She suggested it when we first started talking again after our year of angry silence, and it works for us. For me, it’s permission to speak up and to speak my mind. And it’s an impetus. It’s a “now or never” kind of deadline that more often than not gets me talking. For her, it’s the freedom to know that I’m not harboring grudges that she doesn’t have any inkling about. For both of us, it’s a kind of security in this odd, close quarters set-up. We agree to listen, even if it hurts. We agree to speak, even if it’s scary, to the point of stomach acid and shaking and getting the runs. And we agree to let some things go.

I was selling my book at the LA Times Festival of Books today, when I heard a woman’s voice say “Don’t I know you?” After about five minutes of cross-referencing, we figured out that we had shared a cabin at a church camp about 12 years ago, had had Thanksgiving together at my old house once, and had sworn never to lose touch. Which of course we had.

In the last twelve years or so, she has triumphed over two bouts of cancer and raised a spectacularly talented and beautiful Juilliard-bound daughter (who came by the booth and graciously asserted that she remembered me.)

In the last twelve years or so, I have disbanded my marriage, written a book, watched my own children grow up in an equally spectacular manner, and have done all the rest of the things one does when one is living life fully.

What was interesting about meeting up with her was that she was one of the first people I’ve talked to in years who didn’t know about the divorce. When I told her about it, she gasped and expressed concern and sadness. I felt instantly sorry that I had mentioned it so casually, but then realized how very far away from the whole “tragedy” aspect of it I have moved.

I hastened to assure her that it was all fine. I pitched her the book (of course), saying the long version of the story was in there. Then I told her about Jill and about this blog. I told her I had just started a really promising new relationship with a guy I’m crazy about. And I told her about my blossoming friendship with the mother of my new guy’s son. Even though I’m not nearly yet in the role of step mom, I now have a biological mom in my own life to be grateful for and to get to know.

In my fantasies I see my fella, his ex, their son, and the five of us Doughties all eating together at Thanksgiving, pouring wine for each other and embarrassing the boys with revealing family histories. Whether that cinemascope version of the extended family actually comes to pass or not, the fact remains that this has turned into a big rollicking happy fun family.

As I listened to my words I realized that I was being absolutely and completely sincere, almost like I was proselytizing divorce. I couldn’t imagine, actually, being happier in any way (well, in any way that still includes having a work a day job). I felt incredibly guilty as well, especially when she mentioned that she had raised her daughter all by herself. And here I was with all these extra adults supporting and advocating my kids!

Now… as the child of parents who were married eight times between the two of them, I have no difficulty remembering that divorce is always a wrenching, uncomfortable, psychologically disturbing event. In no way do I want to present it as anything other than a difficult and painful transition.

And yet… it can be alchemized. You can take all the messiness and ugliness and, with compassion and mindfulness and LOTS of luck, and move it into something else. It takes time — there is no substitution for the passage of time. And it takes a huge quantity of humor. And I cannot emphasize the consciousness part of it enough.

But I believe it can be done. And it should be done. Because otherwise we’ve capitulated to the dark side and the ugly side and agreed that that’s how life is and always will remain. And what a drag that would be.

It was Tuesday. Jack’s class was leaving for Wyoming the following Sunday. We got an email from the trip organizers reminding us that it would be about fifteen degrees there and re-sending us the list of things he should bring with him: a warm winter coat, wool sweaters, a waterproof jacket, long underwear, and rain pants, among other things. The weather here is always pretty nice. We don’t tend to have wool sweaters and winter coats and rain pants in our closets, and especially not in kid sizes, since they — the kids — grow so much. I was gearing up for an expensive trip to REI, when I got a call from Kathy. Since we use a single email address for school stuff, the email had come to her at the same time. She had a bunch of cold weather gear from a couple of trips she’d taken the kids on a few years ago. Some of the things she got for Chris then might fit Jack now. We made plans to get together with Jack at her place and try it all on him before the weekend.

Wednesday, a friend lent Kathy a barely used boy’s snow jacket. She came by to pick up Jack after school, and before they left he tried it on. It was a little big, but not too big. It was just fine.

Thursday night, Jack and I drove over to Kathy’s to drop him off after school and to go through Kathy’s stash. Chris and a friend were hanging out in the street. I honked at them as I drove up. Kathy was talking on the phone about a project. Chris and his buddy came in the house and got put to work unloading the dishwasher. Sam the dog ran around between everyone. Kathy got off the phone, and within twenty minutes Jack had tried on all manner of warm and waterproof things and he had all the snow pants, long underwear, hats, gloves, rain pants and other warm things on the list. All we needed at the end of it was a few more heavy socks. No painful trips to REI had to be made. In the bustle of Sam touching base with everyone and Chris and his buddy in the kitchen and Jack putting on and taking off all kinds heavy things, I felt happy. This felt good.

