Shop Local

The many benefits of supporting local music.

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Back when I was in high school, many, many years ago before Wi-Fi and my beloved Netflix, I watched regular television. With, like, commercials and stuff. I had to wait a whole week to see what happened on the cliff hanger of Dark Angel (yes, this was my most favorite show, Jessica Alba kicked ass and Y2K was a legitimate fear, I don’t care who you were).

I also tuned in for every award show. I remember, specifically, one certain Latin award show they aired for the first time. I waited weeks to watch it, made sure my homework was all done (yeah, right, like I did my homework), and turned on my tiny little box television/VCR combo I got for my sixteenth birthday along with a stack of VHS’s.

A Latin performer I had not heard of came on stage in her pleather pants, ripped up t shirt, and bare feet. She had a chime-y little gypsy belt tied around her hips that didn’t lie, her belly dancing mesmerized me, and the song was even cooler. That was the day I fell in love with Shakira.

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Sadly, Shakira and I are not on a BFF basis yet, so I do not have her permission to use her photos. Here is a generic picture I found online of belly dancing. 

 

That’s right, Shakira. I love her, don’t judge. After that I had to have all her CDs, even the ones before her American break through. I watched her Tour of the Mongoose video repeatedly until I knew her every move and I even had her Barbie doll (a glorious gift). She somehow “lerolelelole’d” her way right into the music strings of my heart and to this day I am her loyal fan.

Needless to say, I was a bit excited when my husband mentioned she was coming to The Detroit.

Unfortunately, I was a bit reluctant. Why would I be hesitant to get tickets to go see my great white buffalo? This is my bucket list, like, the whole thing. Why would I not want to go? because, I have been spoiled.

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Unless you plan on missing a house payment to see your favorite big name artist, its not worth the trip to the arena these days. 

First off, I saw the prices: over a hundred dollars apiece for nose bleeds, are you kidding me, Shak? I love you and all, but do we need to spend two hundred-plus dollars to watch a big screen of you and maybe get a glimpse of your tiny ant body from the balcony seats? I can do that for free at home. I can watch at least five awesome bands in one-night front and center, actually get to see them, meet them, interact with them, for maybe ten bucks.

Also, let’s talk about beer prices. The Husband has played at some bigger venues and when I walk up to the bar and ask for their cheapest beer and get a Dixie cup of warm, light, beer for eight dollars, I am less than impressed. To be honest, I am aghast. Don’t do me like that! When I usually go to the tiny, dirty dive bars and ask, I at the least get a large solo cup, filled to the brim of room temp Pabst for a buck or two.

Then there is the merch. Granted, a local rock show won’t give a big variety, but I like the selection of black band tees for ten buck a pop and CD’s for the same or less. I like knowing that these guys have worked their tails off, around the clock. They bleed this music, so every time you walk up to their merch table you are supporting so much more. That money is going right back into their fund. Not a big production company’s pockets.

The crowds are the biggest turn off for me, hordes of people set my anxiety through the roof. I am usually always a pleasant and chill person, but if you want to see me cranky, irritable, and all around at my worst, put me in a building with thousands of people and tell me I have to find my seat. I am going to panic and start fights faster than you have time to point me in the right direction.

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Oh, hell no! 

I may be biased but I prefer local shows, they are so much more personable and intimate. I am constantly discovering new and impressive, respectable talent. I know first hand how hard they all work and appreciate every person who walks through the door and up to their merch booth, stands in the front row to listen, and stays all night to get to know the people behind the magic.

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Keep it local, unless you like enclosed spaces and body odor.

I understand that the prices are not always the artists fault, and I am sure Shakie wouldn’t do me like this intentionally, I will always stay loyal to her. I am cheap, though, and if free tickets were to magically fall into my lap I would probably suck it up and go, but until that day I will give her all the moral support, skip the big crowds and prices, and get my live music fix right here in my own back yard. Always support local music!

Frozen Rock

The Night I Risked Hypothermia for Schnitz and giggles.

It’s no secret Michigan winters are cold, I am writing this now with about eight layers on snuggled on the couch in front of a space heater (sorry about the quality, I write better at my dining room table but it’s just too damned cold for that).

The kids are nestled in bed still, school has been called off because of the frigid negative temps, and the husband is off to work in his layers and layers of thermals. When does it become too cold to expose adults to this weather, anyways? In all honestly, cold weather doesn’t really bother me, I just want a day off too.

