What I've Learned From Marriage

A lot of the content of my blog has to do with children, and pregnancy, and it's easy to forget that a big part of my family is my husband, and a big aspect of the success of our family is the relationship we share. We've been together for over seven years now, and in that time I've learned a lot about relationships, and men in general. So I thought I'd share a bit of what I've learned from my own personal experiences in marriage.

Here are just 7 little things marriage has taught me.

My husband and I are both to-the-letter examples of Typeset personalities. I am extremely Type A, and he is extremely Type B. Wiki describes the types as follows:

Type A

The theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status conscious, can be sensitive, care for other people, are truthful, impatient, always try to help others, take on more than they can handle, want other people to get to the point, proactive, and obsessed with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving "workaholics" who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence.

Type A behavior is expressed in three major symptoms: free-floating hostility, which can be triggered by even minor incidents; time urgency and impatience, which causes irrationality and exasperation usually described as being "short-fused"; and a competitive drive, which causes stress and an achievement-driven mentality.

Type B

The theory describes Type B individuals as a contrast to those with Type A personalities. People with Type B personality by definition generally live at a lower stress level and typically work steadily, enjoying achievement but not becoming stressed when they are not achieved. When faced with competition, they do not mind losing and either enjoy the game or back down. They may be creative and enjoy exploring ideas and concepts. They are often reflective, thinking about the outer and inner worlds. Furthermore, Type B personalities may have a poor sense of time schedule and can be predominately right brained thinkers.

I actually laughed out loud as I read those descriptions, because they could not be more accurate in describing us as individuals. And what I've learned from combining these two elements is that it does not always make for the most sweet smelling perfume in the end.

While I am constantly thinking about everything that needs to get done and how little time there is to do it, Matt is thinking about what's going to happen next in his novel, and daydreaming about the next time he might get to play a round of Halo. I am not exaggerating, nor am I insulting. But it makes for a tense environment at times. A running joke around our house is that whenever I remark on how Matt's acting a bit "lazy" he retorts "Well, you're just being a big A." And it gets the point across.

Sadly, this unbalance leaves me feeling like I'm the only one getting important tasks done around the house. I'm the only one concerned with having clean dishes, while I'm pretty sure my husband would wait until the very last piece of tin foil was used as a spoon before voluntarily washing one. I'm concerned about repairs that need to happen around the house, while my husband will gladly place a piece of baseboard that's just fallen from above a door in a corner somewhere to be "figured out later." Nails sticking out and all.

So our type differences lead to a lot of... discussions. I'd call them arguments or fights, but they really aren't hostile or highly emotionally charged. They're usually me, sitting down with Matt, and discussing how I need more $hit to get done around the house. Then he expresses that he got enough $hit done while he was at school, and now it's party time. And the discussion continues like that until the dishes get washed.

But the most important thing I've learned from this is that we need each other, differences and all. If he didn't have me to remind him to be a functioning member of society, he wouldn't realize there was no food in the house until he was squatting on the floor contemplating eating the cheerios that have rolled under the couch. He appreciates that I help him maintain goals and ambition, that I help keep his laziness in check, and that I "beat the bachelor out of him" so to speak.

And I need him just as much. If it weren't for him, I would be running around every second of every day, stressing about the things that don't fit in that day. I would be talking on the phone, emailing, making grocery lists, clipping coupons, and changing diapers all at the same time and I would probably burn out. And possibly die. Matt reminds me to slow down and enjoy the fruits of my labour, he reminds me to notice how beautiful Oliver's smile is even though he's eating packaged wieners for lunch because we didn't get around to grocery shopping. Matt keeps me from destroying myself, and his contribution is absolutely essential to our relationship and our family. But it is a balance.

Can I get a "Preach!" from the audience, please? Or even a "Mmm hmm, that's right sister!" Because I know for sure I'm not the only one who has stumbled upon this revelation load of crap.

No, despite my best efforts to let my husband sleep whenever he so chooses, it is just never enough, in his opinion. In the evenings, when I ask if we can head into the city to run some errands, and he gives me attitude, ten minutes later after the issue is almost resolved, he insists it's just because he's tired and didn't get enough sleep last night.

That's why he doesn't want to clean the garbage out of the car, or do the laundry, or go grocery shopping. And in his world, it's a perfectly valid reason not to. *face palm*

Of course, I remind him, as we all do ladies, that nobody gets enough sleep. Nobody. Especially not people with children, and full time schooling, and wives, and crazy lives like ours. It's just a part of the deal. I don't get enough sleep, and I don't expect it from the world. And somehow - somehow - I still manage to function like a normal human being during the day. Somehow the bills get paid, the coupons get clipped, our children are fed. How is this possible??

Well, he insists, he must just need more sleep than I do.

