Until this weekend, the only time Husband and I ever contemplated divorce was while naming our two children.
For reasons I still don't understand, my husband likes names of people that either work in, or frequent, strip clubs. And for reasons he still doesn't understand, I like names of people that lived in castles and wore giant white wigs and went to royal court.
When he suggested one particular name for Kiddo #1, I turned and said, "Honey, if you want her to be a stripper at birth, I could just drink a lot during the third trimester and ensure it happens." And when I suggested my "princess name," he said, "She is not riding out of your vagina on a unicorn and a trail of glitter." Naming our son was just as hard for the same reasons. It's quite amazing either of our children has a name at all, really.
But this weekend, as Husband and I discussed where we were going to put the garden I want, things got ugly all over again.
The builders of our house (first owners) were super earthy-- they had a wonderful compost garden in the back left corner of the lot. According to the neighbourhood lore, he had a compost bin in which he created his own soil that he tilled into the earth each spring. His veggies and fruit were the envy of all farmer's markets, and sustained the couple all summer long. He also used to get his hip waders on and scrub the pond of the excess algae. Apparently now he fishes and makes elaborate flys flies hook-thingies with all his spare time.
At any rate, second owner (the people that sold us the house) didn't want the garden or the extra rock path/dry creek first owner put in, so when he moved in, he put down grass seed and pulled up the bits he didn't like. For the record, it's very obvious to us where the garden and path were. The grass over the garden looks like Tiger Woods could putt on it-- so lush and perfect. The rest of the lawn is passable, but not comparably.
So, I said, after learning this information, that I wanted to put my garden in the back left corner (the X spot where the darker, lusher grass is growing). Logical and tucked away (just in case I suck at gardening) I really thought this was a no-brainer. And then Husband hit me with the old sneak attack, "No. I want to put the shed there."
Reeling in disbelief, I stumbled backward, hand on forehead, eyes bugging out. A SHED? What on EARTH do we need a shed for? Aren't they a billion dollars? I thought we wanted to finish the basement? A SHED? I could not believe my ears. Here we are, living in a much more appropriately-sized house than we moved out of, and he needs a shed? Isn't that why we have a basement? And a garage? I was shocked. Hurt. In denial. How could he? Why did he? How? Why? Whhhhyyyyy?
For future reference, I do not recommend having this sort of melodramatic reply to the proposal of a shed IN FRONT of your Sig-O. The Other will feel you are being a complete drama queen (or king) and will then decide all future, relevant, arguments are emotional responses, and are therefore invalid. Just putting that out there.
(sorry for the mini font here. It says the stars are trees, the dark green is our compost soil and the neon is our normal grass.)
So when I said, well, why don't you put it to the left of my garden (spot Y) he scoffed and said it was impossible because it would be too close to the tree. Then he said "Put your garden there instead." and I, angry and toddler-esque, stomped my foot and said, "No! The shed that we don't have yet will cast a permanent shadow on my garden thus killing all my plants before they even get a chance!" I would've also thrown myself on the ground flailing about but we have a dog and I didn't want to have to stop my fit on a count of being covered in dog crap. I find being covered in feces (yours or someone else's) tends to lose an argument for the wearer. Just putting that out there, too.
So he then said, "Well, it's not going there. No matter what. I'm getting a shed and it's going there." And with that, I realized that I actually have a chance this time! He was becoming as childish as I was-- he'd thrown out an ultimatum. He's not "Ultimatum Guy," either. He's calm, cool, collected guy. I'd rattled him somehow. Now to figure out where that shingle was loose and pour rain in that one spot until he relented.
Yes, in retrospect, I can see how childish I was being. And, probably, I guess, it was dumb. I mean, who cares where the garden is? Anyway, after some chatting, (including the comments from a passerby who really just wanted to walk her dog, and not be our therapist/garden designer), we decided that he could put his shed in the back corner and he could move my garden to beside the tree (spot Z), but that he would have to do that digging for said spot by himself, since he really didn't have a good argument for putting the shed on the compost, and I just wanted to get out of the pouring rain. lol We are both the first born children in our families. We have the argument-stamina of rhinos.
So, over this long weekend, Husband dug up the grass in my new garden. And I, periodically, brought him water. And I took pity on him and dug the holes for and planted my Mother's Day trees (a Cherokee Princess Dogwood and a Crooked Hazel ? Walking stick? Something funky for around the pond), even though he said he'd do that as part of the gifts. I wanted to show him that I appreciated the work he was doing. And really, I wanted him to see just how awesome and speedy my help would have been, but I'll never admit that I was pouring salt on his sweaty wounds. Plus, none was needed once he lifted the first centimeter of grass to find straight clay underneath.
And, after three days of heavy labour, the garden is in. I managed to plant my raspberry bushes and strawberry plants yesterday before the frickin' thunder storm of the century banged its way through. And Husband and I are happy again. It's so funny-- we so rarely fight. I mean, we'll have disagreements, but never to any sort of heated extent (and we're both politically opposite and have very different views on religion as well, so you'd think we'd get into it at least once a day about something). Apparently Life is something that we're both emotionally immature about-- either naming it (in the case of our children) or creating it (in the case of the garden). So weird!
Now all I have to do is wait for the magical shed to arrive and I'll have a place to put all my gardening tools. Their current locations include being strewn about the basement and garage in a completely random fashion; it'll be great to have them so near to my garden, too. See, this is why we work so well together-- compromise is like a garden shed, huge, expensive and never where you both wanted to put it.
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