Does having happily married parents help?

In an early chapter of the book I referenced in my earlier post , the author writes that kids who grew up in happy, intact marriages "brought a confidence that they had seen it work, that they had some very clear ideas about how to do it" (it being marriage).

And I had to disagree with that, at least in our experience. Gary's parents are very happily married, for almost 59 yrs now, and they are very good at being married. At the same time, tho, Gary had decided by age 30 (when we met) that he'd likely never marry, and had no confidence that he'd know how to be happily married. I remember him saying "Think about it -- everyone gets married thinking it will last forever, and half of them are wrong. What makes me any smarter?" So, even tho he'd grown up in a very happy marriage (really, his folks are so very good at being married) he had no clue how to actually make a happy marriage, and no confidence he could actually do it himself.

I, on the other hand, grew up in the marriage from hell, which became an even uglier divorce just as I was leaving home (really, you'd not have thought it possible to make things worse than they were, but my parents found a way). I married young and divorced fourteen months later, after the abuse expanded from only me to our baby. Statistically, there was no reason for me to expect I'd be good at marriage someday, and yet I had the greatest confidence that we'd marry and it would last, because there was no way in this world I was going to divorce ever again. Not even an option. And because I was sure I wanted Gary to be here forever.

First, I pointed out to him that not everyone gets married expecting forever -- I well remember standing at the courthouse for my first wedding, thinking "Please, please, one of us has to have the good sense to say NO!" Then we both said "I do" in our turn, and my very next thought was "What the hell have I done?" Thinking I couldn't be the only person who had that experience (I later learned that I certainly wasn't alone in that very bad choice to say yes, when every right voice in my head was screaming NO) I figured somehow I'd still convince Gary to marry me (and I did, but not that day).

It's a question Gary and I revisit often -- how is it that he grew up with such happily married parents, and yet he didn't feel like he had any idea how to be well-married? I've known his Mom and Dad (they are now my Mom and Dad) for over 25 years now, and I can see how they do it, but that's likely because after my early divorce, I made a point of figuring out how I was going to do this right, and because I'm a people watcher. We ask ourselves this question because we want to be sure we are helping our boys to understand how to be happily partnered someday. This is especially important, given how many of their friends come from divorced homes, even in the unschooling community where we spend our time. It's very possible they'll choose a partner who comes from a divorced home, maybe even a home where their grandparents were also divorced, given the statistics that say children of divorce are more likely to divorce later.

What answers do we have to this question so far?

Well, in recent years we've seen several marriages end, and each time, we find ourselves reassuring the boys that our marriage is good, that we'd never consider divorce. We answer their questions honestly, and share stories and examples from earlier times, both in our marriage and during our 8 years dating. After all, we have 15 years of stories that pre-date the boys' presence or memories, stories they'll only know if we tell them.

We talk about commitment, promises, how much work it is to live with someone else, even when you are over-the-moon crazy about him or her. About those days when you feel tired or grumpy, or when every sound makes you tired; when the kids are sick or the bills pile, or you get news that the one who works is being laid off. We talk about how you each keep the other's secrets, that you've each agreed to be the other's fall guy, that we try always to keep in mind to treat your partner the way you'd like to be treated; that it helps to remember how kind he was to me when I was sick, or tired, or pregnant. We tell them the whole point of being married is that someone does have your back, so it's important to have theirs.

We also have something more to share with our boys -- my past object lessons. I share from my childhood, talking about the things I saw that didn't work. I share from my first marriage, honestly telling them it takes two people to make a marriage, and that when it doesn't work, it's never just one person's fault. Because I truly do believe that, I'm required to be honest about my part in why things didn't work, about why I chose to leave that marriage and get a divorce. I can't simply villainize my ex, and say it was all my fault.

So, for those of you who are happily married, with kids -- how do you impart to your kids what makes a good marriage?

For those of you blessed enough to grow up in a happy marriage -- did watching your parents together show you what makes a happy marriage? Were there things they said or did that helped you understand marriage?