Oh boy.

Now here's an argument we've had about a hundred bajillion times.

We've even Googled it. Women, scientifically, in most cases, on average require more sleep than men do to function at the same level. Well, his response is that he must just not be like normal men. Aherm. I hate to pull this card, and I try not to, but I remind him that I am also pregnant. Extremely pregnant. And by definition - without any means of argument - need more sleep. And yet I consistently get less, and still manage to get stuff done. I still manage to be a positive person throughout the day, stay on top of things, make sure everyone is fed, and I don't require a break every hour to do it.

I'm not even sure how to end this little portion, because sadly this issue has still not been resolved. We still have "discussions" about it on a daily basis! I've even asked him how much sleep he'd need to function properly, and then given it to him, and still gotten the same "Sorry babe, I just need more sleep" response to my requests. It's sheer madness, and any advice anyone can give me on the subject is welcome because this is a lesson I have learned, and an obstacle we have yet to conquer together.

Matt and I have had our fair share of arguments. And not because we clash, not because we're a bad match, but because we like to smooth each other out, and keep each other sharp (contradiction?) Basically, we enjoy a good fight. It gets the blood pumpin', and it reminds us that we're passionate enough about our relationship to fight for it. In a way, it's one of the ways we love each other.

One problem I personally have, though, is that Matt is a very mellow person. He is not quick to anger, and is usually a pretty steady line. A solid rock, if you will. It's hard to get a rise out of him, which is an admirable trait I'll admit, but sometimes leaves me feeling like he's "uncaring" or "complacent" when it comes to matters that are really important to me. Well, when the dishes start flying, and the volume starts to increase, and the issues go from not-so-serious to shits-gettin-real territory, that's when I finally start to see an emotional response from him.

And I love it so much.

I love it so much that sometimes it makes me bubble up with laughter.

I know that sounds terrible. It does. That upsetting him would fill me with any kind of joy. But it reminds me that he cares, that he is feeling, that these issues are important to him. Important enough to merit an emotional response.

Usually, when this happens, I do my best to hide it. I'll turn my face, pretend that I'm crying, or leave the room "angrily." Then, once I've composed myself, I come up with some kind of excellent retort and sharply say it to him. And then hearing myself and how ridiculous I sound, being so hormonal to such a sweet man, I rise up out of my body and look at the hilarity of the scene and it only contributes to my laughter. Usually to the point that I can't conceal it anymore and I laugh out loud.

Then, in that frightening moment of silence after I've just released this laughter into the room, Matt usually smiles at me and gives me my favourite look. The "this is so stupid, and I love you" look that I can't get enough of. And usually he laughs too. Then we share some kind of inside joke or quote from a favourite movie, hug, and the debate is over.

It's just the relief we need to get out of our crazy fire-fueled rage to ground ourselves, realize that we don't even know what we're arguing about, and come back together. I think it might just be a little gift from God to "jolt" us out of the "red zone" the way Cesar Milan does to the dogs he trains. Just enough of a "Ch!" to snap us out of it and remind us that whatever it is we're fighting about, it's not as important as the love we share.

I'm pretty sure that when I say "Can you take the garbage out?" what my husband hears is "Can you take the garbage out at some point between now and two weeks from now?" When really, what I meant was "I'm asking you to take the garbage out as a courtesy, when in actuality I'm telling you to take the garbage out right now because if I have to smell it for one more second I'm going to lose it."

As you can see, two very different translations.

There are a number of different tasks I assign to Matt, mostly for balance so that I'm not doing everything around the house. His basic tasks are: Do the laundry, Wash the supper dishes, Sweep the floors, Take out the garbage. That's it. Those are his only household duties. And because a man can only really get credit for something if he does it on his own free will (if we're being realistic) I try not to ask him to do them. As soon as I ask, I'm nagging, and he loses all credit. Now he's just following orders. It's like he'd get 100 points for seeing a need and filling it, but only gets about 10 for taking orders from "the boss." It doesn't seem fair, but thems just the breaks. And not just in our relationship, but I think in general that's just how it works.

I imagine the day that my husband comes home and says "Wow, these floors could use a sweep!" and then just grabs the broom and starts sweeping. And it brings a tear to my eye. 100 points. Actually, probably a thousand. I'll throw these things out like iPods in Japan, man. Because I know for a fact how likely it is that it will ever actually happen.

And staying on top of things that need to get done consumes some of my energy. I have to allot a certain amount of brain power to "be the boss." To make sure everything is happening as it's supposed to. To make sure there's food in the fridge, the house is clean, the spiders are being eradicated, and the dust bunnies haven't yet formed a union. Even though I'm not the one physically doing some of these things, making sure they're happening takes effort. A concept my husband seems to have some trouble getting his head around.

