John and I had the rare opportunity to stay in the house we lived in a decade ago. We called it home for a dozen years, which exceeds the duration of each of the twenty habitations that cobble together my half century of life on this planet. 

 

We were renters for all those one hundred and forty four months and never once spoke face to face with the landlord. I harbored a poverty mentality that was partly my own concoction but also a sentiment transmitted by our scant communications with him. 

 

"Don't spend anything on repairs that you don't absolutely have to."

 

It felt unconscionable to ask for reimbursement for even the most frugal maintenance, so we tried to ignore the rotting floor around the tub, and the kitchen Formica peeling away like a sunburned back. 

 

What jars me about our return trip is seeing the numerous improvements  that happened after we left: new floors, fresh cabinets, snowy walls, upgraded appliances.

 

No doubt it was a costly and daunting task for the people who slogged through it, from that first post Odhner inspection until the last linoleum was laid. I feel a rumbling guilt about it. 

 

Accurately or not, John and I internalized the message that there should not be a need for ongoing repairs when a family of nine does their eating and ambling, cooking ans crying under one roof for three presidential terms. 

I wonder what might have played out if instead the landlord had encouraged us to fix things.

 

"Spend a thousand dollars a year on maintenance. Should you need more, contact me and we will talk. I trust your decisions."

 

Given the value of the house at the time, some $700,000, such an investment would have been prudent. It might have inverted our perspective from "Dismiss problems," to "Actively attend to solving them."

It would have lifted the weighty shame. 

 

"Oh no! The sink leaks! Get a bucket and keep the door shut. We cannot afford a plumber."

 

When a faucet begins to falter after ten years of continual use it is not helpful to also pour blame on the spill.  Living has a way of eroding carpets and door jams. The disconnect happens when we label that natural consequence as wrong. 

 

Marriage is our home. We move in with creamy paint and unscuffed light switch plates. Everything looks pristine and we fully expect it to stay that way. When couples internalize the message that there will be no maintenance required, small problems can fester and spread, while the people look emphatically past them. 

 

How different would it be if parents or a mentor couple said, "Spend a thousand dollars a year on your relationship. Take a class, go to a conference, have a regular date night, buy books, pay a babysitter. Keep your relationship in good repair."

 

Considering the value of marriage, the investment would be prudent. 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Andy Sullivan

www.caringformarriage.org