When I met my husband it was love at first sight. We were two long lost souls reunited and were inseparable from the start. Twenty five years, six addresses, two kids and multiple career changes later, our love-fest has matured into grown-up jobs and grown-up responsibilities. And while our souls may be aligned, our personalities are not always so in synch. Marriage has a way of shining a light into corners of our psyche that have been lying dormant and unquestioned for years. I’m sure there were times when my husband looked at me and wondered who this masked impostor was that had been posing as his best friend. I know I did. There were times when we were so far away from each other that it felt scary and lonely. Fortunately, two things we hold in common are an open mind and a sense of humor.
The first years of marriage can be tough. Move to a new state, throw a couple of kids into the mix, change jobs a few times, and it can be crazy. On a particularly stressful day, my husband and I found ourselves on the brink of insanity over a milk carton. I had always kept a makeshift minicompost next to the kitchen sink.
Whenever I emptied the coffee grounds or peeled carrots, this is where they went. When the milk carton was full, I’d put it in the garbage.
At face value it was a weird habit. It would sometimes smell or attract ants... it was really kind of gross. When my husband finally lost it one day and asked me what the &%#$ this ritual was about I told him, “It’s just what you do.” And then, in defense of ‘my kitchen’ (translation: me, my mother, her mother, my TRIBE!), I slew numerous “if you think you can do so much better then do it yourself” barbs and stormed off to put the boys in the tub.
I actually loved bath time. Thirty minutes of uninterrupted peace each night as I sat on the bathroom floor watching my two little guys splash and play and sing, washing away the day. I calmed down and allowed myself to view the situation from my husband’s perspective. What was that gross little milk carton all about? We always had one at home for as long as I could remember. It hadn’t occurred to me that I grew up in the country with no sink disposal and a vegetable garden - hence the compost - and that I was now living in Florida in the suburbs with barely a yard, much less a garden. To me it was just what you did. And in a strange way, I felt that if I threw out the milk carton I was abandoning my roots. So, I did what I always do... I called my mom. And she did what she always does... she told me a story about herself or her mom and made me feel normal again. She said that we’re all a little crazy - and by “we’re all” she meant all of humanity, not just our family. And then she told me to ditch the milk carton.
Each of us comes into a relationship carrying generations of baggage. Left unexamined, these can wreak havoc between people. Deeply held beliefs might be due to someone else’s pain from a long time ago. Parenting styles may be rooted in a great grandfather’s alcoholism. Spending habits may be tied to the Great Depression. An open mind and a sense of humor have helped me and my husband through countless struggles, from silly milk carton incidents to much more serious parenting challenges. And now we share one more thing.... an empty nest! Let the second honeymoon begin.
