Quantifying Love

“In a provocative New York Times article, Ayelet recently made a controversial confession. She boldly proclaimed, "I love my husband more than I love my children." Ayelet's article struck a nerve with moms around the country, and some of them are here to talk to her about it. “

Oprah: I think a lot of people interpreted it, or misinterpreted, that article that you wrote…when you say I love my husband more, I think a lot of women heard you don't love your children.

Mothers in the discussion: Why can't you say to them I love your daddy different? Why is there such an obsession of putting somebody before the other?

Ayelet: [In the article] I was responding to what I have seen as a replacement. And what I say is I'm in love with my husband but I love my children. I mean the truth is, yes, of course you love people differently. But what I'm saying is I don't think what we're seeing nowadays is people loving differently. I think we're seeing people loving more.
(from http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/A-Mothers-Love_1/, captured 8/28/2010)


I love Ayelet Waldman. What’s not to love about a woman who gets booed on Oprah for declaring her love for her husband? Or for writing a series of excellent novels based on her “maternal ambivalence”? (That has to be my new favorite phrase). Yet, reluctant as I am to turn from Waldman and her stance on all things maternal, the focus of this blog entry centers on the quantification of love. As the “mothers in discussion” at the Oprah show asked, “Why is there such an obsession of putting somebody before the other?” Waldman noted “I was responding to what I have seen as a replacement.” My interpretation of this statement is that our culture has replaced the ability to love differently with a scale on which the balance of love could be measured, some receiving a fair quantity, and some found lacking.

Love eludes easy measurements such as height, weight or length. It cannot be regarded as a particle or a wave, either of which can be pinned into numbers by enterprising physicists. Perhaps it can be defined more closely as a piece of music, as variable as a symphony in which hundreds of instruments are employed. Between two different people whose own harmonies are unique the interplay of sound must have an infinite number of possible dynamics, and the relationships between a wife and her friends, parents, siblings, spouse, children must have exponentially more probable manifestations. There is no possibility of comparison, no right, wrong, or equal.

When people say to their children, “I love you all the same,” I hope they are not lying or being purposefully dense, but just simplifying the truth for their offspring. The truth – for me – being that it is impossible to love three different people the same way. I love each of my children passionately and with my whole heart, but I do not love them the same. They are different individuals at different stages of growth, and it would be impossible to say that each tugs on my heart in exactly the same way.

It also troubles me when people say “I love my child through adoption exactly the same as I love my biological children.” How is that remotely possible? My relationship with my biological children began in my body, where they grew attuned to my rhythms and preferences and I began to understand theirs. My relationship with my youngest child began through dreams and photos, progress reports and prayers, only beginning in person when he had reached the age of 23 months. For my two older children I am, for better or worse, the only mother figure they have ever had and they have no doubt or mixed feelings about my permanence. I am the third mother-figure in my youngest child’s life, and I doubt that I represent the same type of permanence and constancy to him, though I hope that I will over the long haul.

I have no favorites among my children; though my journey with my biological children has been easier in some ways, it has not been “better”. On any particular day, in any particular month, one child has more needs than another, one skips through her days while another trudges. The situation can always be reversed; in the blink of an eye their fortunes, and their outlook, can change. Our love does not waver with these changing conditions, but it can be stretched and challenged by the needs of the children, the needs of husbands or wives. Love relationships that are tested by circumstance can emerge stronger, like arm muscles flexed in carrying a baby or a toddler.

I suppose what people really mean when they say “I love my children the same” is that they have no favorites. Good enough, I suppose, but in the interest of truth and honesty let us say that love relationships between different people are of necessity different. Each relationship has its own issues, pressure points, hot spots and soft spots. Let’s forgive ourselves for loving each person differently, our spouses and our children, our siblings and our parents. Life should not be characterized by amount and sameness, but by quality and by uniqueness.

Woodworking

A woodworking book arrived in the mail last week, evoking the same sort of surprise we felt when a hummingbird recently crashed into one of our patio chairs. Who in the house has ever exhibited a proclivity for making furniture - or any other wooden object for that matter? As it so happens, the name that appeared on the envelope when I pieced it back together (the children are not gentle unwrappers) was my husband's, and light dawned.

My husband is an engineer; he had a double major in college of electrical and computer engineering. At one point during our dating years, I felt that perhaps we were too different; he would never enjoy Harry Potter books or romance movies with me, and I could never program a circuit or show wild interest in our TV remote capabilities. I eventually realized that our core values were so similar and our potential partnership too strong to be abandoned on the basis of these dissimilarities - though his wild support of Ohio State football nearly came between us when Michigan (my childhood team) beat the Buckeyes three years in a row. (Yes, I do realize that those victories came a LONG time ago.)

Let me come back to woodworking. Just recently my spouse showed an interest in furniture-making, and two sets of shelves and a table-top quickly resulted. The children swarmed avidly over the computer program he used to make his sketches and loved both the buying of wood and the sawing and hammering that accompanied his creative process. I spectated, as well, amazed as a piece of functional furniture emerged from a long board and sawhorse. I felt linked by our mutual creative urges.

Bemused at the parallels between our creative desires, I thought back to a conversation I had with a dear friend. Minor digressions in spousal priorities and pursuits had led us to wonder: would marriage be easier if we had a spouse with carbon-copy passions? If both advocated for social justice, for the arts, or for football, would the household be more harmonious and would our joint efforts spur us to greater achievement?

After much reflection I have to argue 'no'. Of course this arrangement can and does work for some people, but I don't feel it is a prerequisite for a strong partnership. If both my husband and I were passionate writers and social justice advocates we would have no money, and no time for the children; I doubt we would be successful. The strength of the bond comes from our support of each other's passion, and our mutual efforts toward the greatest creative act in (my) life - building a family and a community. I doubt that I will have any more lasting legacy than the relationships I build with our children, friends and family, and my husband has my back in those efforts; he has made it clear that family retains the top of his priority list, as well. Together we weave a tapestry of family rituals, adventures, travel, and visits with extended family. With this project in common, we need our own wild, specific tangents to fulfill our individual abilities, though I know I value his support and input to whatever I undertake. The kids and I will do the same for him.

Perhaps my husband's next project could be a birdhouse, for those poor befuddled hummingbirds that lunge across our patio. The kids and I will be happy to cheer him on!