Is Dad Only Good for Playing?

Very little is sexier than watching a dad be totally engrossed in play with his child. So it comes as no surprise that a new study, published in Developmental Psychology, shows that couples experience a stronger bond when fathers spend more time playing with their children.

Previous studies from a number of institutions have shown that marital satisfaction is higher when husbands help with housework (including childcare). This study is differs in that increased satisfaction was seen in play as well.

So is this good news?

Maybe not. The study's author offers an explanation for the findings: perhaps mom's feel better when dads are playing with their children instead of providing care, because it means they aren't doing something incorrectly.

Really? Ladies?

Quoted: Jim Collins

"The ultimate definition of success in life is that your spouse likes and respects you ever more as the years go by." - Jim Collins, from the introduction to Good to Great.

12 years, 4 fights: Fight #2 - The One that Wasn't about Faith After All

Check any list of topics you must discuss before marriage, and you’ll find spirituality in the top ten – probably top five. We did discuss spirituality, and faith, and religion, and … well, virtually every other topic related to God, humanity, and their interaction. And we came to basically the same conclusion: it’s important to us.

Perhaps that’s exactly why we found ourselves fighting over it: it is important to us, and therefore in any conversation about faith where we express divergent views, we immediately find the situation loaded with an extra layer of emotion.

The Scene: Every Sunday at 1 p.m., for about five consecutive months. We’d been married for a year or two, and things were going smoothly, mostly. But it was clear that one thing in our life needed a change: we needed to find a church to attend (happily) together. And so we started visiting a wide range of congregations including evangelical, Catholic, and Greek Orthodox.

And we also started fighting: he liked systematic theology. I liked a fresher take on faith. He couldn’t find music he liked; I could tolerate virtually any music as long as the pastor or priest didn’t make disparaging comments about women or Democrats.

What it was really about: I said earlier that most big fights aren’t really about what we think they’re about (see The Battle of the Ceramic Snowman as an example). In this case, it was actually about religion and our practice of it, which is what made the conversation so charged with emotion. But beyond this, the fight was really about how we think, talk and fight, and how we hurt each other in the process. This became obvious when we realized our fights were repeating the same pattern, regardless of the topic.

I tend to think things over. Afraid to misspeak, I weigh my words carefully and stay silent until I’m ready to commit myself to a course of action. It can appear to be (and maybe is) stone-walling (a communications term that means you delay or block an action by refusing to respond in conversation). Cliff, on the other hand, thinks out loud. Loudly. He makes his points – regardless of how firmly he believes them – with a convincing amount of vigor.

When we talked about where we’d spend our Sunday mornings, he expressed clear and decisive opinions. In reality he was thinking deeply about the topics and sharing his wide-ranging thoughts rather than actual conclusions – but he never expressed uncertainty or appeared to be testing ideas.

My own thoughts were unformed, and so as not to be perceived as less intelligent I let him talk and kept my mouth shut. Then I’d feel frustrated when it seemed as if he’d made a final decision when I wasn’t even yet sure of my choices. I felt helpless to fight his certainty – especially since I was so uncertain of my own opinions – and so I’d stop trying and start crying into my Pad Thai noodles.

The cycle repeated itself nearly every Sunday, and perhaps would have gone on indefinitely if we hadn’t left the country for two years. Sometime during that time away – when we were spending roughly 23 hours a day with each other – we learned to recognize our mutual communication styles. Cliff learned to admit when he was playing devil’s advocate. He became aware of the times when he was six minutes into a monologue and tried to pause to ask a question.

For my part, I realized I can’t blame Cliff for his communication style if I’m not willing to face my own: I learned it was okay to share my thoughts even if they were unformed. He loves me enough to listen to me blather. I learned to push back at his arguments by asking questions and sometimes even interrupting him.

We both stopped believing we needed to find The Answer and started just looking for the next step forward.

Cliff and I have three degrees in communications between the two of us, and yet it took months of fighting and several years of marriage to come to these basic realizations about how we think, talk and fight. Some fights are worth having for what they teach us about ourselves.

Well, Duh.

If you pay attention to the world of marriage writing, then you've heard of the new book Spousonomics, which was published this week. One of the writers, Paula Szuchman, is a WSJ blogger, and she knows how to work the major media scene.

In honor of Valentine's Day, Szuchman published her short list of marriage advice. It's no-brainer stuff, which is exactly why it's important: this is the sort of stuff we get lazy about but would never want our spouse to slack on.

In short, she advises:
1) Talk less.
2) Lose weight.
3) Do the dishes.
4) Put out.
5) Scheme.

Some of these points (not #3 or 4) require a little elaboration. Check out the full blog on the WSJ website.

Darwin on Marriage

"It is not the strongest of the species that survive, nor the most intelligent. It is the one that is most adaptable to change." - Charles Darwin

Cliff and I celebrated the 10th anniversary of our engagement the other day, and to mark the occasion I read some of the things he wrote to me during those days of our relationship. They were charming and full of emotion - and also almost unrecognizable.

