If you’ve ever wanted to witness a state legislature attempt something bold, ambitious, noble, bureaucratically epic, and slightly unhinged all at the same time, welcome to Ohio. Buckle up. The Buckeye State is now one Senate vote (29–2, because apparently two senators woke up and chose chaos) away from reinventing how parents, ex-parents, semi-parents, custodians, co-parents, step-parents, and the “I was just dating them during the breakup” crew navigate the emotional carnival of child custody.
And they did it with a 422-page bill. Let’s take a moment to appreciate that. Four hundred and twenty-two pages. That’s not a bill; that’s a doorstop. That’s a graduate-level textbook. That’s the exact number of pages required for parents to pretend they’ve read it while secretly Googling “what does designated parent mean help??”
But here we are: Senate Bill 174, lovingly stitched together by two lawmakers who apparently decided that Ohio’s family law system needed something between a structural remodel and an HGTV reboot. Theresa Gavarone (R-Bowling Green) and Paula Hicks-Hudson (D-Toledo) teamed up for 20 years — yes, twenty — of legislative carpentry to produce this mega-package.
And frankly? It’s about time.
Because if you’ve ever seen two parents in family court, you know that “best interest of the child” often gets lost somewhere between “he never picks up the kids on time” and “she feeds them organic quinoa like we live in California.”
So let’s dive into this legislative casserole and see exactly what Ohio is cooking up.
Chapter 1: Ohio Decides to Become Enlightened… or at Least Pretend
The Senate’s big pitch: We’re putting kids first again.
Which is adorable, because every state says that. Family courts across America regularly declare, usually with a straight face, that the child’s best interest is the priority — right before they award custody based on which lawyer showed up wearing matching socks.
But Ohio is taking a different angle. They’re defining what “best interest” means. Imagine that! A state government deciding that ambiguous legal jargon needs clarity. What’s next? A DMV process that takes less than three hours? A bipartisan handshake not immediately followed by someone subtweeting the other?
This new definition focuses on something radical: encouraging relationships with both parents, unless one of them is, you know, dangerous, reckless, or the type of person who thinks “babysitting my own kids” is a real sentence.
It sounds shockingly modern for a state that still debates whether chili counts as soup.
Chapter 2: The Parenting Plan — Because Google Calendar Wasn’t Enough
One of the bill’s biggest innovations is requiring a parenting plan.
To be clear, many parents already make parenting plans. They’re usually handwritten on napkins, or delivered via text messages like:
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“You take them next weekend, I have a thing.”
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“What thing?”
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“Doesn’t matter, I’m still not taking them.”
But this law wants an actual parenting plan that allocates responsibilities thoughtfully, consistently, and without burning the house down.
The idea is to help parents share — or at least pretend to share — responsibilities. Because heaven forbid a child grows up thinking only one parent knows how to sign a permission slip.
Chapter 3: Ohio Ditches the “Residential Parent” Title Like an Ex Who Won’t Leave
Ohio is scrapping the term “residential parent and legal custodian” and replacing it with “designated parent and legal custodian.”
Honestly? Good. The old system made one parent feel like the primary adult and the other like they were playing backup vocals in their own family.
“Designated parent” sounds less hierarchical. More neutral. More modern. More “everybody relax, Karen.”
It also conveniently avoids the eternal argument of:
“Well, I’m the residential parent.”
“Yes, but I reside too.”
“Not according to Judge Frowny-Eyebrows.”
Let’s be real. When your legal terminology makes one parent feel like they got voted off the island, maybe it’s time for an update.
Chapter 4: Ohio Finally Declares That Gender and Money Aren’t Parenting Skills
Yes, you read that correctly. The bill formally prohibits courts from giving preferential treatment based on:
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a parent’s financial status
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or gender
This is huge.
For decades, custody battles have often looked like:
Parent A: “I make more money.”
Parent B: “I make more emotional availability.”
Judge: “In this court, money is love.”
Or:
Parent A: “I’m the mom.”
Parent B: “I’m the dad.”
Judge: “Hmmm, tough call, but culturally speaking…”
Ohio is finally saying out loud: none of that should matter.
It’s almost like they’ve arrived at the radical idea that being a good parent isn’t a biological trait, a paycheck size, or a title. Wild.
Chapter 5: Courts Must Assume Shared Parenting — Until Reality Says Otherwise
The bill makes one thing clear:
Family courts must start with the assumption that kids should spend time with both parents.
This is beautiful in theory. Very Kumbaya. Very “We can all get along for Timmy.”
