My Husband, the Roommate

My wonderful husband’s recent post about chores got me thinking. Thinking about just how important this division of responsibility is to the health of our relationship, and to my overall happiness.

When I met Mike, I was in a place where I was really enjoying being alone and independent for the first time in my adult life. And I very clearly remember thinking that the only way I would be in another relationship is if that relationship made my life easier instead of more complicated. Because my life as a single lady was proving to be really terrific. There is something so delightfully liberating about only having to worrying about your own mess, literally and figuratively.

But then I met Mike. And the thing about Mike is that he is just a really great partner. And this manifests itself in some very boring but very important ways. Chores, for example. When you are falling in love with someone I think it is rare that you fall in love with the way they take out the trash. And when you are making a checklist for the qualities to look for in your future spouse, it is likely that “funny” and “attractive” rank higher than “great toilet scrubber”. But for me, these things really matter. And the fact that Mike cleans the house and makes dinner and takes Oscar out for his final pee of the night is perhaps more important to my happiness than I care to admit.

I don’t think that I appreciated this when Mike and I first started dating. In fact, I thought he was kind of a weirdo because he insisted on cleaning up before, instead of after, dinner. Like, “Let’s let this pasta get cold while I scrub this pot real quick.” And the fact that there was no clutter in his apartment kind of freaked me out. But, luckily, it turns out that Mike is not the serial killer I feared he was, but is just a very neat person. And that works for us. Well, truthfully, it works better for me than for him because I tend to be messier and he is in a constant low level of stress because of the socks I leave in the living room. But I digress.

What I’m trying to get at here is that I’m finding that our marriage functions on two levels. There is the foundational love level. The, “We have the same hopes and dreams and we are crazy about each other and want to spend the rest of our happily ever after together” level. But then there is what I will call the “roommate” level. This is the, “You make my life easier because you just took out the trash” level.  And since Mike and I spend an extraordinary amount of time together in a 750 square foot apartment with a very furry and very needy dog, this is the level that we operate on a lot of the time. And if things aren’t working on this level, it all falls apart. It’s not the most romantic thing in the world, but it is real life.

I’m not going to sit here and say we’ve got this thing down. I mean, there’s obviously the sock issue, which could still prove to be our undoing (I swear I’m working on it, Honey). But the basic building blocks are there. And more importantly, we’ve worked out a division of responsibility that feels fair and reasonable for both of us. Yours may be different. But the important thing is that your life feels easier instead of harder when you are with your partner. Because yesterday, when I was lying on the couch nursing a hangover from the fabulous wedding we went to the night before, I was thanking my lucky stars that I ended up with a man who gladly did the grocery shopping and made dinner so I didn’t have to. In return, I promise to listen to an endless amount of fantasy football grousing. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.