Family Values

Lessons from two very different flags

Our family is complicated. Like many other Americans, my second husband Ed and I are both divorced from our first spouses. Ed has no children of his own and thinks that “our” four (plus our very lively cat) are more than enough. My children’s father has also remarried, so my children have step-siblings and a half-sibling to add to their postmodern family tree. We are all white and middle class, and we live in one of the most politically conservative and the least racially diverse states in the nation: Idaho.

One of the biggest challenges of raising children after a divorce is navigating the space between very different sets of parental values. My younger two children are being raised in a faith tradition that historically discriminated against blacks and that continues to prescribe rigid gender roles.  I support their father’s decision to take them to the Mormon church because I don’t think religion is worth fighting about, and because my own Latter-day Saint parents managed to raise children who were respectful and tolerant of others. But I cannot remain silent about my values, even when they conflict with what my children learn in church.

In light of a landmark week for gay rights and racial discrimination, I asked my children what they knew about two very different flags. “A flag is a symbol,” my 11 year old told me. “It represents a country or an organization.” As we talked about the Confederate flag, I asked them what it symbolized. “Isn’t it the Civil War or something?” my 10 year old daughter said. I explained that for many people, the flag was associated with slavery and oppression.

“But didn’t Dr. Martin Luther King fix all that?” my daughter said. “I thought he made it so that black people and white people were equal.”

White people say things like this all the time. They say, “Oh, we have a black president now, so we can’t be a racist country,” or “Oh, we have affirmative action policies, so white males are actually the victims of discrimination” (Yes, I have actually heard this phrase come out of more than one white man’s mouth).

If there’s one thing we’ve learned over and over again these past few years, from the Trayvon Martin shooting to the tragedy in Charleston, it’s that Americans are decidedly not “over” racial discrimination. As a parent of white children, it’s my duty to teach them to use their privilege to be allies to those who do not share that privilege. My children were shocked as I explained to them how black mothers and fathers were afraid for their teenage sons, because they could actually be shot and killed, just for being teenagers.  “That’s not fair,” my son said. “That’s not right.” Exactly.

Then we talked about another flag: the rainbow flag that symbolizes the LGBT pride movement.  The Mormon church, along with many other conservative Christian churches, has been and continues to be a vocal opponent of gay marriage.  I actually do feel some empathy for people who fear that their deeply held religious convictions are being challenged by last week’s Supreme Court ruling supporting gay marriage. But in listening to some of my conservative Christian friends, I think there’s a basic misunderstanding of what the ruling really means. No church is going to have to marry gay people. The decision does not at all impact their religious freedom, any more than the long overdue imminent removal of the Confederate flag from South Carolina’s state capitol impacts individual freedom of speech.

I told my children that I think the First Amendment is one of the things that makes America a great country. Every person who wants to display the Confederate flag on his or her front lawn or white Chevy pickup truck should unequivocally have the right to do so. But any person who wants to fly the rainbow flag should and must have that same right. The government should not sanction discrimination of any kind. And as a parent, I have the power to teach my children tolerance and respect for differences and to encourage them to speak up for those who are oppressed.

That’s one thing I have learned from my conservative Christian friends: We shouldn’t be afraid to share our values. In the end, no matter what your family looks like—black, white, gay, straight, or some combination of all of these—the love you share is what matters. Love wins.

The Lost Weekend

Where were my children? Photo by Jonathan Malm,
http://www.freeimages.com/photo/90334

In high conflict divorces, it’s best to stick to the agreement, even when it hurts

I don’t talk much about my ex-husband or our extremely high conflict divorce. But I recently discovered Tina Swithin’s epic One Mom’s Battle blog, in which she details in blow-by-blow, excruciating detail, what it was like to divorce a narcissist. I couldn’t have found it at a better time.

Unless you’ve been there, it’s hard to understand. In the spirit of solidarity with Tina and so many other mothers, here’s a little glimpse of my life.

On Wednesday at 3:45, I left work early, like I always do on Wednesdays, to drive to my younger two children’s schools and pick them up. It had been an incredibly stressful week, with last minute projects and deadlines, so I was eager to leave work behind and enjoy my time with my family. I hummed as I thought about the weekend ahead: the forecast was sunny and warm. Maybe we could go for a family hike on Saturday.