The only being in our house that wants to travel out is our younger puppy, Willow, who begs at the door. She loves snow and cry’s relentlessly at the door when she is stuck in side, our old pup Thor has a different attitude. Hella nope!

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My old man says, “It’s colder than a witches teat in a brass bra”
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Then there is this your whipper snapper that wants to go play!

I do love winter, annoyingly so, I’ve been told. Its in my blood, a Michigander through and through. The older I get, though, the more I realize I like it from inside the warm comfortable confines of my home. Not standing on a street corner, on December 31st, when its zero out, loosing all feeling in my toes.

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The intersection of my New Year’s.

This is where my story begins, where my New Year’s Eve started, a cute little town just south of Detroit on the river.

New Year’s is never my strong party day, it’s usually left in my soft pants at a family members house. By then, I feel like we are all broke, tired, feeling real fat and all social gathered out. Yet, when the husband told me he was playing a street party, months before hand I thought its usually not that cold yet the first of the year, that sounds like fun!

We thought we would take the kiddos but with the weather and not knowing what to expect we opted on it being safer not to. This is the first time we left the kids at home New Year’s Eve since our biggest was a baby. It felt weird, but I was up for a change.

As the date got closer and the winter got colder I started to dread the event. I was told they would be under a heated tent, but was still skeptical.

I layered, as in three layers of pants, three layers of shirts, three gloves, three socks under my boots, my warmest coat, and my big blanket scarf. It shouldn’t be too bad, I thought. We stepped out of the car and commented on how it wasn’t too cold. By the time we walked around the corner we were eating our words, at least that is what it sounded like through our chattering teeth. It was miserable already. We unloaded the gear and headed for the heated tent.

Which, by the way, was most definitely not part of the band, the band was on a stage in the middle of the street with a few space heaters on it. Needless to say, the boys were cold that night, as were we all. The heated tent was a toasty thirty degrees or so, but hey, that was thirty degrees warmer than outside.

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They were troopers, even through the cold.

I would have drank through the pain but, like I said, New Years is for the broke and tired, we didn’t have the funds for drinking that night. So we shivered, and being the good wife I am I left the comfort of the laughingly warm tent to stand out side in a temperature of feels-like negative two to watch The Husbands band.

A wonderful band girlfriend (a brave soul, she is) and I were the only ones. When the beer and heat are in the tent on the other end of the street, ain’t no one going to see the band. Two songs in and my toes started to go numb, they ached and lost feeling all at the same time. I got wiggly, and started jumping around, which if you know me I am not a jumper at shows. I am a cool cucumber that bobs their head and throws up the occasional devil horns… but jumper I am not. This particularly frigid night, I was, but it didn’t help. It was then I remembered the hand warmers I packed

Like a good band wife I always come prepared, I had extra gloves, hand warmers, my first aid kit, water bottles, extra Chapstick, and even sandwiches packed for everyone (I cannot take credit for the sandos, those came from my mommy). The guitar player made comment on how he could tell I was a mom, jokes on him, I have always been a good boy scout!

Back to those hand warmers, I pulled them out and shook them up like it was my only way to survive, which, at this point, it possibly might have been. As soon as they were warm I threw them in my boots, but it was too damn cold and there was barely enough room to fit them with all the thermal I was sporting that night, they just didn’t work.

I toyed with the idea of line dancing with the sweet little old ladies behind us. I was excited to see someone else come out of the tent, the line dancing was an unusual sight, being that the husband plays in a rock band. They we so good with their fancy kicks, twists, and turns. So uniform, it was fun to watch them, and they looked like they were having fun and staying slightly warmer than I was.

With every song the band played (which sounded great through my frozen ear tubes) I dreaded the next. As soon as they finished I booked it back to the warmth of the tent.

Guys, it was so cold I saw a guy wearing a full-on bear suit, bear paws and feet attached. Not just a cheap Halloween costume but something possibly made from real bear or something close to it. He was a smart man.

We usually end our night out at the husbands show, watch all the bands and stay until the end, I was excited to see the ball drop and one of my favorite bands The Husband regularly plays with, but it was just too cold.

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The ball that wasn’t worth frost bite to watch drop.

Side story: the last time they played with said band, it was miserably hot, like the hottest weekend of the year, and it was also outside. You can read a little about that experience and my lessons learnt on bringing extra deodorant on my New Year’s relations blog.

So, we packed up almost immediately and left, it was early, we planned on going home and partying a little, before the new year began. Then, we got stuck in traffic on the way home, an accident up ahead, and that was where I learn Detroit drivers have zero chill. We witnessed a man drive in reverse up an on ramp to get off the highway. Actually, everyone was making u-turns to get on the ON ramp to get off, instead of waiting the ten minutes it took to get through the wreckage. Who does that? And so many? insane, I say!