For those of you who, like me, came either from unhappy marriages or divorce -- what did you take away from those years that gives you hope for your current marriage? Or maybe you had a first (or even current) not-so-happy marriage, and you learned lots there.

What would or do you tell your kids about what it takes to make marriage good? Or do you feel it needs to be said at all; is it maybe enough to just live it as an example?

Thoughts on marriage & divorce

I just started reading a book, recommended by a friend, titled The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce, by Judith S Wallerstien, Julia M. Lewis, and Sandra Blakeslee. It's the results of a 25 yr study of the lives of children whose parents divorced; there are two earlier books, compiled at other times during the study. I notice a book mentioned on the flyleaf, The Good Marriage, by Sandra Blakeslee. I'll check my library to see if I can borrow it, and if I get as much from it as I'm getting from it, maybe I'll do some follow up on good marriage, rather than questions drawn from a book on divorce

Interestingly, altho my parents didn't divorce until just as I was leaving home (I'm the oldest) and I'd always thought they waited much too long to divorce, I saw myself in the first few pages of the book. Makes me wonder if truly awful, miserable marriages are no better than divorce. If so, "just" staying together "for the kids" isn't enough -- you need to figure out how to be happy where you are, too. It's an interesting read so far.

I started making notes as I read, for a later conversation with the friend who'd recommended, and before I knew it, I was composing a facebook note in my head, which I quickly decided would make a better blog post. Today, I'm feeling ambitious enough to want to have this conversation as a series of blog posts on marriage, and divorce. Because it's so much more fun to converse with the voices that originate outside my head, I'm inviting people to comment on my posts, and I'll be sharing a link for each one on facebook.

Off to write that first post!

As a Matter of Fact....

As a matter of fact, no, I'm not concerned about how my children are doing. That is, if by concerned you mean worried enough to let you plant seeds of doubt in my thought.

I am, however, involved with my children. I spend my days learning with my children, having fun with them, simply enjoying our life together.

I do not spend my time concerned about how they match up with other children you may know or have read about. I'm not concerned with how well they'd do on a test, or whether or not they are 'up to grade level' as compared to students their age in school, either in our local district or even nationwide. I don't feel any particular need to answer to anyone, other than my husband and our children for how we spend our days, our weeks and even our years.

How do we spend our days, you might ask? But likely, if you're one of those expressing your vague concerns (especially if you're expressing them to people other than me, in the hopes they'll be able to convince me where you've failed) you won't. It's been my experience that the people who want to plant seeds of doubt, who want to use their 'concern' as a way to convince us to parent our children in a more mainstream way, seldom bother to ask what we do. Neither do they want to know what our goals are or why we've made the choices we have. They seem more concerned with what we don't do. I understand that. But I'm not swayed by their concern.

Sometimes, I'm willing to speak to other's concerns, to calm their fears if I can. I'll do that once or twice even, but if those 'concerns' become a pattern of interference, I begin to dismiss them, and I'm likely to keep those people out of my children's lives. I am very interested in how my children are doing, in whether or not they are happy, engaged in life, well supported in the pursuit of their passions, if they are joyful or peaceful. I revel in their accomplishments, listen as they tell me about their passions, and often just notice for my own internal checklist of sorts which practical skills (the things they might miss by not being in a classroom) they use routinely.

I also look for signs that they may be struggling, or frustrated, or bored and in need of something new to catch their attention. Really, this is much less arduous than it sounds. I keep track of all this by spending time with them, joining them for their favorite tv shows, watching a youtube video when they ask, asking how Andy how his latest World of Warcraft campaign went, and listening to his answer. I do this by staying for Dan's soccer or baseball practice, by talking to the boys in the car as we run errands or go shopping, by asking them about their plans for the day.

I make sure we have the things they need to have fun, to learn, or to simply enjoy a day -- dry ice, magazines about video games, songs on iTunes accounts. We window shop at Sportsmans' Warehouse, Gamestop, the knife store in the mall. We watch tv news, and trade online links. I know the music they enjoy, which games they play and what things they'd like to buy with the money they are saving up.