When I pulled up at my son’s school at 4:00, I knew something was wrong. There were only a few cars in the parking lot, and no children were waiting outside or walking home. I went inside. “Maybe he’s in the library,” I thought. Worried, I sent my son a quick email. “I'm wandering all over campus looking for you--can you check in with me if you are by a computer? Or did you walk to your sister’s school?”

It was close to the time I needed to pick up my daughter. Unsure of what to do, I decided to go to her school, then return to look for my son. Her school’s parking lot was also almost empty. I went to the gymnasium where she usually participates in after school jump rope club. “There’s no school today,” a teacher told me.

I was suddenly sick to my stomach. No school. On a Wednesday. Then where were my children? I did something I haven’t done in five years: I called their father. Of course, he didn’t answer, so I left a message. “Hey, there’s no school, apparently. Are the kids with you? Where would you like to meet so I can pick them up?” I also emailed him, “I'm at the school to pick up X from jump rope club and was just informed there is no school today. Where are X and X? Where should I pick them up? Or do you plan to drop them at the clubhouse? Please let me know as soon as possible.”

I had now tried to contact my kids and my ex five times in the course of 15 minutes. I put my head on the steering wheel and started to sob.

It was 4:31. My ex emailed me this: “we waited but you never showed up.”

My mind was racing. What did my current custody agreement say about days when there was no school? There have been so many changes to our agreement over the seven years we have been divorced.

So I emailed back, asking where we could meet to exchange the children.

My ex’s 542-word response had quite obviously been prepared ahead of time. I’ll just share the last bit: “You were not on time for the ordered exchange.  You made us and the children wait and wait.  That’s not good for the children. The court order says if you don’t make the exchange, you forfeit your visitation period.  That language was per the recommendation of (court ordered psychologist) because of your past pattern of actions like today's--creating crises and causing drama and involving the police etc.  We are done with your drama.  The order says show up on time or miss your visitation period.”

Yep, the reality was this: my ex-husband bet (correctly) that I would forget about the Wednesday in-service day. My other children are in a different school district and had school as usual. So my children’s father drove all the way across town with my son and daughter. He did not answer my phone call. He did not respond to my email. He just waited, like a spider in the center of a web, for me to not show up—because I was on the other side of town at the kids’ schools.

You may be scratching your head at this point. Most divorced parents manage this kind of mix-up easily. For example, one parent might politely remind the other parent that there is no school and confirm the drop off location. Or a parent might text, hey, I’m at the kids school, but they aren’t here! And the other parent could respond, no school. We went to drop off location—headed home now since you weren’t there. Want to meet in the middle? And the first parent would respond, sure, so sorry for mix-up.

That’s not how it works in my world. In my world, we stick to the agreement. We only communicate through email and non-emergency police dispatch. In my world, it’s not about what’s best for the children. It’s about payback.

The thing is, my ex is right on some levels. I should have known the kids didn’t have school on Wednesday. And we need to follow the agreement. Honestly, making exceptions to the agreement is bad for both of us; I am still resentful about the concessions I have made to him in the past, and it’s my own fault for making those concessions. I understand that my ex feels that the agreement should always apply to me and never to him. I need the protections of this agreement in many ways. While I’m sad I don’t get to spend my weekend with my children, I’ve also learned some valuable lessons. Most of all, I’m relieved that they are safe. There’s no worse feeling, as any mother knows, than not knowing where your children are.

I stopped by my children’s schools at lunchtime the next day, to apologize for my mistake. I gave them each a “date with mom” coupon so we could plan our next adventures together. At the end of the day, I’m fortunate to have smart, fun, capable children who love me—and I love them.

It’s been harder for me to forgive myself. My time with my children is precious. Also, because I was so flustered and worried, my ex was able to get me to engage at first. For example, I threatened to call his LDS bishop and report this. I also said I would file a police report. I’m not going to do either. I refuse to engage emotionally for even a single minute more. Instead, I’m going to enjoy that weekend hike, with my husband.

And next time I see my younger children, we’re going to have so much fun!

P.S. If you have a high conflict divorce, here are a few great resources for you:

Divorcing a Narcissist by Tina Swithin. Reading this agonizing tale made me realize that I actually have it pretty good. I don’t think my ex is a full blown narcissist. But he is very controlling and always has to be right. His favorite phrase is "The court order says." Apparently, this phrase only applies to me. Smiley face.

