment. That wasn't a schoolyard taunt that I had ever heard before. I didn't have any childhood experience to look back on, any quick responses that she could fire off to respond. So I paused, perhaps for too long, and then realized what she was saying. I reassured her that it wasn't true. God doesn't care what you believe, he cares that you are a good person. But then I was stuck.
Because I didn't know what to say to her. We're Jewish, we don't believe that Jesus is the son of God. Should I tell her that the kid is just wrong, that nobody has a monopoly on deciding what happens after you die. Do I tell her that he's a jerk for saying that, when he's just echoing what he's being taught? That's a tenet of that faith, I believe. You kind of have to believe in it in order to get to heaven. So, in his mind, he's not wrong, he's perhaps legitimately concerned that my girl is doomed to never get into heaven because she's Jewish. How do I explain in such a way to make her understand, and not make her feel victimized and angry? Because that was Marc's first reaction. His suggestion of what she could have said would not have gone over well at school, and I don't think Jessie would actually kick the kid and swear at him, which was what he was recommending. Sam suggested that she call him an evil, gutless rat (but I think he just liked saying "evil gutless rat") - which had the advantage of being not being classic obscenities but still... not quite the response I was going for.
In the end, I told her that if it came up again, she could just quietly respond that he was entitled to his own religious beliefs and so was she. And to please respect her beliefs and not say things like that to her. I think, in some ways, she's more prepared to handle religious differences than other kids her age, precisely because of her background. While having a mother who didn't grow up as Jewish may mean that I don't call her by Yiddish endearments, don't ever voluntarily feed her lox and cream cheese on her bagels, and stumble over the songs at the Tot Shabbat services, it also means that she has a really clear idea that different people believe different things, and that's perfectly okay. She knows that her Grammy and Aunties and cousins on my side are just as good, just as likely to get into heaven, as she is. There are no bonus points for being Jewish or Christian or not belonging to any particular religion. Simply that different people believe different things, follow different traditions, and that's okay. She doesn't have to believe in Jesus, and believing in Jesus doesn't make the little boy on the playground inherently different or better or worse than her.
Because I didn't know what to say to her. We're Jewish, we don't believe that Jesus is the son of God. Should I tell her that the kid is just wrong, that nobody has a monopoly on deciding what happens after you die. Do I tell her that he's a jerk for saying that, when he's just echoing what he's being taught? That's a tenet of that faith, I believe. You kind of have to believe in it in order to get to heaven. So, in his mind, he's not wrong, he's perhaps legitimately concerned that my girl is doomed to never get into heaven because she's Jewish. How do I explain in such a way to make her understand, and not make her feel victimized and angry? Because that was Marc's first reaction. His suggestion of what she could have said would not have gone over well at school, and I don't think Jessie would actually kick the kid and swear at him, which was what he was recommending. Sam suggested that she call him an evil, gutless rat (but I think he just liked saying "evil gutless rat") - which had the advantage of being not being classic obscenities but still... not quite the response I was going for.
In the end, I told her that if it came up again, she could just quietly respond that he was entitled to his own religious beliefs and so was she. And to please respect her beliefs and not say things like that to her. I think, in some ways, she's more prepared to handle religious differences than other kids her age, precisely because of her background. While having a mother who didn't grow up as Jewish may mean that I don't call her by Yiddish endearments, don't ever voluntarily feed her lox and cream cheese on her bagels, and stumble over the songs at the Tot Shabbat services, it also means that she has a really clear idea that different people believe different things, and that's perfectly okay. She knows that her Grammy and Aunties and cousins on my side are just as good, just as likely to get into heaven, as she is. There are no bonus points for being Jewish or Christian or not belonging to any particular religion. Simply that different people believe different things, follow different traditions, and that's okay. She doesn't have to believe in Jesus, and believing in Jesus doesn't make the little boy on the playground inherently different or better or worse than her.
Sunday, October 21, 2012
My house is a mess
I woke up this morning late. Actually, I woke up early, but refused to get out of bed. By the time I wandered out of my bedroom, my entire living room had been turned into a giant barbie house. With blocks and trucks and blankets and assorted other figurines. The entire living room. As I glance in there, one couch has a blanket, huge stuffed cupcake pillow and a unicorn pillow pet. The chair next to it has "big fat Dora" as she's known around here, and the stuffed baby sister bear. The other couch has three pillows, a blanket, and a bunch of plastic food on it. And the tables and floor are littered with giant cardboard boxes and there are hats and figurines and baby dolls all over the floor. The dining room is borderline better, but the dining room table was apparently being used as a bunker, because there are toy guns and swords and a plastic hatchet underneath it and on the benches. The kitchen is clean, kind of - because I had loaded the dishwasher last night, but there are remnants from the kids getting breakfast this morning scattered all over the place. The bedrooms are just... disasters. Sam's isn't as bad (because the bunker was in the dining room) and could probably be straightened out quickly enough, but the girls room is beyond words. In order to find clothes, Jessie still believes firmly that the best and most efficient way to do it is to take all of her clothes out of her dresser, throw them up the air, and wear whatever falls closest to her. At least I'm assuming that's what she does, because there's no other logical explanation.
