Weathering The Storm

Our kitchen-update has proved to indeed be the saga I feared.  Yeah, yeah: those who know me best will immediately point out that I adore a good drama . . . but this one has been a little much for my marriage.


I think our first problem is that Bee and I chose an unfortunate month to attempt a remodel: January has historically been a low-point in our yearly-emotions, so it has been very difficult to remain civil towards each other whilst the weather insists on remaining gloomy for days on end.

Our second problem is that neither one of us has a real clear vision of what we wanted to see in the kitchen.  Beyond knowing we were going to knock a larger hole in the wall, we had no idea how to finish the counters, what to paint the cabinets, or how to fix the abysmal lighting in there.

But none of the afore-mentioned problems holds a candle to the third issue: the fact that Bee and I have COMPLETELY different tastes, and rarely do we easily agree on the same decorative style.

None of this is helped by the fact that we’ve been having trouble verbally communicating our inner aesthetics to each other.  After seven years of marriage, one would think we’d be able to do this better, but I think we’ve just gotten TIRED of trying to read each other’s minds and have instead resorted to that old standby of Long-Married Couples: bitchiness.

All of the previously-stated tribulations therefore climaxed in the following performance, which took place about a week ago:

Place: aisle 7 of our local Home Depot
Scene: a husband and wife have vowed to make a quick stop to pick up supplies to complete the day’s remodel tasks.  Forty-five minutes of store-wandering later, their cart is still empty.  Their minds are, too.  Patience is thin.

ME:  OK, we need to do SOMETHING.  If you get the wainscoting, I’ll go look at lights.
BEE:  Why do you want wainscoting?
ME:  I’m going to put it on the cabinet ends to make them look pretty.
BEE:  What “cabinet ends”?
ME:  (vaguely)  You know . . . those ends . . . on the cabinets.
BEE:  No, I DON’T know.
ME: (with a frustrated huff) The cabinets!  The ends!  How else can I possibly explain it!
BEE:  (obviously giving up)  Well, I don’t want crap wainscoting like what’s in the bathroom.
ME:  (in the spirit of compromise, even though Miserly is having fits) Fine.  Get a more-expensive piece of paneling.
BEE:  (starting off with the Still-Empty Cart)  OK.  And buy me 4 recessed light fixtures while you’re looking at the other lights.
ME:  (turning the other direction) Um, I’ll get 2 for sure, but I might want to put a fan in the place of the other two lights.
BEE:   (turning back with the Still-Empty-Cart)  Why?  We already have a fan 5 feet away above the kitchen table, and I’ve been DYING to replace those awful kitchen lights with recessed ones for years.
ME:  (only half-paying attention, as I’m distracted by a display of mailboxes)  I know, but I was thinking about putting a really nice chandelier above the table instead.  Which means the fan would have to go elsewhere.
BEE:  (sighing) OK, so buy a chandelier and a few recessed lights while I get the wainscoting.
ME:  (studying a whimsical mailbox shaped like a pig)  Oh, I’m not going to spend the money on a chandelier.  I think I’ll make one instead.  And I can use the scraps to re-do that gawd-awful hallway light, too.
BEE:  Wait, what’s wrong with the hallway light?
ME:  I’ve always hated it.  It’s too 1970’s.  I’m going to spray-paint it silver to reflect light better and hang prisms from it in a pleasing manner.
BEE:  (thinking of AAAAALLLLLLLLLL those Ghetto-Chic projects I’ve wasted my time on over the years)  Ummm, why don’t you just buy a new chandelier?
ME:  We can’t afford it.
BEE: OK, then, why are you going to look at light fixtures here?
ME:  Oh, I’m just getting ideas today.
BEE:  (getting perhaps-a-little-hysterical) We’re here to ACT today, not to THINK! 
ME:  Well, I can’t ACT until I’ve THOUGHT.  I’m not SURE that I even want to do a dining nook chandelier; I have to see what’s out there.
BEE:  WHY do you CARE what’s out there if you’re NOT going to BUY it anyway?
ME:  BECAUSE, I won’t even be able to put a chandelier in the fan’s place if we can’t find a fan that is small-enough for the kitchen.
BEE:  Wait, now you want to get a whole new fan for the kitchen?  Why not just MOVE the one that’s currently in there?
ME:  (speaking in a supportive manner, as if talking down to a toddler)  Because the only reason the fan works there is because it’s over the table.  It’s too low to be moved to the middle of the kitchen, where we’d hit our heads on it.
BEE:  (rubbing his temples while vaguely wondering why he suddenly has headaches all the time)  Whatever.  Just buy a new fan, then.
ME:  Oh, I’m not going to buy a fan HERE.
BEE:  What are you TALKING about?!
ME:  We can’t afford it.  I’m going to look at what styles are available, and then I’ll spend a few days researching on craigslist and checking the reclaimed building supply places and maybe e-bay to see if a similar fan is around.
BEE:  And by THAT time, we could have just had a fan, 2 recessed lights, a chandelier and a hallway light installed!
ME:  Yeah, but we can’t afford it.
BEE:  (hissing, as other shoppers are starting to give us looks) I don’t want to spend my life with things I don’t like just because they were a little cheaper!  I want quality things I can appreciate!
ME:  (hissing right back)  Well, I can’t appreciate things if I feel I haven’t tried my best to get them economically!
BEE:  BUT AT WHAT COST?   YOUR TIME?  YOUR ENERGY?  MY SANITY?
ME:  (seriously considering this statement, and trying to be rational again)  OK, that may be a tiny bit true (Bee rolls his eyes).  So I’ll just get you some recessed lights.
BEE:  (Starting away with the Still-Empty-Cart)  Thank you.
ME:  Maybe I don’t want a chandelier, anyway.  Maybe I’ll do a mirrored backsplash to reflect more lights.
BEE:  (not stopping)  Sure.  Get some mirrored tiles.
ME:  Oh, I’m not going to buy them HERE.  We can’t afford it. 
(BEE continues on, silently)
ME: (holding up the whimsical pig mailbox)  Hey!  What do you think about re-doing the front curb?
BEE:  (flatly, and not looking back)  We can’t afford it.

The good news is, we have weathered the storm.  After the low point that was the Home Depot Debacle, we realized that we are infinitely better off choosing different parts of the remodel to be in charge of.  Therefore, Bee will figure out the installation of his 4 recessed lights, while I will work on my ghetto-chic chandeliers (which I MAY build off a fan base . . . of course, not our existing fan: one I find at a reclaimed building supply place or craigslist or a thrift store).  That way we each get SOMETHING we want, but we don’t have to deal with helping out on a project we weren’t wild about.

building countertops TOGETHER!

We are still coming together at some points, though.  I was in charge of buying a new cabinet, but Bee helped install it (and the wainscoting on the ends!)  And he was in charge of building the new countertop (once I finally came back around and agreed to his very first suggestion of a reclaimed flooring countertop), but I helped with measuring and gluing the planks.  And, with valuable insight from a friend, I picked out the new paint colors, but Bee paints the trim while I paint the walls and Mr. C drips paint on the floor and then steps in it and then – as one unified, gloriously-cohesive unit – Bee and I yell at him.

old color

new color (it's supposed to be green, but I see blue)

And the whole process has really been enlightening to me.  I realize that I still need to work on communicating with Bee.  I see that my instinct to play devil’s advocate in everything is REALLY ANNOYING, and I need to tone it down.  I also recognize that Bee and I each have strengths that we need to embrace and allow each other to express.  And, most-importantly, I feel secure in the knowledge that we can have a few bad weeks and a couple of hiss-fights in public places and still (though perhaps buried under the tension) be totally in love with each other.