I know who their friends are, and what they talked about with my friends (because my kids tell me, not that my friends tell me), because they are as likely to talk with the other adults in our social circle as they are with friends their own age.

We read newspapers, talk about elections, candidates, politics and what's happening in the world around us. They ask me about my opinion on a topic, about what I liked or did for fun when I was their age. They share with me what they think, what they believe and how they arrived at those opinions and beliefs. And I learn so much from those conversations. For example, I had no idea who Schrodinger's cat was, and the link to quantum physics, until Andy cited that in explaining his own beliefs about God. He'd heard it mentioned on a tv show, was intrigued by the reference and read up on it. Then he applied the principle to his own questions.

Taking in all this information about my children and their day to day lives, I get a good sense of what kinds of things they might enjoy, so I know what sorts of other things they might enjoy and what things might contrast with their understanding of something and might spark interest in new areas. I share cool things I come across with them, just as I share cool things I see with Gary. Some of the things I share they snap right up and enjoy, others sit for a while until someone notices and runs with them or lays them aside for attention later, or maybe never.

As the days go by, we all weave a life together. Passions come and go, interests peak and wane, joy is found in unexpected places and small -- or large -- moments shine brightly. In the midst of all this joy and calm and peace and the bright moments, which add up into bright, joyful hours and days, we come to know more about each other. We learn together, and I am continually amazed by how much my children are learning and growing day by day, by how much we all grow together.

The learning we manage to pack into a day can sometimes be hard to define, but when looked at big picture, I can honestly say I'm not concerned. I am convinced that this life we've crafted for ourselves, that we continue to define as we go along together provides for our children all they need to be happy, joyful, peaceful, interesting people. And that's all that matters to me!

For anyone who might be concerned, our boys are generous, helpful, reliable, funny, smart and passionate about what's important to them. Really, what could I possibly find to be concerned about?

on Love

I sat down to write on the topic of love, thinking I'd have wonderful, uplifting words to share. I was surprised when what spilled out seemed a little darker than I usually post publicly. I've decided to go ahead and share it anyway.

The love that existed in my childhood was entirely conditional.

Now, more than 40 years later, I understand that was because neither of my parents had experienced unconditional love, had never been loved simply for who they were. Each had internalized in their own way the message that they weren't good enough to be loved as they were, which naturally meant that kind of love simply didn't exist. Rather, they learned that loving someone gave you the right to define their value, to reshape them.

As a child, though, it wasn't at all clear to me what it meant to love or be loved. I very naturally loved people as I found them, with no expectation that they'd change for me. I assumed other people loved the same way I did. When I found my love wasn't returned as genuinely as I expected, I took that as a sign I wasn't worthy of love. This isn't to say I wasn't told I was loved, but that I knew I wasn't loved for who I really was -- I was shown love and rewarded for being who my mother wanted me to be, who she needed me to be. For a time, I tried to become what my parents wanted me to be. Gradually, though, I learned to keep who I was, what I felt and thought, private -- secret even.

That misunderstanding of love colored my life for decades. I continued to believe it was sign that something was inherently wrong with me. To be safe I hid myself, waiting for that day when I'd find people who could love me. As a consequence, my parents never fully understood me. I don't know if honesty on my part would have made any difference. I suspect it would only have made me less safe. The feeling of unworthiness is something I still occasionally struggle with, though less often now.

That life was supposed to be hard, unfair, mean, untrustworthy was a given. My parents did love us (as best they could). I remember my mother insisting was her job to teach us how the world *really* was, to help us fit into it. They believed, as so many people do, that learning early on how to fit in was the only way we'd ever be happy, the only way to spare us the pain of unfulfilled, unrealistic dreams. She deeply believed, and often told me, that I was "too sensitive" and "real life isn't like you think it is." I believe that in their paradigm, they felt reshaping us was a kindness, in addition to being their duty. It was also a given, in that children needed to be shaped, controlled, led, protected. It was the only loving thing they knew to do.

I disagree. To this day, I am convinced that once we accept that life is supposed to be hard, we give ourselves an excuse for unkindness, and we perpetuate the hard life we've come to expect. Certainly that's not a loving legacy for our children.

