10 things I've learned in 20 years of marriage

This year my husband and I celebrated 20 years of marriage. Even though it sounds like a long time, some days, it feels like we're still slushing through the same interpersonal messes we faced in 1994. But there are a few things we've learned along the way.

1. Fire hardens brick

We had a pretty negative marriage counsellor when we were first married, but one thing he taught me was how our opposite ways of communicating pull us apart. The angrier I get, the louder I get and the more crazy my metaphors become: I go from feeling "stuck" to "a kitten clawing my way out of a drainpipe" to a "banshee in a burning pit" in an attempt to express the seriousness of the situation and engage my husband in the conversation.

But when he's angry, he gets quiet. His hope is that I'll see how much nicer it is to speak calmly and that will rub off on me, but his silence makes me crazier. And all my efforts to prod him into responding to me make him shut down more. Because when you put a raging fire near a brick wall, all it does is harden the brick. He already knows how intensely I feel pain; what he needs to see is my willingness to give him space to think before he responds. I already know calmness feels better than craziness; what I need is for him to show me that he cares about my pain.

The same goes for other areas. I can't convince him that saving money feels more secure by criticizing his purchases, nor can he convince me that throwing money away is fun by drinking a $7 coffee in front of me. He needs to show me that he's concerned about our future, and I need to show him that I want him to enjoy life now. I'm not here to teach him to frugal and he's not here to teach me to be carefree; that just pulls us in opposite directions. We're here to meet in the middle.

2. Everything has a history

Often the things my husband does that make me mad have nothing to do with him. When he doesn't hear what I say, I snap because it reminds me of the painful year my dad started losing his hearing. When my husband naps, I get antsy because it reminds me of when he stayed in bed for days after being downsized. When I ask him a question he can't answer, it reminds him of the French teacher who called him stupid. I didn't cause the bruise; I just accidentally bumped into it. It's freeing when we begin to acknowledge this.

3. Our marriage is an object between us, not a subject in us

When I say how I feel, even if I use "I statements" (I felt hurt by your words), invariably he'll hear "blah blah blah bad husband, blah blah you stink." We all tend to take things personally. But it's not about what one of us is doing wrong, it's about this thing in our hands called "our marriage." It's an object, not a subject. It's not about trying to change each other, it's about working together to make this thing we share better.

4. Never tear him down in front of his friends

Only speaking well of people is a good rule of thumb in general, but it's particularly important with husbands. They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach (or another organ), but I think his ego is bigger than his stomach, more fragile than anything a cup could protect. More than meat and apple pie, my husband craves respect and admiration. It can be tempting to get sympathy from friends for your side of a disagreement, but in the long run, even in a joke, it's never a good idea to make your husband feel small.

That includes bad mouthing him behind his back. Chances are you'll start a group man-bashing session, and you'll feel closer to your girlfriends, farther from the one friend who shares your bed. You won't be any wiser. All you'll have is more ammo. If you need advice, see a pastor, spiritual director, or counsellor. Save girlfriend time for bashing Sponge Bob.

5. He changes faster than the version of him in my head

1 Corinthians 13 says, "Love doesn't keep a record of wrongs." My husband and I had a disagreement recently that ended with us realizing that I was arguing with Tony circa 2002 and he was fighting with Ange 'o the 90s. Neither one of us still felt the way the other assumed we did. But we never corrected the picture in our heads. Someone once told me, every time you see someone, it's a first time. Keep an open mind and expect change.

6. We don't know what each other is thinking

This is a big one. I know of marriages that have failed because one or both partner assumed they knew what was behind the others' words.

Hints don't help. Rolling my eyes because he should know by now doesn't help. Ask for what you need. Say how you feel. Listen.

7. Dare not to compare

This is a big one for me in every area of life: finances, parenting, publishing. My husband and I get along well in some areas; others are harder for us. The tendency is to look at other couples who have what we lack and think they're better, instead of celebrating what we have.

How many couples could work together at their days jobs and a photography business and not drive each other crazy? We actually like it because we get to see each other doing what we love, in nice clothing, in the hours before we're frazzled. So what if we can't dance.

8. Connection comes in all kinds of flavours

My husband loves me the way he wants to be loved, and it doesn't always feel like love to me. I like cuddling in front of the TV. He likes frequent, quick hugs, usually when I'm in the middle of something and need my arms. I've learned that even the stuff that doesn't do it for me "counts."

Some days we're better at connecting in writing. When I type my thoughts to him, he can process them at his own pace and without all my drama. And I know he's "heard" me.

9. Do unto my husband as I want my future daughter-in-law to do unto my son

I can imagine my son's wife someday being so frustrated with the way the guy gets lost in a book or daydream. He could step over a dead racoon all day long and not notice, never mind a dirty cup. But I want her to appreciate the way he keeps his promises or makes people laugh, the sweet way he hugs goodnight, and not focus on his dirty socks. My husband deserves the same.