But then the bill wisely adds: if shared time is not in the child’s best interest — perhaps because one parent thinks bedtime is a theoretical construct — the court can override it.
The political messaging is basically:
“We love co-parenting! Except when we don’t. We’re not monsters.”
This is where that 422 pages comes in. Because trust me, determining best interest takes more than a vibe. Especially when one parent insists that a six-year-old can “self-regulate screen time” and the other thinks Nickelodeon causes brain decay.
Chapter 6: The Bipartisan Energy Is Strong With This One
Now let’s talk politics.
Ohio Republicans and Democrats actually worked together on this.
Let that sink in.
Two senators — Gavarone (R) and Hicks-Hudson (D) — joined forces like a legislative buddy-cop film. It’s honestly inspiring. One can almost picture them in a dimly lit office, surrounded by sticky notes, drinking coffee that tastes like punishment, muttering:
“Okay, page 119… is this the section where we fix the parenting time loophole or is this the one where we clarify who has to buy cleats?”
It took them 20 years of work to get to this point. That’s how long it takes to raise an actual human being from newborn to adulthood. You could have birthed a child, taught them to walk, taught them algebra, watched them reject algebra, and drop them off at college in less time than it took to update Ohio’s custody laws.
But good things come to those who wait. And by good things, I mean legislation that tries extremely hard to keep parents from using their child as a human ping-pong ball.
Chapter 7: The Domestic Violence Network Approves — Which Is Big
Let’s pause and talk about supporters:
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Ohio Domestic Violence Network
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Ohio State Bar Association
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Ohio Judicial Conference
Those groups rarely jump into a kumbaya group hug on something this large unless they genuinely believe it’s going to help families and protect kids.
If the domestic-violence advocates are on board, that means:
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The bill isn’t forcing dangerous parents into equal parenting time
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Safety is explicitly prioritized
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Someone actually read all 422 pages — and didn’t faint halfway through
That’s reassuring.
Because nothing torpedoes a shared-parenting reform faster than ignoring the fact that some parents should absolutely not have access to unsupervised anything, including children, playgrounds, or scissors.
Chapter 8: “When Families Are in Turmoil, Children Can Really Suffer” — Ohio Discovers Water Is Wet
Sen. Gavarone delivered this gem of a quote:
“When families are in turmoil, children can really suffer.”
Truly profound. Nobel Prize material.
But let’s be fair: family courts are designed to intervene during turmoil. Rarely does a perfectly happy couple with open communication and a shared Google calendar stroll into court saying:
“Hello, Your Honor, we’re just here for fun.”
No, custody fights usually begin somewhere between “I’m calling my lawyer” and “Did you seriously text me DURING mediation?”
So yes, kids suffer.
Yes, the state should care.
And yes, any bill that aims to reduce the emotional equivalent of trench warfare is probably a step in the right direction.
Chapter 9: Dividing Responsibilities vs. Limiting Rights
The bill is very clear: parental rights are not being limited.
They are simply being divided more thoughtfully. Like splitting a pizza, except both parents keep insisting the other one didn’t pay.
Ohio really wants everyone to understand that this isn’t about giving one parent more power than the other — it’s about ensuring that if you helped create the child, you should also participate in the glamorous world of:
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carpool lines
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recital seating politics
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the eternal mystery of who ate the lunchbox snacks
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and school emails that say “reminder” even though you never saw the first one
This isn’t restricting your power as a parent. It’s giving you chores. Lots and lots of lovely chores.
Chapter 10: The Senate Vote — Who Are the Two Who Said No?
The bill passed 29–2.
Two senators said:
“No thanks, I like chaos.”
What exactly did they object to?
Was it the length? The parenting plan? The definition of best interest? The line on page 317 about “designated parent responsibilities include ensuring the child has adequate clothing”? Did they want more clothing? Less clothing? Fewer definitions? More popcorn?
We may never know.
But when 29 lawmakers from both parties agree on anything, it is statistically safer to assume the remaining two got confused, lost, or accidentally hit the wrong button.
Chapter 11: Let’s Talk About the Real Motivation — Judges Are Tired
Family court judges are exhausted. Spiritually. Emotionally. Existentially.
They spend their days listening to adults argue about:
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who lost the favorite hoodie
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who lets the kid stay up five extra minutes
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who introduced the child to the horror that is pineapple on pizza
And then, after eight hours of this, they go home and watch other people’s kids on TV because their own are grown and won’t return their calls.
This bill gives judges something magical: structure.
A clear roadmap. A framework. A system that isn’t based on the judge’s personal policy of “whoever looks less annoyed wins.”
This isn’t just reform.
