Okay. Maybe it didn't save it. We weren't on the verge of divorce or anything, but we didn't spend all that much time together even when we were home.
My husband had his man room with a comfy couch that he loved and all the History Channel that a man could watch. I tended to be downstairs or in the bedroom. I would bring him dinner upstairs, and he would stay there. He always asked me to come into his space, but I would get tired of watching his shows or being without most of my stuff. His space was his, and I feel out of place there.
We would make conscious efforts to spend time together by eating dinner together or doing dishes together, but we would always end up back in or respective corners of the hours because we were tired after long days at work.
We're throwing a huge party at my house for my dad's birthday, so we decided it was time to grow the house up a little. We bought almost a house's worth of new furniture, but the best investment was the living room. For the downstairs common area, we got two really comfortable leather recliners. Out went my old couches that got me all the way through college and that the dog slept on when we weren't home. (He thinks he's fancy.) It was time for them to go. They were gross, and neither of us wanted to sit on them. Now, we share two super comfy relaxation pits. To make my husband happy, one of them is a power recliner. To make me happy, they don't look like couches you would find in a 70s rec room.
They're ours. The space is ours. Now we come home and hang out together in our space where the furniture is ours and not mine or his. We talk. He shows me cars he wants on his laptop, and I show him possibilities for a new kitchen table on my iPad. We talk about our days. We are, like, involved in each other's world.
It's nice to have ours.
The slobbery dog who runs in to things is still his, though.
As always, it's hip to be square (and together!), kids.
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