Cleaning the Garage

My last post declared that I’m not a divorced dad. But this weekend I almost became one. Wifegrit and I worked together to straighten up and clean out the garage. That’s the real test of how strong a marriage is.

We’ve agreed to divide our home into “His Area” and “Her Area.” The His Area is the office — the one room where I have complete say over how it’s arranged and decorated. This place, where I’m sitting right now to write this post, (and where I play my games and generally just screw around and waste time), is my domain. Maybe you’ve seen it.

Although Wifegrit has a desk and computer in this room, it’s still my domain. She may shake her head at the decor, or may close the door when she has guests over, but she allows me this one area as my uncontested geek cave. Because the Her Area of our home is every other room in the house.

She may ask my opinion on some curtain or chair or shelf or knickknack, (and I share the cleaning duties throughout), but the layout, the decor, the choices are all up to her last word on the subject. And I’m completely fine with that. Her taste is much better than mine — I mean, just look at my office. As a stay at home mom, the whole house is essentially her office. I don’t mess with her arrangements, (unless she asks my help), and I don’t complain about how she organizes. (Not that there’s really anything to complain about, anyway.)

But something we never decided on a master for, and something we both use about an equal amount, is the garage. Unlike some folks, we actually use our garage for parking our cars, (her minivan, my SUV). So it needs to be somewhat clear, with tools and toys and storage stuff organized smartly. This weekend we both got out there for our annual spring cleaning. Now that the weather is warm and comfortable, we can put away the winter tools and decorations that have been crammed to the sides waiting for this day.

So we spent a few hours moving this and that, clearing out that and this, and just getting the room neat and tidy and useful. But since we both use the room, we sometimes have different ideas or preferences on where things should go. One of us will spend ten minutes organizing an area only to have the other one come over right after and move the stuff either to a place that they like better or to make room for something else in that spot. One of us will move containers or shelving to a spot and then the other will ask, “Did you sweep the floor over there?” Frustrations rise. Arguments get fought out. Because neither of us is the sole master of that area.

But, fortunately, we’re best friends. So like any best friends, we can have a blow out argument over some ridiculously minor thing, and then turn around and laugh and hug. In the end, after about three hours of work and argument and laughter, we had a nice, neat, and useful garage again. All ready for the summer.

We’ve proven our home and marriage can survive with dual masters for one room, once a year.

Bullgrit