Still today, I see many parents who seem to believe the same things about how hard life is; who believe that part of their responsibility as a parent is to prepare their child for that hard life. Parents who feel that part and parcel of loving a child is a responsibility to mold and shape their child to be sure he or she will to be sure their child will be found loveable by the other people we meet in life -- grandparents, teachers, employers, future partners. Usually, that's just a reflection of how unworthy so many of us were made to feel in our own childhoods.

As a parent, I've found myself asking if it's even possible to reshape another person -- as a positive act, I mean. We all know that by not loving a child, or even by loving them not enough or in a manner unsuitable to the child; by mistreating, abusing, or neglecting them, it is absolutely possible to warp, stunt and misshape a child. In fact, becoming stunted and misshapen is virtually guaranteed when a child is insufficiently loved. I've come to see that reshaping another person, adult or child, is like squeezing a jelly-filled doughnut into another shape. No matter what you do, what's inside comes spilling out, impossible to contain. You end up with a misshapen, empty doughnut. Except that as a parent, we risk creating a misshapen, empty person.

Often, those misshapen people in their own turn go on to repeat those methods with their children. It usually begins with a desire to protect them from a harsh and unfair world. And so often that shaping of a child to make him more loveable goes against everything in a parent's heart. Why else would there be so many conflicting voices on how to control, direct, guide, protect, educate -- in a word, shape -- your child? Why would training, controlling, directing our child be so painful to our own hearts? Why is it so hard to hear your child cry it out? Why do parents tell children "this hurts me more than it hurts you"?

Those things are hard and hurtful because those aren't expressions of love. They are distortions of love. The only reason someone needs to tell parents such things about loving a child is because that advice goes against the grain of what it really means to simply love a child, or a partner or ourselves.

How about instead we re-shape the world that others would have us accept? We love ourselves enough to love our children, our partners, our friends the way we all deserve to be loved, by loving him or her as they are? What could happen if we allow ourselves to cast out the misshapen parts others imposed on us, to question the "have to" aspects of life, to step back a bit from the fears inculcated in us by our parents, our teachers, our culture at large, and give ourselves permission to radically love -- our partners, our children, ourselves?

In the almost 27 years I've been a Mom, to three very different children, I've found myself called often to step back, to look at the child standing before me with love, to stop myself from telling him who he needs to be today, or to become tomorrow, what he 'must' do to fit into the world as I see it, as others would define his future. I've learned to support them for who they are, to help them define who they want to be, and what they want from life. I know there are times when I'm not entirely adept at this, moments when their definition of who they are and what the world is, bumps against my fears for how they'll be accepted, whether they'll ever be happy, my desire that they be loved.

And I've learned, when those fears are about how they'll fit into the world, that I want passionately to change that world for them. I'm not always able to change the world for them, but that doesn't mean I have the right to change my child. His path is his own to find.

The love I feel for my children that calls me to help them craft a life that will feed their souls is what led me to unschooling, to parenting and living as we do. It also calls me to love myself. At first, I did this only because I believed that loving myself would make me a better support for my boys; now I see that we all, even myself, have a right to be loved for who we are. Would that I had figured this out about love much sooner than I did. I hope my boys figure it out faster than I did.

Let's love our children and ourselves -- as well as our partners and friends -- enough to see that we can reshape the world to accept us as we are. It's much more productive to reshape our world than it is to reshape someone else's identity.

Celebrating Life's Events -- Nov Blog Carnival

This month's Unschooling Carnival is on the topic of Celebrating Life's Events. I've really wanted to come up with something for this one, if only because I feel like I'm neglecting my writing, which feels somewhat like neglecting my soul.

In the Carnival announcement, the following questions were suggested as prompts:

How has celebrating changed in your house?
How do you celebrate, and why?
How do I make Christmas (insert holiday) special without the deprivation before hand?
What about relatives?
Celebrating Birth days and other anniversaries
Adding or stopping certain holidays
Feeling abundant in a daily celebration of life
How do YOU celebrate?