10. Why reread the last chapter when we can start writing the next one?

It's easy to rehash, to "what if," to regret. But moving forward is so much more...better. Here's to 20 more years!

No-I'm-not-on-crack parenting advice Part 3: Honey, you'll feel better if you *don't* just let it all out

PMS-ing psycho with a weapon or hot mamma needing to chill? Choose your words carefully.

I'm one of the quiet ones at the autism support group. If you know me, you know I love to talk, but I feel terribly guilty when I interrupt, especially when everyone around me is pouring out their hearts about blow-ups, bullies, blind doctors, deaf resource teachers, foul-mouthed teens, and long-gone daddies. So if there isn't a break in conversation, you won't hear much from my corner of the table.

But if I would get the nerve to jump in, overactive conscience be darned, I might say something like this:

Is this helping?

I can tell you love your children like crazy, but when you nickname them "vixen" and "devil-man," and call your life "hell in a minivan," does it make you feel better about your world?

There is a place for sharing what you're going through now and getting support and advice for the next step on your path, but does retelling the story of how your son destroyed the living room furniture five years ago or how your father blamed you for her behaviours before the diagnosis make you love them all more? Oh, sometimes it's a bonding thing, and sometimes it helps us see the humour in our situations - and almost always it's downright entertaining - but often I think the negative talk just makes a difficult situation that much harder to bear.

I met a friend for coffee last week and she said she'd noticed so many changes in me over the dozen years she's known me. The biggest one is in the way I talk about my family. When she met me, I used every opportunity to shock people with painful stories and try to squeeze out a few more drops of sympathy. My right, my consolation prize, for having a bizarrely painful life package, right? But I decided years ago to choose words that made my husband and children look good in public. Even when I feel like running away from home. Because I found those words didn't only change the way others saw my family; they changed the way I feel about them too.

When I'd say, "My daughter's constant lying and stealing makes me so mad I want to strangle her," I really meant "My daughter has lagging social skills that make it difficult for her to control her impulses and recognize the effect of her actions on the rest of us. She needs patient guidance, and I need supportive friends and plenty of rest, so I have that kind of love to give."

And "My husband is a self-centred sofa-warmer who never shows affection and wishes he were rid of us" has become "My husband is overwhelmed and suffering from migraines again, so he doesn't have the energy to stay calm when the kids are screaming, and he's afraid to spend time with me because I've been so naggy lately. I need to be clear and gentle when I ask for what I need from him." It doesn't sound as interesting, but it sure makes me feel more content, calm, in control. And most of all: hopeful.


I'm guessing some of you think I have too many self-help books shoved up my prissy ass, but that's okay. That's another reason I'm doing this here and not in person: I'm not only leery about interrupting; I'm also sensitive to criticism. Write me off as a goody-goody, but I still think it's worth saying. What's more important: to go home feeling glad others share our personal "hell" with their own batch of "Satan-spawns" and "sperm-donors," or feeling empowered to accept every challenge and blessing our precious handfuls can dole out?

Words have power. They don't just reveal how we feel; they determine it.

So please do cry on my shoulder. I may not talk about it as much, but I've been there too. And I care deeply. Tell me the truth. Be real. But know that the way you say it could alter that reality.

May your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be plaid. Happy holidays from Plaiditudes.

Gratitude

I came across an old journal this weekend. It's a gratitude journal my husband and I kept back when we were poor, overworked students (which is completely different from the slightly less poor, overworked parents we are today).

We both had minimum wage retail jobs (and bus rides) that I hated so much I had to hide my head under the covers at the end of every day to distance myself from the ladies who called me dear and touched my arms and asked for that green book about Jesus, and the wackos who cried "bar codes are the mark of the beast!" I was writing a thesis and T was training for a job in computer technology. Both of us had a lot of stress and health issues and hand-me-down furniture. I'm sure people looking from the outside would have said not a lot to be thankful for.

The reason I hadn't read the journal in so long was because I we'd abandoned it after a couple weeks. Actually, the journal covers almost every day from June 11 to October 4, 1998, with a few more days later that winter and the next. Every night, five entries. Five reasons to be thankful. Written as a couple.

Here are a few of my favourites:

• T made casserole

• this camp has flush toilets!

• God keeps seeking us out

• we have all our limbs

• new underwear for $1.99

• frogs aren't extinct yet

• not all work days are like today

• a customer made Ange laugh by asking "What do Jewish people wear...you know, the cap with the feather?"

• new church blessed and welcomed us with hugs, handshakes, words

• little AR at church said Ange looked like a princess

• someone saved a woman in trouble, but got stabbed for his efforts. It missed his heart so he'll live

• mocha (our bunny) lay on Ange's lap while she studied

• a couple on the news were unable to afford to go to China to adopt a little girl but then they won plane tickets to China at a sporting event

• we sometimes are grouchy, but we can still love each other

• we are not allergic to chocolate