Also, being the Type B that he is, Matt has a difficult time understanding the urgency for completion. If the garbage can could probably hold another banana peel, why take it up? If the floors of the apartment don't quite look like the floors of the forest, why sweep? They'll just get dirty again, right? If there's still an old rusty pot at the back of the cupboard that we could probably use for some mostly safe-to-eat pasta, why wash the other pots and pans yet? What's the rush?

In my calmest, most understanding tone possible I try to explain that it's not healthy to have bugs and mold on your dishes in the sink. That it would probably be better if every time we swept the floor it didn't require three trips with the dust pan. That if the contents of the garbage have become their own ecosystem displaying different levels of evolution before our very eyes, it might be time to take it out. But for some reason, if I say it, it has an endless time limit.

Queue the sharpie squeak. Can you hear it?

I've discovered, through trial and error and countless sessions of beating my head against a wall, that the only way something is going to get accomplished is if it's written down. Men, as I've learned, don't really like being told what to do. This concept goes back hundreds of years, to the days where women silently "guided" their husbands into making decisions for them. The man is the head, and the woman is the neck, right? Isn't that what they say? The head thinks it's doing all of the deciding, but the neck it telling the head which way to turn. This I've found to be extremely true.

So I wrote some tasks down on a list on a piece of paper on the cork board. I drew Matt's attention to them in a "these are things that have to happen at some point between the two of us" kind of way. I led him to believe that if he didn't accomplish them, I would just do them myself. But somehow they were going to get done in a timely fashion.

Well, next thing you know the dresser I wanted moved into the bedroom is sitting there. In our bedroom. How did it get there? Did it walk there? I don't remember hassling Matt to move it... yet there it stands. This method is win-win, baby. No nagging, stuff gets done, and he's pretty sure it was his idea.

I cracked the code. Sure, every so often I have to draw his attention to the list again because I think he forgets that it's there. I might institute some kind of jellybean reward system if it gets too out of control, but for now it's totally working for us. And a happy wife means a happy husband. So we're both digging the list.

I make the cheddar in our household. It's temporary, while hubby is in school, but for right now I'm the breadwinner (whatever that means.) I bring home the bacon, so in a way it makes me feel entitled to decide how it gets spent. Not a fair mindset, I know, since one day Matt will be the moneymaker and I'll still want financial control then, too. But when we go to the grocery store, we butt heads on a lot of "unnecessary" purchases.

Let me give you an example. Yes, I am aware that you can buy juice in concentrated form for a lot cheaper than carton form. But sometimes a girl wants to be able to reach into the fridge, pull out a box, and pour herself some juice. No adding water, stirring, waiting for the frozen crystals to melt... just instant gratification. I don't think that's too much to ask.

Well, Matt sees that the carton costs $4, and the frozen can costs 80 cents, and that's about where his brain stops. So we debate it, in the frozen food section, with Oliver kicking and whining in the shopping cart.

"But babe," I say, sweetly, "I don't like making juice. I don't drink it that often, it's not like I'm going to be buying a carton a week, I just want to be able to take it home and drink it today. Plus it tastes better from the carton."

"Then I'll make the juice for you," he responds. And sure enough, to make a point, that evening he'll be mixing concentrated cans into a pitcher for me. And I have enough juice for the week. The next week, there's no juice. And I want some juice. But I don't want to mix some juice. So I simply don't have any. I don't have any the next week either. And Matt is not making it as he promised he would. And then two months later, there are 30 frozen juice cans in our deep freeze, and not a drop of juice to be had.

So the next time we go to the store, I remind him. "Babe, I know the frozen juice is cheaper, but it doesn't get drank. It just sits in our freezer. That's like wasted money, right?" As you can see, I'm trying to speak his language.

"Well I'll start making it then."

Lie.

Two weeks later, still no juice, still cans of juice gathering dust in the freezer. The next time I go to the grocery store, I go alone. And I buy a carton of $4 Five Alive. Yup, that just happened.

I bring it home, the money has already been spent, it's sitting there in the fridge a glowing box of golden deliciousness, ready to drink. Matt sees it, and somehow... survives? I give him my most guilty look, and he just shrugs his shoulders. "Okay," he says, pouring himself a glass of tropical goodness. Enjoying the fruits of my deceit.

It's already been done, nothing can be done about it now, and he actually likes it too. He didn't miss an opportunity to save money because the opportunity was taken out of his hands. So as he sits there, sipping away at the premixed deliciousness in his hands, I just stare at him, shaking my head in disbelief.

He doesn't complain when I bring home a tub of Oreo ice cream from time to time either. He doesn't ask how much it cost, he doesn't ask how it got in the freezer, he just happily eats the entire tub as he watches marathons of Game of Thrones. So again, a win-win scenario. I took the power and responsibility out of his hands, and we both feel better for it.

