The scene: Mr. W. has been out of the apartment for most of
the day, doing some freelance work. He
returns to find that I’ve decorated our home for Easter. He likes the decorations, until he spots
our kitchen chairs. I’ve taken sparkly,
polka-dotted, pastel ribbon and tied gigantic bows on the backs of each kitchen
chair. Adorable, right?
He doesn’t seem to think so.
He rolls his eyes and says, “You know, I have to live here, too!”
Whoops. That's right. He's a strapping, 28-year-old male and he does live here. I guess those
ribbons do look a little like they belong in Barbie’s dream house.
After Mr. W. and I were married, he moved into MY
apartment. It’s a lovely little
space. At 650 square feet, it isn’t large. But what it lacks in space and storage, it
more than makes up for in charm. A benefit to old (ie, cheap) apartments is that they often have a lot of character. The
kitchen has a built in china cabinet.
The hardwood floors are edged in mahogany inlay. Each room has a 10-foot ceiling. It didn’t take me long to incorporate little
touches to make it feel more like home.
By the time we were married, I had lived in the apartment for just over
a year. I definitely perceived the
two-bedroom, 1-bath unit as being “mine.”
Although we hadn’t lived together before the wedding, Mr. W.
and I were quite familiar with each other’s habits and preferences. I knew, for instance, that he tends to
accumulate dirty cups -- but never dishes-- on his desk. He is
meticulous about rolling the toothpaste tube after each squeeze. He prefers to wear shoes while inside. He sleeps with about six dozen pillows. In other words, I knew his
daily routine. After seven years of dating, I think this
level of familiarity is inevitable.
In turn, he knew that I have a much lower tolerance for
clutter than he does. He also knew that
I don’t really care what the toothpaste tube looks like, so long as there is
toothpaste inside. I would wear slippers
all the time if they weren’t so ugly. I
sleep with just two pillows, though I’ve always loved the decorative pillows
that are NOT to be used for sleeping.
All in all, I would say that the transition to living
together has been fairly smooth. Mr. W.
contains his clutter to the spare bedroom so that I can simply close the door
if it starts to bother me. And I’ve
stopped teasing him for his “pillow nest.”
Every once in a while, though, we still discover little things that
annoy each other. For instance, if Mr.
W. is sleeping and I turn on a light in the bedroom (even the really, really
dim light all the way in the corner), he becomes quite grouchy. You’d think I tried to rouse a hibernating
bear. Likewise, I start to seethe if I
see dirty clothes strewn on the floor (hello, the hamper is right there!). Once
we’ve discovered each other’s irritants, we try not to repeat them.
But, I can still do a better job remembering that the
apartment is no longer mine alone. Given
that I am a Type-A control freak, relinquishing control over “my home” has not
been easy for me. But it’s also his home,
and I need to allow him equal input when it comes to organizing, maintaining,
and decorating the apartment. Marriage
is a partnership and our home needs to reflect that.
By the way, he resigned himself to the sparkly chair-bows
for one week. They’ll be removed on Sunday night, as soon
as we finish our Easter celebration.
If you live with a spouse or significant other, what was the largest adjustment when you first started sharing spaces?