By the time we got home we were tired, worn out, and internally freezing. The husband and I called it a night, we went home, fried up some of those cheesy sandies my mommy sent with us, and made some bloody marys. It’s like grilled cheese and tomato soup for adults. We sat quietly, just the two of us and questioned the origins and words to Auld Lang Syne, until I finally Googled it and we watched the lyric video. By chance it was midnight, so we kissed, turned the heated blanket all the way up and tucked in for the night. It really couldn’t have been a more perfect new years eve. But damn, we are getting old!

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Cold, tired, and hungry. 

Why We Resolute

New Year, New(ish) Band Wife

Happy New Year! Ok, its not the new year yet, but at the pace I go it might be well surpassed twenty eighteen by the time I get another blog out.

I am going over all my accomplishments through this year, as always it was a kick ass year. For me, my family, my job, and this little blog I have started.

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Seriously, an amazing year!

 

This blog is the main thing I have achieved this year, surprisingly, it was not on my list going into the year but just a couple of weeks into seventeen and a spontaneous idea one morning turned into a physical entity by that evening. Jump in, two feet, somethings in life are just better done that way.

I know I have talked before about throwing out those old, stagnant resolutions, and how we are all enough. As a band wife, though, your physical and mental health are very important. It is with everyone, of course, but I was thinking about how those same, old, tired resolutions differ in meaning when it comes to keeping up with the busy life of our musicians.

I thought I would break it down. Especially after the busy holidays, its nice to settle down, get back into the groove and gain a little control and perspective over our chaotic lives.

Losing weight is the most popular and timeless resolution. I hate focusing on the weight part of this, being always aware of body positivity, I always focus on being healthy instead. If you are with a musician you may run into some long days and nights. A lot of running around, hot days at summer festivals, and cold wintery walks to bars far down the street. I learned the hard way to keep hydrated, get lots of sleep, and for the love: wear extra deodorant! A little extra green leafies and cardio will go a long way (but I may be writing this while eating a brick of fudge).

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This was such a hot day, I really could have done with out a few pounds and sodium to help. There was more sweat dripping than I’d like to admit.

Finances. Oh man, if you are a band wife it is a true test of your bank account. I mean, you have to go out to eat before the show, surely you won’t have time to eat at home getting the kids, yourself, and everything else in order. Then you have to buy your ticket, band wives don’t get a free ride. Then drinks, and when you get done, The Husband is starving, so you need to go out for your second dinner at two in the morning. Let’s not forget how expensive music equipment and upkeep is. Budget, budget, budget. And sometimes you might just have to say no to a show, just because its not in the budget.

Quit drinking: This is my struggle bus, right here. Momma love her some cocktails, but after thirty, they aren’t loving her back so much. You are at a bar, and drinks are always flowing. I am not going to quit for good, but I have come up with a system. One drink per set, keeps a good cap on the morning after and the finances.

Then there is the ever elusive “me time”. Girls: this is so important yet the hardest. Last week I was laughing at the thought of getting some time to unwind by myself. I understand when you’re with someone where their hobby/profession takes over, along with your kids, jobs… you get lost. Squeeze it in, even if it’s a couple more minutes in the shower, binging on the ‘Flix until you have no thoughts at all, or having a good cry in the car. Take that time. You need it!

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My “Me time” and hobby are one in the same, coffee and blog Fridays! I look forward to the quiet morning alone. 

Hobbies, all the hobbies! This goal is so hard to achieve, like the me time, when you feel buried under your family’s stuff. When you are the oil that keeps your family running smoothly, you tend to run dry before you get to yourself. Find something you love to do, and be proud of it!

Getting organized is a freaking nightmare in my house. I don’t know about you but following a band around, keeping your kids school and extracurricular activities a float, along with your nine to five, is a daunting task. Get a calendar, ask for help, and try your hardest to stay on top. It makes life so much easier when your ahead of the game. which, in reality, will never happen, so just except your perpetual confusion as your new state of mind.

If you haven’t noticed I have a hard time saying no to a good time, and though it is fun it can all leave me feeling a bit worn out by Sunday morning, add the saturation of my own dose of the good old Irish catholic guilt and you have one tapped out Momma.

Even though I cringe at them, resolutions aren’t a terrible concept. They are meant to help improve our lives, give us goals, and keep striving for our best. But also keep in mind, we are all enough and if we don’t have the give to give that day, let it be.