I'm not saying I want to go to the store and waste all of our money on unnecessary luxury items. But darnit, if I want to bring home an unreasonably priced container of greek yogurt, flavoured cream cheese, or frozen jalapeno poppers, I'm going to do it. But only if I go alone.

I found a fabric Nintendo DS case shoved into the shelf next to my sewing stuff the other day. There's absolutely no reason for me to have found it there, except I was standing at the exact perfect angle to see it. And it was placed perfectly parallel to my stack of fabric.

"What is that doing there? I asked you to put that away."
"I did."
"That's not where it goes..."
"Yeah, but if you hadn't seen it, nobody would have been the wiser and life would have just carried on..."
"But I did see it. And that's not where it goes. Put it where it goes."

Put it where it goes. A simple enough concept, right? There's a stapler on the kitchen counter? Put it on the desk. There's a backpack in the middle of the living room? Put it in the bedroom with the rest of your school supplies. The phone is off the hook, and sitting in Oliver's nursery? Put it back on the hook. Simple. Easy concept. And I don't think it's very OCD of me to want these things to happen naturally.

Apparently, this is asking too much. My husband is so silly.

I'll ask him to clean up the living room, and then go somewhere. Off to a photo shoot maybe, or on an errand. I'll get home, and find the living room just as messy as before, but... geometrically pleasing.

On top of the mantle, there will be an XBOX game case, a pencil sharpener, a tupperware container from lunch, an envelope, and a remote. All sitting at perfectly right angles to one another, perfectly parallel or perpendicular, neatly in a row. The remotes will be scattered throughout the room, but they'll all be at right angles to the couch cushions they're sitting on.

"Why is there an envelope on the mantle? I asked you to clean this room up."
"I did."
"So this is where envelopes go now?"
"...what if you want to mail something?"
"From the living room?"
"But... look how straight it is."

This is something that I just can't fault him for. If he was living on his own, this would be clean to him. It's not like anything is sticky or dusty, nothing is in "piles" or beckoning rats to come and take up shelter. But nothing is in it's right place. I like having things in their right place so I can find them easily, so they look "neat." Well, if I asked Matt where I could find an envelope, he would remember that he put one on the mantle and retrieve it for me. He will remember having touched it to move it into it's perfectly neat straight line, so in his mind he knows where to find it, it's not "dirty" so technically... it's clean.

Lucky for him, I am a bit OCD, and putting things in their right places/organizing anything actually sounds like a good time to me. So he gets away with his right angle tricks - for now. Unless he leaves his jacket on the back of a dining room chair one more time...

One of the first things we learned from our very wise marriage counselor was that love is not enough to sustain a marriage. And that's absolutely correct. If you think that "being in love" is enough to carry you through years of trials and children and expenses and tough times, you are so mistaken. Being "in love" goes away. It doesn't last, not for us, not for anyone. The chemical reaction in your brain that causes those "in love" feelings fade away, along with the novelty that person provides to your life. Love becomes a choice you make each and every day. You choose to love that person, more than yourself, more than just about anything. Every morning when you wake up you're given that choice, because it doesn't just "come naturally" anymore.

But why would you want it to?

Nothing that "comes naturally" has a whole lot of value. Do you appreciate your eyes for blinking? No. They just do it because they must, they can't help themselves. We breathe because it's natural. Doing things that are easy have a lot less value than things that are hard. And sometimes, loving someone is hard.

But making that choice, and knowing that he's making that choice for me each and every single day, now that has value. That makes me feel important, that he appreciates me enough to make that decision. To inconvenience himself in that way. To decide to put in that much more effort toward the goal of my happiness above his own. Because as soon as we start thinking that love should be easy, that's when the stones start falling down, and the tower starts to crumble. Because it's so so very wrong.

But I do believe that all you need is love. Real love. A real earnest desire to make that other person happy. And I think that if all of the decisions you make in your marriage are made in love, then you can't go wrong. If the words you say are in love, the things you do, the way you act, if all of these things are done in love, then you're moving in the right direction.

And even though I complain about my husband's household manners, his idiosyncrasies, the silly way his mind works, I know that in everything he does he tries to do it in love. Sure, sometimes it's tempting to do the easy thing, fight about it, resolve it, and move on. And sure, we sometimes (often) give in to those temptations because we're still learning and growing together. But our hearts are so in it, all the time, every hour of the day. Putting in that effort, and doing the work required to keep this ship afloat. And we love doing it.

He's my crazy, scruffy, silly man and I love him all the time. He is still teaching me new things every day and helping me grow, as I try to do for him, and we're working together, as a team, in love to make our dreams come true.

All you need is love.