Sure, I knew those were words we had shared, and I could see some shadow of myself in them. But in truth we've changed a lot in the last 10 years. Thankfully as we've grown as individuals we've accepted the changes in each other and found it only added to our fondness. Darwin would be proud.

How does a marriage become adaptable to change? It helps to start with two naturally curious people. Add in an agreement to be individuals - and to allow each other time to pursue individual interests. Chase after new things together. Spend time thinking about your spouse's core values and characteristics - those things less likely to change - and share your admiration of them regularly. Mix it all up with a continual effort to communicate more directly and with compassion. That's how you create the right environment to evolve together well.

Hopeful: the Future of Marriage

In honor of Valentine's Day, I'm sending out a message of hope.

Sure, we've all heard the statistics: divorce rates hover somewhere around 50%. That means half of all marriages are failing. Nobody likes those odds: who wants to head into surgery knowing that there's a 50/50 shot things won't go well?

Despite being frequently repeated, the statistics don't give a full picture of divorce. Overall, divorce rates have decreased since the 1960s. And for college-graduates who married after age 25, the odds are pretty great: an 80% or greater shot at staying married.

Understanding the high probability of your marriage's success is important. We're more likely to invest positive energy in something that has a likelihood of surviving.

To understand, try this thought experiment. Imagine you're a college freshman in an incredibly tough course. You've been warned by upperclassmen that the course's final is impossible: only half the class will pass. The other 50% crash and burn. Suppose you've struggled throughout the semester: given the odds, how much energy would you invest in studying for the exam?

Now imagine that instead you heard the exam is tough but possible: you've got an 80% chance of succeeding, even if the rest of the semester hasn't been easy. Would you put some energy into studying?

So here's the message: your marriage is likely to succeed. Put some energy into it.

Nickled and Dimed

Money - no matter who does the research, money is always among the top 3 things couples fight about. Cliff and I have fairly similar financial attitudes, and our conversations about cash can still surprise us with their level of tension.

I've been impressed with a recent Slate series on money and marriage by Jessica Grose. The author is a newlywed, who for personal and professional reasons set off to figure out how other couples were handling their cash. She breaks couples into three categories: those who keep everything separate, those who share some and keep some separate, and those who combine all their financial resources.

Sprinkled throughout the five-part series are stories from real couples (some married, some living together) that illustrates the benefits and pitfalls of each system. They're remarkable glimpses into the lives of others, and I think they provide great illustrations of how real relationships function. (Check out the "comments" section of my entry on 'Marriage Crutches' to read one example.)

Check out the series - it may not provide Suze Orman-style advice, but sometimes it's helpful just to know where you fit in comparison to other couples like you. (For more on this, take the demographic analysis survey Grose provides in her first article.)

12 years, 4 fights: Fight #1 - The One about the Ceramic Snowman

Long drives with your spouse have one of two inevitable results: they either end with you needing couples therapy, or with you feeling like you’ve just been through 8 hours of therapy while traversing Interstate 80.

It’s not surprising, then, that on our most recent road trip the talked turned to fighting. Notice I didn’t say we were fighting, just that we were talking about fighting. And for reasons that I can no longer recall, we decided to try and remember the biggest fights we’ve had in the 12 years of our relationship.

Despite weekly – sometimes daily – bickering, only a handful of fights emerged as real milestones. We dissected these a bit and came to the conclusion that the fights weren’t really about what we thought they were about. In other words, in a moment of heated exchange, it may have seemed that The Battle of the Ceramic Snowman was about ceramic snowmen … but in hindsight it had nothing at all to do with handicrafts.

So what are we fighting about? We tend to fight to assert ourselves as individuals – my preferences, my hobbies, my thoughts. It sounds selfish as I write it now, but essentially I believe the intentions are not so much selfish as elemental to the process of staying a couple while developing as an individual. Read on and see if you agree:

The One about the Ceramic Snowman

We are not a volatile couple. We know others – including close family members – who seem to thrive from a good knock-down-drag-out. That’s not us. Even so much as an angry look tends to illicit copious apologies within minutes of its being offered. And when we do argue, we tend to do so in very even-toned voices, with each word enunciated with care. (Parents know this tone of voice: it’s the calm that belies an undercurrent of very strong emotion.)

We were more than a year into our relationship before we faced our first argument. Not that we hadn’t disagreed: I’m sure we had, though I can’t recall about what or why. Until the The Battle of the Ceramic Snowman, that is.

The scene: We’d taken a short road trip and had a few hours to kill before returning home. We were looking for cheap ways to spend a little time … and I casually suggested a walk through a small craft shop. It was cold outside and the store looked inviting. And while I eschew the sort of kitsch these stores usually sell, I don’t mind a meander through the aisles every once in a while. Cliff, apparently, is anti-meandering, and particularly in stores that sell Ceramic Snowmen. (You must read those words with an incredulous sound in your voice … as if I had suggested that he get a mani/pedi while we were out.)