I keep reminding myself that it won't always be like this. That one day, all of the children will be grown up, and the house will be clean and pretty and lovely. I'll have scented candles that don't get used for kitchen games, and pretty vases filled with little glass rocks and gorgeous flowers. I'll have furniture that hasn't been peed on and spilled on and taken apart and jumped on for years. I'll have bookcases filled with my books, and all of my ponytail elastics won't be in the barbie bin, as they are right now. One day, I'll wake up, wander out of my bedroom, pour myself some coffee and sit in my pretty living room, pick up my book that's right where I left it the night before and think back on this. I think I might miss it. But not positive. I might just be incredibly grateful that it was wonderful and great, having five healthy, gorgeous, creative children growing up in my house. And be glad that I can walk without tripping over an army guy, or a doctor kit. I think I'll pour myself another cup of coffee, on that mythical day far into the future, and just smile. Because it is great and wonderful - and it's not going to last forever. Someday, my house will be clean. And I will never stop appreciating it.
I keep reminding myself that it won't always be like this. That one day, all of the children will be grown up, and the house will be clean and pretty and lovely. I'll have scented candles that don't get used for kitchen games, and pretty vases filled with little glass rocks and gorgeous flowers. I'll have furniture that hasn't been peed on and spilled on and taken apart and jumped on for years. I'll have bookcases filled with my books, and all of my ponytail elastics won't be in the barbie bin, as they are right now. One day, I'll wake up, wander out of my bedroom, pour myself some coffee and sit in my pretty living room, pick up my book that's right where I left it the night before and think back on this. I think I might miss it. But not positive. I might just be incredibly grateful that it was wonderful and great, having five healthy, gorgeous, creative children growing up in my house. And be glad that I can walk without tripping over an army guy, or a doctor kit. I think I'll pour myself another cup of coffee, on that mythical day far into the future, and just smile. Because it is great and wonderful - and it's not going to last forever. Someday, my house will be clean. And I will never stop appreciating it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Differences
I had to go to the registry today to update my voter registration and get a copy of my title for the dead van so that we can get rid of it. Marc and I both went, as we were both on the inactive voter list. We had to wait for over an hour, and Julianna was mostly awesome. She ate her goldfish and sipped her water and when those activities lost their appeal, she sat on the floor and went thru my wallet.
I was sitting there, half reading my book (the new Anna Quindlin memoir) and half watching to make sure that she didn't lose my license and other assorted cards in the wallet when it occurred to me that Marc would never have just handed over his wallet for her pleasure. Just would not happen. But it bothered me not at all, in fact, I was pleased that I had such a cheap, easy, accessible way to keep her occupied and quiet.
I'm not sure if it's a difference between a mom and a dad, or a difference between men and women, or a difference between us, in specific. I sense it's more of a difference between he and I. For as much as we are alike, there are major and distinct differences in us. Somehow the differences work, mostly. And if they don't, the things we have in common are enough to smooth it over. But the differences between us are huge when you think about it.
He's much more organized and single minded than I am. I'm more laid back about things and better at keeping vague track of a lot more information. He never loses his keys and his peanut butter, but I know pretty much all the little details of the house and the kids' lives.
I'm always going to give my wallet to a toddler and he'd never dream of it. Because it's just not that critical to me, if the price of keeping her content and happy is a confused and mixed up wallet, well, that's not all that much of a price. Especially given that it's all jumbled up from the last time she did it. It makes him nuts when his license is behind his health insurance card, or when his socks are to the left of his underwear instead of the right in his dresser. It wouldn't occur to me to mind. I consider myself lucky to get socks and underwear into the dresser at all.
He's better at stories than I am. Every night now, he reads a chapter of Harry Potter to Sammy and tells Julie a Princess Julianna story. Sam will reluctantly let me read to him if Marc really can't do it, but Marc reigns supreme for Julie, in the story telling realm. I'm better at setting limits, and at taking emotional control of a situation, assuming command of a tantrumming toddler (or rabid six year old, or dramatic nine year old).
He's steady, emotionally, where I'm a lot more... mercurial, shall we say? I've got a lot more highs and lows, Marc just exists at this steady content level. I'm much more likely to get frustrated or impatient or irritable, or wander around singing and dancing or giggling to myself. I'm a lot more in touch with my emotions as well - I can tell you exactly how I'm feeling. Marc has trouble articulating it. He can spend hours explaining in exhaustive detail about constitutional law or some abstract scientific principal that proves... something I can't remember - but ask him to explain, in detail, his thoughts and feelings regarding an emotional issue? He's baffled. It's like asking me to know where north is - I don't know. I can, with a little time, orient myself eventually, but only if it's daylight and I can remember that the sun rises in the east and then figure it out from there - but Marc knows instantly. Exactly where he is, geographically, and where he's going. I spent at least 80% of my time when I'm driving at least a tiny bit lost, he's always aware of where he is.
