The memoir—now affectionately with the working title “You Talk Too Much”—continues to develop. We’re over 50,000 words now. If you missed our first installment, you can check it out here (the story that produced the title):
Today’s post highlights an aspect of marriage we all deal with: boundaries. I’ve adapted here to make a post. Hope you enjoy!
The Story: Falling Out of Bed
During our early marriage, we lived in a two-story rental we ended up buying from Courtney’s parents shortly into our time in Baton Rouge. Our bedroom sat on the first floor and above our bedroom was the boys’ room, with two additional bedrooms down the hall. Anyone who has lived in an apartment can tell you that the sound of feet, or balls bouncing, or children falling on the floor upstairs translates downstairs like someone tried to use another human as an axe to chop through the floor. However, such noises rarely have such a source.
One night, with Courtney’s mom in a guest room down the hall from the boys upstairs, I awake to the sound of a child being thrown through the floor. Doubting that was the case, I wanted to see what all the noise was about. I bound up the stairs to see what was the matter.
“I hope that didn’t wake anyone” is on repeat in my head. Probably eight seconds pass between noise, me waking up, sprinting up the stairs like a ninja, and entering the first door on the right.
All the children are still asleep. One on the floor who never woke up as he rolled out of the bed. I pick up the befallen son, place him back in his bed, and leave the room.
“Everything okay?”
“Shoot!” is what goes on in my head but I say, “Yeah, he fell out of bed but it’s fine,” as I see Court’s mom silhouetted in the dark hallway. I head down the stairs, not quite as quickly, and go back to bed.
The next morning begins and I head to the office and settle in for an important day of doing God’s work—emails, reading, talking to people.
While at the office, a classic mother and daughter conversation ensues of which I was unaware. The conversation didn’t take long to find me, though.
“Courtney, would it be okay if I bought a bedrail for you guys so that the boys don’t fall out of their beds?”
I get it. It feels innocuous. Shoot, it is innocuous. But Courtney and I are trying to become “Team Googer” over here. We haven’t done the best job operating like a unit, so we are going to give it a shot.
Courtney says, “Hold on, let me call Hans.”
My phone rings. This is the moment when I’m brought into the conversation.
You should know that of all things in the world I hate, phone calls exist squarely in my top five. My closest friends know if they must talk to me, they call me, but it’d better be an emergency. Otherwise, text. I’m available about 18 hours a day, but not by phone call. If someone sees my number on their screen, they answer because it is likely that I was murdered and someone found my phone, unlocked it with my dead face, and called one of my favorites to say, “There’s a dead guy here. He might know you. His last phone call was three weeks ago.” So when I see Courtney’s name, I know we have to talk.
“Is everything okay?”
“Hey, my mom wanted to buy a bedrail for the boys. Is that all right?”
“No, we don’t need a bedrail. Kids fall out of beds. It is fine. Not a concern of mine.”
“Okay.”
In my head, that’s that. But if you know South Louisiana moms, daughters, and families, that’s rarely that. We didn’t have bunk beds or anything, just normal twin beds and a floor full of carpet. All drop tests would approve small children rolling out of that bed and falling 18 to 24 inches onto the floor. We’re fine. Case closed.
Well, the case wasn’t closed. Through some word-salad of a response to her mom, Courtney ended with, “Just do what you want.”
We had come to believe that the old patterns got left in Dallas—where our marriage started out. But our time in Baton Rouge proved that old patterns don’t die; they just find new soil. Courtney’s habit of pleasing others meant she was faced with a choice: who do I let down?
For Courtney, letting the spouse down proves much easier than the mother.
After it all, I get a text. At least it is in a format I appreciate.
“Hey, I went ahead and told my mom it was fine to get them.”
“YOU PICKED THE WRONG SIDE!!!”
I 100 percent all-capsed her. That text set off ten of the most memorable minutes of our marriage. A comedy of errors.
Courtney did end up reneging on the “do what you want,” but it wasn’t without a cost.
Curious to listen to how Courtney and I processed this? Rather than our normal “Author’s Commentary” you can hear us talk through the post below:
The Lesson: You’re a Unit Even When You Forget
Have you ever “won” an argument but the final outcome was so convoluted that you aren’t sure if you actually won? This is our bedrail debacle.
No bedrail: Check. Hans wins.
Stress your relationship with your mom: Check. Courtney loses.
Stress your relationship with your mother-in-law: Check. Hans loses.
Stress the relationship with your spouse: Check. Hans and Courtney lose.
Stress fracture your son’s arm: To be determined. (We still haven’t purchased a bedrail, but some of our children often sleep on the floor like cave trolls.)
I do not expect husbands and wives to always agree but to be on the same team. Courtney does, too. You probably do, as well. It’s the “leave and cleave” part of marriage. We are a unit. When the unit decides, the decision is done. It’s the constant push and pull of marriage—and while we get better, we never conquer it.
The Epilogue: Over Ten Years Later
We recently took a couple of the boys to dinner and told them this story—which they had never heard. We won’t tell you who said what, but these were the phrases that were shared at dinner:
“If you guys had gotten a bedrail, I would’ve been so mad.”
“Really? I doubt you would’ve been mad or even remembered,” we told him.
“When I was little I remember going to sleep in my bed and waking up on the floor a lot.” (Okay, maybe it happened more than once. Mom and Dad remember once.)
“One time, when we were older and had bunk beds, Mimi [her grandmother name] always told us to be careful and not fall off the bed when we were playing. We were never going to fall off the bed. Then one time, he fell off the bed and hit his face on it and I thought, ‘Well, I guess we might fall off the bed.’”
Trying to be a good and instructive parent, Courtney asked, “Boys, what is a better way we could’ve handled that situation about the bed rail?”
“Let her buy it and then never use it,” said one son.
“Incorrect. That’s passive aggressive and it won’t work,” said Dad.
“Oh, okay.”
“I know. How about just say ‘No’ and then just still say, ‘No’ and not change your mind?” said another son. He didn’t say it matter-of-factily, but with a lot of “I definitely know a better way” vibes that I appreciated.
“Ding ding ding.”
I added, “Also, you could’ve just said ‘No’ and never called me, but Mom sometimes wants a little bit of help and we need to give it because that’s what families do and Mom is the best person in the whole wide world.”
(I added some lines in that to make myself sound better.)
Where are your biggest boundary moments? Also, am I the only one that’s crazy? Our marriage is normal, right? Reply below.
This is a really funny story and reminds me of a few instances in my own marriage. I am looking forward to reading this more than any other marriage\relationship book out there. :-)