Not Quite Betty Crocker

My husband and I have been married almost six months.  Life is good.  So good, in fact, that it’s hard for me to remember how bad it was.  We had a minor squabble over something the other day – I don’t remember what – and I was struck by the realization that even two months ago, we’d have been in a real fight.

I remember now: it was about painting the fireplace.

Oh, how I hate the fireplace.  It’s proportions are off, colors boring, materials suspect.  I hate it every single time I look at it.  I can’t sit in the living room without being distracted by thoughts of what to do about it, which inevitably lead me to the fact that although we agree about the ugliness, we disagree about why.

I’m reminded of a family story.  Do you have family stories?  Stories told over and over, to the frustration and annoyance of the subject, but told and retold because they somehow get at the essence of something – the person, the relationship, the family?  My sister and brother are 15 months apart in age (I know, my poor parents!).  When we were kids, my mom would take us to Weinerschnitzel (a chili dog chain) because she could order one thing and make both my siblings happy: a chili dog.  My sister loved the mushy bread and chili; my brother loved the hot dog.

Our feelings about the fireplace are just as elegant in their opposition, but in the negative.  I hate, hate, hate the stupid awkward picture-frame of a wannabe mantle.  He likes it.  It’s wood and original and shiny, so of course he loves it.  I kind of like the (wannabe, we think) stone of the surround.  He hates it.

So instead of dealing with the real issue (the ugliness of the fireplace), I’ve resorted to painting the surrounding wall white, gray (twice), tan, blue, and now chalkboard black.  The wall isn’t the problem, the fireplace is.

{Those are our friends at Halloween, obviously. The pink crayon MADE their costumes with felt and hot glue.  Seriously.  Mind-blowing.}

A good (qualified) friend suggested we paint the whole shebang black.  I mentioned this idea to my husband.  Well, first I thought about it to make sure I liked it, then I mentioned it to my husband.

{What?  Don’t you “filter” for your husband?}

Two months ago: fight.  Two weeks ago: a brief discussion, little bit of tension, stupid joke, on to other things.  This is progress, people.  Real freaking progress.

I wonder what happened?  Is it our success with our attempt at the Total Money Makeover plan?  Is it because I’ve been busy at work again and on the road periodically? Or is it just that we know each other better, trust each other more, cut each other a bit more slack?

I don’t know, but it’s wonderful. 

I was a cranky jerk-face today.  For all the wishing for my husband to be in a happy mood, today when he was, I was a poophead.  But it was okay.  He remarked on my grumpiness a couple of times, but only in passing.  I apologized for my crankiness a couple of times, too, and mostly kept my mouth shut.  What would once have been a cause for a terrible and ugly fight was instead a quiet Saturday.

And we even made progress on the bonus house.

Life is good.  I like being married.