To be honest, I can’t recall the way the fight devolved. I know it had something to do with his unwillingness to enter the store, and my sense that this was unjust. I watch football, I’m sure I argued. Why won’t you enter a girly store? I’m sure his reply was something to the effect of, But I thought you didn’t even like this kind of stuff – why do you want to look around? And why can’t we find something we both like to do?

The argument went on for what seemed like hours – but was probably better measured in minutes – and ended with us both exhausted, melted into the seats of his ’89 Ford Taurus. The time we needed to kill had mostly evaporated in arguing.

What it was really about: Almost immediately, “Ceramic Snowman” became our code word for the relational tendency to hold your ground on a topic of monumental unimportance. And, to some extent, that’s all it was: an inconsequential fight over an unimportant topic.

But with the clearer vision of 12 years passed, I now think it was about something more fundamental: how much of myself do I have to sacrifice to love you, and be loved by you?

From my perspective, I wanted the freedom to go girly on occasion. Though I mostly saw myself as an urban girl with a personality driven by rationality and a wardrobe firmly rooted in shades of black and brown, I wanted permission to slip back to my country roots, to be drawn to something sentimental and ornamental.

Cliff, on the other hand, just wanted a warning for when these shifts in personality were coming.

We fight about these sorts of things less now than we used to. I think we’ve come to respect the inconsistencies in each other’s likes and dislikes, moods and temperaments. We’re better at giving each other space: we’ve learned to spend the occasional Friday night in separate rooms while he watches a “The Wire” and I watch “Designed to Sell.” This would have seemed unthinkable in the early days of our relationship, but now seems oddly refreshing.

As for Ceramic Snowmen … those small fights over unimportant topics seem unavoidable. The best we can do is to name them for what they are – cheap, worthless kitsch – as early as possible. And then move on.

Marriage as a road trip

My wife is writing a blog. Now it’s one thing when your spouse begins writing a blog about the drug war or astrology or Julia Child, but my wife has started a marriage blog. That hits a bit closer to home. Were I to share this little fact with married men at the local pub, I imagine they would respond with looks of sympathy or masculine pats to my shoulders. Of course, I have to imagine such scenes…I tend to avoid the bars in my neighborhood because they look scary and my Spanish skills are somewhat limited. Still, this website could prove to be the WikiLeaks of the Johnson household: embarrassing conversations, newly reported insults, rude comments about foreign dignitaries. While one can never know for sure, I believe that most of my acquaintances hold me in fairly high esteem. This blog threatens all that for one simple reason: there is no greater threat to an individual’s impressiveness than that very same individual’s spouse.

Towards the end of "Bruce Almighty" (yes, I made it to the end of “Bruce Almighty” and, yes, I am about to add to that embarrassment by quoting the film), Jim Carrey/Bruce says, “Behind every good man is a good woman rolling her eyes.” Fair point, right? Spouses know the full story. They know when you overstate something for effect at a party. They know whether you pick your nose in private. They know just how petty you can be when things get heated. As someone who publicly represents organizations and hosts events, I can seem like a pretty good and impressive fellow. But Amber has probably been rolling her eyes for years. That eye rolling seemed harmless enough when I held the microphone, but now she’s posting marriage thoughts on the internet.

I had the pleasure of officiating a friends’ wedding in California a couple years back (those folks in California will let ANYBODY officiate a wedding). I spared them a full marriage homily/sermon, partly because their day was not about me…and partly because I was marrying an agnostic and a non-practicing Buddhist. But I still took the opportunity to suggest that marriage is much like one gigantic road trip. I shared that analogy for several reasons. First off, the lucky couple had taken a road trip with my wife and me a couple years earlier. Secondly, anyone who has ever been on a road trip knows that impressiveness goes to the wayside pretty quickly. Your fellow travelers knows how often you shower and what repulsive snack foods you enjoy and the frequency with which you inexplicably lose your temper. What’s strange is that this complete lack of pretense does not doom every road trip to failure. We have collectively learned that journeys are better with other people, regardless of how imperfect they prove themselves to be along the way. We will still see some amazing things and experience some beautiful moments; more importantly, those moments will be all the more beautiful because they are shared with a loved one. Not to toot my own horn, but I still think that analogy for marriage works. My spouse knows every single skeleton in my closet and every single bad habit that I carefully keep hidden with others. She knows it all, and she wants to journey with me anyway. No marriage is perfect, obviously. But – much like a road trip – perfection is never a realistic goal. You just want someone who sees you fully...and stays.

So my wife’s marriage blog probably guarantees that I will never look perfect to the outside world. But let’s be honest, that ship sailed long ago. If someone is going to tell the story of my worst moments and tendencies, I would never choose anyone other than the woman who sees me at my worst and inexplicably loves me anyway. Those guys at the bar down the street clearly don’t get it. Or at least I imagine they don’t.

- Cliff (aka: The Husband)