Men and women are different, and every day in a relationship we brush up against those differences in dozens of ways. We see things differently. We have different priorities, different expectations. We communicate differently. Sometimes we exchange at lot of words at various volumes without communicating at all.
The other day at blog central, Marie and I were discussing our plans for our new apartment and reuniting our household. It's an exciting time. A lot of patience and sacrifice and risk went into making this possible. I handed her the keys to my beautiful convertible and I walk six miles a day in all weathers so she can have a car. I did this willingly, because I wanted to be with her. I wanted to do everything I could to provide for her and take care of her, within my limited means. Every step I take, from the train station to work and back to my room, is an act of devotion, tangible and deliberate proof that I would choose her over anyone and give her anything I had. Everything a husband does, he does with his wife in mind. I know all the hard work and success Doug has accomplished was fired by his desire to provide for Gretchen and their kids. We're men. It's what we do. It's how we express love and commitment.
On Monday I signed over the tax stimulus check, $1047, so she could deposit it and start apartment hunting. We drove over to the Gateway Washington Mutual to deposit it in her account at the ATM machine. What did we do before there were ATM machines and debit cards and 24-hour online account access? Was it a better world? The national debt was lower, I'm sure, and folks had more money in their savings accounts. As I was handing her the check, Marie said, "Since you've already paid a month's rent over here, you could probably stay at Richard's during the week and just stay in Beaverton on weekends."
I was crushed. After all the planning and sacrifice, and all the misunderstandings and difficulties we had overcome, the idea my wife didn't want to have me with her every moment possible was a huge blow to my pride. "No!" I said. "I want to be with you. I want to be by you." I couldn't understand why she would even suggest otherwise. We talked a little more about it without any resolution, in the fumbling way men talk when they have a hurt they don't quite want to admit to out loud.
She punched the numbers into the ATM machine and it made its clickity clickity noises and swallowed the check. We were trusting each other with all the money we had in the world, and the banking system and the U.S. federal treasury not to run out of money. I asked her again about my moving with her but we still weren't quite hearing each other. We had a Jamba Juice and she drove me home and we kissed good-bye. The move thing still bothered me. I ruminated on it all night, well past the time I turned out the lights.
In the morning I left a pitiful message, something like, "Marie, I'm still thinking about our conversation last night. I love you and I want to be with you, and I don't want to live alone any longer than I have to. But if you have doubts about our living together and want to postpone it, or you just want to live with Austin, I understand. Either way I would do anything I could to help you and I love you very much."
The beauty of it was, she heard my pain. She called me back immediately and assured me, no, she was just thinking about the long train ride across town and thought it might be better for me to stay in Gateway since I'd already paid for all of December. (I had to because of the timing. It was a matter of keeping my word. We couldn't be sure when the money would arrive, or if it wouldn't be delayed or diverted in some way.) "I love you honey and I want to be with you more than anything in the world."
In times past we might have faced a small misunderstanding like this and it would have blown up into an angry exchange of words, two teapots at full boil with steam hissing and overheating the entire kitchen. Marie responded with sensitivity and warmth instead of harshness and defensiveness, and it made all the difference. It encourages me for our future.
Today we filled out the paperwork and applied for an apartment near our church and five blocks from Austin's school, a cute 2 bedroom with a washer/dryer hookup and central air, about a 12-15 minute walk from the train station. If all goes well we will have a new home by Christmas, and that would be the most incredible present imaginable. We agreed that we'd budget everything toward that goal. Marie said, "We'll just buy some dark chocolate and chips and hummus for each other, and it will be a perfect Christmas." Now if I could just get her to talk some Pac-10 football. But alas, men and women are different. And thank heaven that is so.
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