Kathy packed all the warm gear into a couple of bags for me, and as I was walking out the door, Sam nosed out with me and escaped. Kathy went back inside to get the kids to help to catch him, and I walked over to the car to load up the gear. I caught a glimpse of him and then studiously ignored him. He came over to investigate. I dropped my bags and grabbed his collar before he could register what was happening, and handed him back over to Kathy and the boys as they were coming out. I’m not the wiliest dog wrangler in town, but I felt pretty proud of myself as I handed him back to Kathy. I was learning. We were learning. We were in this together.

Sunday, G and Chris and I drove to the airport to drop Jack off with his class. Kathy was coming, too, to say goodbye. She gave me a call after she’d parked. “I’m here. Where are you guys?” she asked, just as I saw her walk through the sliding glass doors.

“I see you. You’re in the right place,” I told her. And she was. And we were.

I have a theory about why we, as co-parents, don’t always see eye to eye about what’s best for the kids. I think we’re trying to give the kids the best of our own childhood experiences. We’re each building on what we remember from our own childhoods as being especially helpful, especially lasting and grounding, especially growth-stimulating — and what we remember as being normal. At the same time we’re each trying to course-correct away from the things we remember being not helpful. And when we go into parenting auto-pilot, we’re often autopiloting using the ways our parents raised us as reference points (whether we’re steering toward them or away from them).

We all had different childhoods, though. We all had different best-of and to-be-avoided childhood experiences. And we’re all different people. The same childhood experiences might have been good for one of us and not good for another of us.

When we don’t see eye to eye about what’s best for the kids, it might be easy to assume that other person doesn’t really want what’s best for the kids. We know we do, because we know ourselves. We can see inside ourselves. We can’t see inside each other, though. And when another person doesn’t want what we think is clearly best for the kids, it seems like it might be easy to assume that they were being driven by dark motives (like control, selfishness, apathy, lashing out through the kids, or trying to win the kids’ favor).

We are lucky in our situation that we all know each other well enough to understand that while we may not always see eye to eye — especially initially — about what exactly that best thing for the kids is, we know that we are motivated by love and by good intentions and by a desire to do what is best for them. That knowledge is the lubricant that keeps the coparenting machine running instead of jamming up and melting down. We disagree deeply sometimes. We see some things very differently. But that knowledge — that we all have the kids’ best interests at heart — is what keeps us talking, what keeps working at coming to a place we can all agree to support, and what us refining our individual approaches to doing what’s best for the kids.

* * * * *

Some things that come to my mind when I think of things coparents who want what’s best for their kids might not see eye to eye on:

• Should the kids go to church or not? If so, what kind of church?
• What kinds of extra-curricular activities should the kids participate in? How many activities? How much should they be pushed, if at all?
• What kind of school should the kids go to?
• What kinds of food should they be fed? How much should they be encouraged to follow their appetites and how much should they be encouraged to eat a “healthy, balanced diet”? What exactly is a “healthy, balanced diet”?
• When should bed time be?
• How much allowance should kids get? What should they be allowed or expected to spend it on? How should the kids be taught about money?
• How much screen time (video games, tv) should the kids have?
• How much exercise should the kids have?

* * * * *

The thing is, to my mind, none of those things are as important as cooperating across houses. None of those things seem as important to me as giving the kids a parenting team who love each other. Those things are important, but in the constant triage of extended stepfamily life, it seems to me like what’s best for the kids is working to understand each other and giving each other the benefit of the doubt. And then after that, working to make parenting decisions that everyone can support to the extent possible when one choice needs to be made. And when one choice doesn’t really need to be made, accepting the differences.

“[O]nce you willingly have a baby with someone, there is always love – somewhere.” — Peter Ehrlich

“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” — Elie Wiesel

I think we struggle so much across houses in extended stepfamilies because we feel a connection we don’t know what to do with. We have needs we aren’t sure how to satisfy with such a complicated relationship in the mix. I suspect we struggle so much because somewhere mixed in with all the complication and pain and agony we feel compassion, we feel love, we feel connection, and we feel obligation. And that’s really scary. We’re afraid of what those feelings could mean for our lives. Everything would be so much simpler if we didn’t feel them. But if we didn’t feel them, I think we wouldn’t be pushing against the relationship. That’s my theory, anyway. We’d sidestep it or work around it or solve it or let it go like any other life obstacle. We wouldn’t obsess about it. It wouldn’t occupy most of our waking thoughts.

That’s the model I finally came to in my own situation a while ago. Maybe it doesn’t match everyone’s. But for me, at least, I realized one day that I was struggling so hard against Kathy because I loved her and cared about her and empathized with her and I couldn’t do anything to cut that out of my head, but I also needed what I needed, and I couldn’t cut that out of my head, either. For me at least, the answer was to work on letting both of those things — connection to Kathy and my own needs — coexist in my head. And to try to find a way to balance them without sacrificing either one.