So why do we click as well as we do? Part of it is the bigger issues - we're both strongly connected to our families, we both want the family we're building together to succeed in ways that our own might not have. We both have a strong spiritual inclination, and tend to put emphasis on the same things. We're both aware that the two of us together is bigger than either of us, apart. I just read (in the aforementioned book) that the biggest indicator of why a couple stays together is their own determination to NOT get a divorce. I'd say that we're the opposite, or rather it's the combination of his absolute commitment (he's already done one divorce and won't do it again) and my exceptionally high standards (I see so many miserable unhappy marriages, or worse, resigned unhappy marriages and can't understand why anyone would accept that as status quo. I was raised by a single parent, that's my default way of seeing adulthood - nobody is more surprised than me that I'm actually in this really great marriage) - that's what works for us. We have to stay together (for him) and we have to be happy (for me). Not that I'm not committed and not that he doesn't also want a happy marriage, but I think we put the emphasis on different things, and the combination is what works.
One thing is for certain - there's nobody I'd rather sit at the registry for over an hour with than him. There's nobody I'd rather raise children with, nobody I'd rather wake up to every morning than him. He's the best and most consistent part of my life, he's the person who's always on my side, no matter what. He's my partner, in the truest and best sense of the world, and I'm always, always aware of how lucky I am.
I was sitting there, half reading my book (the new Anna Quindlin memoir) and half watching to make sure that she didn't lose my license and other assorted cards in the wallet when it occurred to me that Marc would never have just handed over his wallet for her pleasure. Just would not happen. But it bothered me not at all, in fact, I was pleased that I had such a cheap, easy, accessible way to keep her occupied and quiet.
I'm not sure if it's a difference between a mom and a dad, or a difference between men and women, or a difference between us, in specific. I sense it's more of a difference between he and I. For as much as we are alike, there are major and distinct differences in us. Somehow the differences work, mostly. And if they don't, the things we have in common are enough to smooth it over. But the differences between us are huge when you think about it.
He's much more organized and single minded than I am. I'm more laid back about things and better at keeping vague track of a lot more information. He never loses his keys and his peanut butter, but I know pretty much all the little details of the house and the kids' lives.
I'm always going to give my wallet to a toddler and he'd never dream of it. Because it's just not that critical to me, if the price of keeping her content and happy is a confused and mixed up wallet, well, that's not all that much of a price. Especially given that it's all jumbled up from the last time she did it. It makes him nuts when his license is behind his health insurance card, or when his socks are to the left of his underwear instead of the right in his dresser. It wouldn't occur to me to mind. I consider myself lucky to get socks and underwear into the dresser at all.
He's better at stories than I am. Every night now, he reads a chapter of Harry Potter to Sammy and tells Julie a Princess Julianna story. Sam will reluctantly let me read to him if Marc really can't do it, but Marc reigns supreme for Julie, in the story telling realm. I'm better at setting limits, and at taking emotional control of a situation, assuming command of a tantrumming toddler (or rabid six year old, or dramatic nine year old).
He's steady, emotionally, where I'm a lot more... mercurial, shall we say? I've got a lot more highs and lows, Marc just exists at this steady content level. I'm much more likely to get frustrated or impatient or irritable, or wander around singing and dancing or giggling to myself. I'm a lot more in touch with my emotions as well - I can tell you exactly how I'm feeling. Marc has trouble articulating it. He can spend hours explaining in exhaustive detail about constitutional law or some abstract scientific principal that proves... something I can't remember - but ask him to explain, in detail, his thoughts and feelings regarding an emotional issue? He's baffled. It's like asking me to know where north is - I don't know. I can, with a little time, orient myself eventually, but only if it's daylight and I can remember that the sun rises in the east and then figure it out from there - but Marc knows instantly. Exactly where he is, geographically, and where he's going. I spent at least 80% of my time when I'm driving at least a tiny bit lost, he's always aware of where he is.
So why do we click as well as we do? Part of it is the bigger issues - we're both strongly connected to our families, we both want the family we're building together to succeed in ways that our own might not have. We both have a strong spiritual inclination, and tend to put emphasis on the same things. We're both aware that the two of us together is bigger than either of us, apart. I just read (in the aforementioned book) that the biggest indicator of why a couple stays together is their own determination to NOT get a divorce. I'd say that we're the opposite, or rather it's the combination of his absolute commitment (he's already done one divorce and won't do it again) and my exceptionally high standards (I see so many miserable unhappy marriages, or worse, resigned unhappy marriages and can't understand why anyone would accept that as status quo. I was raised by a single parent, that's my default way of seeing adulthood - nobody is more surprised than me that I'm actually in this really great marriage) - that's what works for us. We have to stay together (for him) and we have to be happy (for me). Not that I'm not committed and not that he doesn't also want a happy marriage, but I think we put the emphasis on different things, and the combination is what works.
One thing is for certain - there's nobody I'd rather sit at the registry for over an hour with than him. There's nobody I'd rather raise children with, nobody I'd rather wake up to every morning than him. He's the best and most consistent part of my life, he's the person who's always on my side, no matter what. He's my partner, in the truest and best sense of the world, and I'm always, always aware of how lucky I am.
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