Why Is It Always About You? The Seven Deadly Sins of Narcissism by Sandy Hotchkiss and James Masterson, M.D. This book really helped me to understand my marriage and why I started to disappear. It has also helped me to make better choices in my subsequent relationships.

The No Asshole Rule: Building a Civilized Workplace and Surviving One that Isn’t, by Robert I Sutton. Narcissism in the workplace can be toxic. Sometimes the only solution is to leave.

You might also want to check out www.wevorce.com or www.ourfamilywizard.com. I'll be sharing more about wevorce in a subsequent blog.

One final note: if you are divorcing a narcissist, you should be emotionally prepared to spend quite a bit of time in court. We have changed our custody agreement five times in seven years. But you should also know that as you heal and find yourself, you'll find the life you (and your children) deserve.

My Thankful Turkey

Thanksgiving traditions bind the years—and family—together

We brined the turkey with good results.

Every year on Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember, I’ve made a Thankful Turkey. It’s probably something my mother started, and like her famous apricot Jello salad, it has become a mainstay of this fourth Thursday in November, a tangible reminder of all I have and how grateful I am. I’ve passed the tradition on to my own children: each year, we trace our hands on brown construction paper, then cut colorful feathers in red and green and blue. A sharpie makes the eyes; a small yellow triangle the beak.

Then we write what we are thankful for. This year, my children are grateful for family, friends, food, and video games.

And I am grateful for them.

This year, my family celebration is small—just three of us. The younger children are with their father, and my oldest son is with his grandma in California. He claims my mother’s Thanksgiving spread is superior to mine, that it is, in fact, “the best Thanksgiving dinner anywhere on planet Earth.” He’s right.

This year, my turkey is small, and after consulting with my husband and my one remaining child, I have decided to forego making pies (none of us actually like them) and stuffing (too many calories). But my son insisted on the Jello. I only make Jello twice a year, and my mom’s recipe, with its pineapple custard and Cool-Whip topping over layers of bananas and marshmallows, is really a culinary delight that rivals anything I’ve eaten in a five-star restaurant.

Jello salad is love.

I am thankful for that Jello, and for everything it represents. One of my first memories is standing barefoot on a step stool (we never wore shoes in Hawaii, where I spent my first few years), stirring and stirring as my mother poured hot water over the orange colored crystals. It seemed like a magic trick to me, the way the liquid would set into something that was not quite a liquid, not quite a solid, a delightful slippery colloid that rolled around in your mouth and jiggled on the plate, casting amber-colored light on the wall when the sun hit it just right.

Each year, I learned more about how to cook a Thanksgiving dinner. At six, I snapped beans. When I was eight, I learned to make rolls, kneading the soft stretchy dough with my balled fists, then pushing it “like a mushroom” (my mother’s words) through a circle I formed with my thumb and forefinger. My rolls were smaller than mom’s, and awkwardly formed at first. But each year, they were more and more round.

At ten, I made the mashed potatoes (“don’t skimp on the butter!”); at twelve, I was I charge of gravy (“use ice cubes to defat the turkey drippings.”). But my mother always made the turkey, rising at five in the morning to prepare the massive bird that would feed six children and a few missionaries.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how the food we make for our children is a tangible sign of our love for them. Sure, we could feed them a steady diet of pop tarts, and they would probably grow up just fine. But for me, at least, providing my family with a home-cooked meal made with fresh, wholesome ingredients is a part of an unspoken contract of love I share with them. And Thanksgiving is the culmination of that contract, a culinary exhibition of skills learned over the years.

As I sit in my new kitchen, surrounded by delicious smells and delightful memories, I realize that I’ve finally learned the recipe for a happy Thanksgiving: start with low expectations, add lots of butter, and top the Jello salad with liberal amounts of love, preferably in the form of pineapple cream cheese custard.

My Mom’s Jello Apricot Salad

• 2 small or 1 large package apricot Jello (peach will also work in a pinch)
• 2 cups boiling water
• 2 cups cold water

Make the Jello according to package directions. Add 2 sliced bananas and ½ bag small marshmallows. Let the Jello set.

Topping

•       1 cup pineapple juice
•       2 eggs
•        1 cup sugar
•        4 Tbs flour

Cook together until thick, stirring constantly with a whisk. Cool, then fold in 2 packages light cream cheese. Beat until smooth. Spread topping across the Jello. Then top with one package light Cool-Whip. Chill and serve with love.