It was a well-known and often joked-about fact that my father-in-law, Eddie, was a Democrat through and through, just as his father, a first-generation Irish immigrant, had been. And my mother-in-law, Margaret, was an old-school Republican. Her father was a Republican, and if his father had been a United States citizen, I suspect he would have been one as well. Their political affiliations were instilled in them from birth, and make no mistake, these two were dedicated to their familial party affiliations, right down to their campaign pins and bumper stickers.
The family shared stories about these opposing political affiliations, none more so than those related to vehicle identification. Family lore has it that you could tell whose car was whose by the bumper stickers on the back. Though I don’t see how this was true, considering Eddie drove a truck and Margaret drove a sedan, but what do I know? It’s lore, lore doesn’t always have to follow the truth.
It was all Ronald Reagan’s fault.
This political rivalry went on for over forty years, all taken in good fun, or so I thought. Then Ronald Reagan won his second presidential election. We all voted as we usually did in November. My mother-in-law voted for Reagan, and the rest of us voted for Mondale, no big deal. Until, for whatever reason, my father-in-law made it a big deal. The silent political detente fell apart in an unexpected way.
Unbeknownst to us, my father-in-law had reached his political breaking point. Call it being an ornery old Irish guy, or a stubborn Montana farmer, whatever, it decided to rear its ugly head in the form of Eddie drawing his line in the sand or the bedroom, as the case may be. Sometime after inauguration day, he demanded that my mother-in-law move out of their marital bed and into the guest room. Margaret, ever the pragmatist, and I, would question as an opportunist, packed up her pillow and happily, gleefully, delightedly moved into the guest room.
Fast forward to late November 1985
My husband and I, in our third year of marriage, lived next door to my in-laws. I was a sleep-deprived stay-at-home mom, trying to wrangle a precocious two-year-old with a penchant for flushing household items down the toilet and a newborn who seemed determined to sleep only when attached to me in some way. My life was going along swimmingly, or as swimmingly as it could with only three hours of sleep a night. Jon and I were still blissfully unaware of the situation brewing with the separate bedrooms next door.
My father-in-law arrived at our house, looking like a man with an agenda. An agenda that I doubted I would be happy with. He turned up at our house at least once a day anyway, with an agenda that I usually wasn’t fond of, so I didn’t think much about it. I was more worried about my two-year-old flushing Matchbox cars, action figures, or who knows what down the toilet, thus causing our beleaguered septic tank and drain lines to rebel in the worst possible way, or whether or not my newborn was ever going to sleep, or continue to be the boob-obsessed milk-sucking vampire he seemed to have chosen to be.
Eddie and Margaret’s sleeping arrangements were not high on the priority list. They weren’t even on the priority list because we were unaware of them. But, even if we knew about them, they wouldn’t have been on the list, because someone was sleeping, and it wasn’t me. Still pisses me off.
Now, for the agenda
“Go tell Margaret to move back into our bedroom,” Eddie demanded as he plopped down at the breakfast bar.
I blinked a couple of times, cocked my head to the side, and said, “Huh?” Moving across the room to rescue the newborn from the toddler’s enthusiastic efforts to use the baby swing as a tiny human trebuchet.
“Why exactly is Margaret sleeping in the guest room?” I asked.
“I told Margaret that she had to move into the guest room because I couldn’t sleep with someone who voted for Ronald Reagan.” Eddie huffed. Granted, I was no fan of Reagan either, but I thought that this issue would have been a non-issue after forty years of political opposition.
Who knew that issues could change?
Or rest precariously on the edge of the bed?
“Did you ask her nicely?” I enquired, channeling my inner United Nations peacekeeper (where is my prize, by the way? Shouldn’t there be a prize?).
“I did, but she refused,” Eddie grumbled, leaving me to doubt how nicely he asked. “So, go over and tell her.”
I looked at him rather bewilderedly. Apparently, Eddie believed that I possessed some mystical power to sway Margaret’s decision; perhaps that belief came from my status as the only adult in the room, not currently embroiled in a bedroom cold war.
Off I go to play peacemaker
“Okay, I’ll go talk to her. You stay here and watch the toddler.” I turned on Sesame Street, a television show that was sure to distract the toddler and the senior for the time needed, then proceeded to bundle up the baby. Though it was a cold November day, there was no need for a snowsuit. My in-laws kept their house at a temperature suitable for tropical reptiles, and the kettle on their woodstove was always whistling. I knew I’d be stripping the baby down to his diaper if I stayed over at their house more than ten minutes. I trudged across the icy field, bracing myself for what I might find out on the other side of the fence.
Margaret is calmly sitting in her chair with a knowing smirk, obviously waiting for me to arrive. “He told on me, didn’t he?”
“Of course he did. What is this all about? And, when did you move into the guest room?”
“He told me to move out on inauguration day. Then, out of the blue, he asked me to move back in today. I told him No!” She said firmly. Margaret was rarely firm. Her upbringing and arthritis made being firm painful. She meant business.
“Why not?” I asked, just for the sake of clarification, mind you. I didn’t really care and generally sided with her on all things Eddie.
“Because he snores and I’m getting the best sleep of my married life now.”
I couldn’t argue with that. Jon snored, and between him and the kids, I envied Margaret her blissful sleep. I laid the baby in Margaret’s lap. He promptly fell asleep, the little brat. Now, why couldn’t he do that in his crib? Maybe it was the heat of their house or the feeling of safety from the lack of a toddler out to kill you. Whatever it was, I was tempted to stay longer to get in a little nap myself, until I felt sweat rolling down between my shoulder blades. Time to go!
Verdict time
The baby and I make our way back across the field to my house. Gearing myself up to give Eddie the verdict. Only to find him and the toddler napping, a rare and satisfying moment of peace.
I am exalted!
I am jealous!
When Eddie woke up, I delivered the news: “Sorry, Eddie, you’re just going to have to get used to sleeping by yourself.”
He looked crestfallen. He must have surely believed I could work some sort of hocus pocus and fix this for him.
“She’s just so stubborn!” said the man who made stubborn an art form.
Thoughts
The Great Bed Divide became another chapter in my husband’s and my ongoing list of oddities of Eddie and Margaret’s lives. It joined the ranks of Eddie, building an eight-foot chain-link fence around almost five acres of his land, and Margaret’s thinking that lime jello and tuna made an excellent lunch combination.
Looking back, I realized that Eddie and Margaret’s political bedroom separation was less about ideology and more about getting a good night’s sleep, at least in Margaret’s case.