I'd been hoping for an *easy* blog carnival -- you know, one where I could dash off a quick post full of sparkling stories and flowing words. Okay, so this isn't the easy, free-flowing topic I'd have ordered, but it just amazing how life weaves together just the right responses and questions for me. I won't be answering all those questions, but the overall idea of celebration caught my attention.

I've been exploring the idea of rituals and traditions myself lately. Not so much in an unschooling context, but in a personal context. And just as I'm wondering how to answer those yearnings of my soul for more recognition and celebration of the wonders and joys in my life, Andy comes to me with the same yearning. Now I find myself learning about Winter Solstice traditions which, I'm sure, will lead us to explore other rituals and traditions in that same swirly way all our conversations around here lead into each other. We discussed why we've continued to observe some Christmas rituals, even tho I walked away from Christianity 8+ years ago, after a heartfelt practice of 17 years as a true believer. Andy has never considered himself to be a Christian, and leans much more towards Buddhist concepts.

We, as a family, don't embrace or practice any one religion. Even when I had a religious practice, it wasn't one that had any overt rituals -- many discreet, personal ones, but not really any big celebrations. At first, it was enough just to separate ourselves from the trappings of that religion. In the years since, tho, I've wondered if we're all missing something, by not keeping to many -- if any -- of the cultural traditions we both grew up with. We've never made a big fuss about Santa or the Easter Bunny, or even the Tooth Fairy. I'm sure my mom-in-law thinks I'm somewhat remiss in those areas.

As I've thought about it more recently, I realize we do have rituals and touchstones. They are rituals of our own making, observances small and large that speak to who we are.

There are the daily rituals --

Each night as we go to bed, Andy, Gary and I repeat the same script in response to each other. It's one that evolved a couple of years ago, at a time when Andy needed some comforting routines. I find that it's as comforting to us as it is to Andy. And someday when he's outgrown it and left home, it will be one of the sweetest memories we have.

Until recently, Gary read Garfield comics one or both boys at bedtime. Only now that they often stay up later than the old folks has that become rare. Still on occasion, as we head into winter with more indoors time, Dan has requested evening reading time with Dad.

I have my morning cup of tea, and my nightly time updating the boys' journal and my own.

Gary and I have always shared a kiss as he leaves for work, and again once we're home for the evening. Our day just doesn't seem complete without those kisses.

We have birthday parties for the boys, of course, and Gary and I always remember our anniversaries.

I'm pleased that this season brought this topic to my thought, and I look forward to exploring more traditions and celebrations, and to trying new ones both privately and as a family. I don't know if or which other celebrations or rituals we'll add in years to come. I'm sure that, as with the ones we have today, they'll be celebrations of the moments, small and large, that are most precious to us rather than simply because it's what we're supposed to do.

Is it radical unschooling. . .

or just the only way of living with my family that's true to who I am?

Lately, I have find myself answering questions people seem to think unique to unschooling as a lifestyle (radical unschooling -- tho that's a designation I seldom use). One friend said, "for people who are all about not having rules, there sure are a lot of rules about what an unschooler is." Another has asked questions that feel to me like, he's sure I really am a reasonable person, and he must have just misunderstood me -- surely we must fundamentally agree, if only he were asking the right questions in the right way.

The more often these conversations come up, the more difficult it is for me to put into words how I feel about unschooling and why I live as I do. No answer I've yet been able to come up with is complete and I'm just not articulate enough -- or maybe not comfortable enough with the line of questioning to be articulate - to get the words in my head and heart out in ways that others won't misunderstand and, as a result attack, as illogical. Or maybe each of us -- myself included -- is so sure we're right (and maybe we are for our own, individual truth) that no one can truly see another's perspective. What I do know is that it leaves me feeling misunderstood, and the conversations feel circular and pointless. I suspect this is one of those areas in which Gary's wisdom surpasses mine with his simple, "everyone's mileage will vary".

I don't need any of the people I've talked with lately to agree with me or understand me. They seem intent on trying to, tho. It's beginning to feel very much like when I was a child and the adults regularly told me variants of "you know that's not really how you feel". Adults who were wrong, and really wanted me to feel something I didn't feel. It feels like the times when people I've disagreed with worked very diligently to get me to trip over my own arguments and show that they really were right about me, and how misguided I was. All in all, not good feelings.