It’s a sanity-preservation mechanism.
Chapter 12: The “Both Parents Should Be Involved” Ideal — Beautiful, Messy, and Slightly Optimistic
The bill emphasizes that kids do better when both parents are involved.
This is true.
This is research-based.
This is widely accepted.
But it is also a bit idealistic, because sometimes parents don’t work together so much as they work near each other, like parallel lines that never meet.
Ohio is basically saying:
“We know you two have your differences. But for Timmy’s sake, can we not weaponize trampoline park memberships?”
It’s a nice thought. A very wholesome one.
Will every parent magically rise to the occasion?
No.
Some parents struggle to rise to the laundry occasion.
But the law can at least try.
Chapter 13: Twenty Years Later — Ohio Finishes Its Homework
This bill was born from recommendations made in 2005.
That was three iPhones ago. That was when MySpace was still alive. That was when people still printed MapQuest directions and hoped for the best.
Ohio took those recommendations and said:
“We’ll get to this eventually.”
And then they actually did.
It’s rare to see government finish a 20-year project without:
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running out of money
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losing the paperwork
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getting distracted
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canceling it
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handing it off to a commission
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creating a commission to study the commission
But here we are. Progress. Slow, lumbering, heavily footnoted progress.
Chapter 14: The Parenting Battlefield — Now With Slightly Fewer Landmines
Let’s be honest: custody battles are often emotional minefields. Every step is risky. Every decision is fraught. Every conversation can detonate.
This bill won’t eliminate conflict.
But it will reduce ambiguity — and ambiguity is what fuels 90% of custody fights.
If both parents have clearer roles, fewer assumptions, and more predictable expectations, there’s less room for courtroom theatrics.
This is not a miracle cure for:
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parental stubbornness
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unresolved emotional baggage
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passive-aggressive text messages
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weaponized tardiness
But it’s a framework that could reduce some of the trench warfare.
Chapter 15: The Critics — Because Someone Always Has Notes
Of course, not everyone is thrilled.
Some think the bill is too optimistic. Some think it tries too hard to engineer cooperation, like a therapist with a whiteboard full of dreams.
Others fear it will be applied too rigidly. Because if there’s anything bureaucracy loves, it’s following a rule exactly wrong.
And a few hardcore skeptics worry that a 422-page bill inherently contains at least 50 pages of “weird stuff we won’t notice until it backfires.”
Those critics aren’t necessarily wrong. But they’re also not offering alternatives, unless “fix family courts with vibes” counts.
Chapter 16: The House Is Next — Please, No Plot Twist
The bill now heads to the Ohio House of Representatives, where anything could happen. And I mean anything:
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It could pass overwhelmingly
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It could get chopped up like a salad
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Someone could try to attach a totally unrelated amendment involving tax credits for backyard chickens
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It could stall because someone scheduled a hearing during football season
One hopes the House will simply… pass it. Because overturning two decades of work would be peak Ohio energy: bold plan meets bureaucratic pothole.
Chapter 17: So What Does This Mean for Real Families?
If the bill becomes law, everyday families will experience:
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more predictable custody procedures
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less courtroom improvisation
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fewer outdated terms that sound like Dickensian characters
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more emphasis on co-parenting
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a clearer standard for “best interest”
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a starting assumption that both parents matter
For kids, that means less ping-ponging, less stress, and more stability.
For parents, that means fewer opportunities to use legal ambiguity as emotional leverage.
For lawyers, that means slightly fewer billable hours but significantly fewer headaches.
For judges, that means fewer “Your Honor, he gave the child gluten” arguments.
Chapter 18: The Snarky Bottom Line — Ohio Just Grew Up a Little
Let’s be real.
Updating family law is hard.
Getting bipartisan support is harder.
Doing it in a way that satisfies domestic-violence advocates, judges, and attorneys is borderline miraculous.
The bill isn’t perfect.
It won’t fix every broken co-parenting relationship.
It won’t transform stubborn adults into enlightened co-caregivers.
But it will give Ohio a modern, structured, child-focused framework that avoids many of the issues that plague custody proceedings nationwide.
It’s thoughtful.
It’s intricate.
It’s ambitious.
It’s 422 pages long because of course it is.
And it might just make life better for kids caught between adults who love them but don’t always know how to work together.
So here’s to Ohio — the state that, after two decades, finally turned in its family-law homework. Whether the House gives it a gold star or sends it back with red ink remains to be seen.
But for now?
Ohio actually did a thing. A big thing. A meaningful thing. A bipartisan thing.
And that alone is worth at least one slow clap and maybe a celebratory Buckeye candy.