Babyface is an amazing man.
He is intelligent, funny, hard-working and creative. Oh, and he’s not so bad on the eyes either.
Our marriage works because, as cliché as it sounds, it is a partnership. A lot of people call us “newlyweds” still, but since we are going on four years, I figure that label has to be dropping away soon. Especially considering that 4 years is about 3 1/2 years longer than anyone expected we’d make it (another story for another time).
He does our laundry, but I always fold our socks, because he really hates that part.
I buy him beer when I go to the grocery store and he always pours me a little glass from his bottle.
He comes up with creative, harebrained ideas, and I keep him down-to-earth (yes, I’m the conservative one, imagine that).
He encourages me when I tell him I want to run a half marathon, and I encourage him to run right along side of me.
He works late to fill up our bank account, and I make him a snack when we gets home to fill up his belly.
Not to go all 50s housewife on you, but part of the reason why our marriage is so blissful is because he takes care of me. And I do the same for him. It’s not that he couldn’t make himself a snack when he gets home for work. Just like it’s not like I can’t do my own laundry. But we do things for each other in order to make the other’s life easier. And I never want to reach a day that we don’t do that.
So with all this bliss, you are probably all swooning about how fortunate I am, and trust me, I get that I am.
But let’s pause for a moment and get real.
Let’s talk about closet doors.
Or, more specifically, the completely inability of Babyface to close a closet door.
Now this man is a brilliantly gifted artist, a picture-perfect husband, and an awesome Dad to Puppyface. It is beyond me why he is so incapable of closing a door.
I’d love to be able to spin this entry into some great metaphor about closet doors and marriage. But I can’t. Because, the fact of the matter is, open closet doors just plain, ole irk me. And there is nothing of real substance to it.
Now this personality trait doesn’t even just apply to closets. Cabinets.
I even moved our silverware out of a drawer, partially so I would stop banging my hip on the open drawer next to our fridge.
I’m just happy our fridge has an automatically closing door.
Of course, I’m not completely fault-free. I’ll leave the pantry door open while I’m cooking (and of course, every time, he calls me on it). Or I’ll leave our closet door open when I’m not finished in it, but I always go back and close it eventually.
For me, closing a closet door is a way to immediately rid myself of clutter. We live in a small apartment where storage space is at a premium, so our closets are packed. Do you really want to look at this while you are trying to fall asleep at night?
For the longest time, I couldn’t fathom how this lack of door-closing was even possible. It’s muscle memory! When I open a door, I feel “incomplete” until I’ve finished the cycle and closed the door.
But when we went to visit my Husband’s family for Christmas, I quickly discovered it was a family trait! We walked into the kitchen one day, and my husband gasped and said, “Look! This is where it comes from.” Out of the 15 or so cabinets, at least 10 of them were wide open with no one in sight.
So at least he comes by it honestly. It’s a genetic gift. Like his green eyes and brown hair. Or at the very least, an environmental trait, like his insistence on spelling the word color with an extra u stuck in it.
But alas, this battle has been going on for almost four years with no victory for the home team in sight. So I guess I’ll continue to follow Babyface around closing closet doors, just as long as he promises to keep doing my laundry. Trade-offs.
Reason #2 our marriage is so blissful (right behind taking care of each other) : picking our battles.