This morning, while reviewing yesterday (which was an angst-filled, somewhat sad and difficult day for me) I realized part of the problem. Here's what hit me just moments ago -- it's not about the unschooilng! I know I've said that before, but this time it spoke to me in a different way.

With all these conversations, I've let it become about whether or not my choices as a parent, as a partner, as a person, are part and parcel of being an unschooler. I've let others frame the conversation as a validation (or not) of unschooling, as if the ONLY reason I do things the way I do is because I'm an unschooler. That I live this way because the *rules of unschooling* require it of me. Further, it seems to have somehow become about whether or not choosing to unschool, makes one a superior parent, partner or person. In my experience, claims of superiority in any situation are entirely subjective.

The way I live, the path I choose each moment, is the only one I can really attest to. My path doesn't define unschooling for me, nor should it for anyone else. As far as I'm concerned, it's not about unschooilng; it's about living. It is about living the only way I know how, the only way that brings me any measure of peace. In large part, it's how I lived long before I found unschooling. It is the only way I know to share love and to delight in being loved. My choice to follow my child's lead, to honor his feelings, to respect his choices, to embrace and celebrate who he is (all three of my children) is something I have always tried to, always been called back to, even when the other voices around me told me how mistaken I was. I choose to live the way I do because it is simply the only way I know to love, making it the only way I know to live. My choices about how to live those I love are the very definition of love in my life. To explain it only in the context of unschooling philosophy ignores that the way I parent, partner and live is simply who I am, making it much more than just whether or not our children go to school.

And as such, I'm not really comfortable defending and explaining myself to others just now, certainly not if it's only going to be a debate about what is wrong or right about unschooilng.

So here is my answer to friends who've recently asked and debated with me about what is or isn't unschooling. It's not that we live this way because we unschool; we unschool because it fits the way we live. It's simply the only way I know how to live with the people I love.

just how radical?

The question came up recently - just how radical does one need to be to identify as an unschooler. Well, we're pretty radical here at our house.

I was hanging out with three friends who belong to our local unschoolers' group, two of whom do not identify as radical unschoolers (the third friend sat quietly, listening to our conversation). The first friend, who is really an eclectic homeschooler not an unschooler, told of his experiences at an unschooling conference last Fall, sharing that his advice about organized sports upset some of the more radical unschoolers at the conference.

As we talked, the second friend, who unschools as an academic choice, but not a lifestyle (she feels as a single parent she really can't let go of bedtimes, etc) asked how radical those parents from the conference are. The reply was, "more radical than Sylvia." At which point both I and the second friend (who has known me for several years now) explained that I'm pretty radical, and in answer to the other friend's question, yes, my kids stay up as late as they want. They also choose what they eat and when, the clothes they wear, their friends, their schedule, their activities (or lack thereof), whether or not to play a sport, what tv shows they watch, and so on. Apparently, before that clarification the friend in question thought I was a reasonably traditional parent. I thought he knew me better than that!

Both of these friends expressed that radical unschoolers come off like we're telling parents -- newcomers to unschoolers, those curious, and those who don't choose such a radical lifestyle -- that there's only one right way to unschool or even parent. I replied that really, I think most of us feel our way -- whatever it is -- is the most right way. That's the mark of a true believer.

Does that mean it's impossible to mix unschooling and a more mainstream lifestyle? Probably not. What it does mean is that when you try to do anything less than radical unschooling -- holding on to arbitrary rules, or teaching *just English & Math* or requiring bedtimes, limiting choices your children make because you (the parent) *have to* get time alone, sleep, or feel that children don't know what they *really want* or what's *good for them* -- and it doesn't work out as well as you'd hoped, don't blame it on the unschooling. Just maybe, it's the result of limiting, controlling, and generally not trusting your children, or because your choices -- usually made to fit within your comfort level, not your child's -- have upfront eliminated the many possibilities for harmonious life.