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So, here’s to another year, crashing in, cocktail in hand, a few more wrinkles, and a few less mistakes. Sit back, enjoy the ride, and as always: Balls to the wall, Baby!

 

The Legend of the Village

The Phenomenon of a Family

“So, when your husband makes it big you are going to move to Cali with him and live the good life, right?”

Nope.

“Really? You don’t want to travel the world with your husband, take the kids and experience it all? They would have an awesome childhood.”

To this I have a few short answers, one being how this Midwest farm gal would most definitely not fit (nor want to) into the west coast. The image I get when I think of California is a blonde, organic, health conscious, tan nightmare. No thanks.

On top of that, the rest of my Midwest, chubby, brunette, vitamin D deficient crew is right here. Which brings me to my most important reason for not going with the husband when he travels. My umbilical cord doesn’t stretch that far.

The pros well outweigh the cons of leaving to go anywhere. No matter how much money or warm weather there is. We want to best for our children, and by best, I mean the most normal, simple, basic, boring love filled life we can provide.

That is hard enough a task with a father as a musician and a spazzy mother. We don’t want to make this any harder on them. Its already unfortunate they are going to realize one day I have been writing about all their personal secrets for the world to see. We will cross that bridge soon enough; teen angst is right around the corner.

We live in walking distance to both of our parents, we are surrounded by amazing family, our village is here, why would we move from that? Nothing beats knowing my children can feel secure, and uprooting them would take all that away.

I don’t want to raise my children on the road. First off, the idea of that being even possible with a husband in a band is laughable. A common misconception that each band member would get a big fancy tour bus for their family, that we could all live in one happy, traveling commune. That really isn’t how that works.

I have the security of knowing wherever the music takes the husband, his heart will be here, with the kids and me. We have made it very much known that we will not ever leave our beautiful little town. Our roots have grown too deep, long before we were even here, to be plucked up and moved.

It takes a village to raise a family, it takes a village to keep a band family going. We have the most amazing support system surrounding us. Our freakishly large and close families make that possible.

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This is only one small part of the one side of our family…
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and here is my side. like I said, we are all one big, freakishly large and close family.

It is hard enough to have a husband that is away a lot and the only way we have made it this far is with the help of all the surrounding love. When we juggle work, kids, activities, little tours, gigs, and much more.  We have had to lean on grandparents, aunts, and uncles and lots of cousins.

It seems an inconvenience, but this is what family does. It’s not just the babysitting either, it’s the gatherings when The Husband is away, it’s the moral support through the good and bad, it’s having someone to tag along with shopping trips, or possibly just let your hair down and tip the cup up at the end of a hard week. We never feel lonely when family is near.

A hug, a smile, understanding, some coffee, lots of booze, laughs, a suck it up buttercup speech… if you don’t have it yet find your village, find your common place, find people to uplift you and keep you going when life can feel like too much.

Your village will be part of your survival, like I have said about finding your girls, find your village, also. They will get you through some crazy ass busy times in your life. Love them, treat them well, nurture the village you are part of because if it’s a good village it will be the glue that keeps you all together, even when you feel like you are falling apart.  They may not all understand exactly what you are going through as a band wife, but they know you and know what you need.

 

Dress Code

Wearing Your Band Shirt

If anyone sees me in the same t-shirt every time they run into me, you know, the one with the band logo on the front, don’t be concerned, I do keep up on the laundry and I can afford clothing. I promise you, it at least smells fresh every time I put it on. In all honesty, even though it looks like I am wearing the same damn shirt all the time, it’s just that I have an unlimited supply, I do have more than one of the same shirt. They just happen to be all from the same band. Conveniently, the band I am married to.

My last count was five: pink, white, and three blacks. I am literally a walking billboard. In my defense, they are so comfy, and I can get as many as I like (not really, like I said before, band wives still pay) but they are there, so I buy them, and wear them, everywhere.  As do the kids, and the husband. We might as well get our family pictures in them. Sometimes we will all walk out of our bedrooms and it’s a new episode of bitch stole my look.

The son and I matched at his junior high orientation. He loved that! He is always ready to support the band, not so much with matching his Mamma. I told him I wasn’t changing, though, I was too comfortable at that point and that would have taken too much energy. He wasn’t changing, either, because he wanted to wear it for his school picture, starting his junior high years off on the right foot. We walked into that high school slow-mo style, made sure we were known. Flying our colors high.

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The kid found his locker, I think surviving the high school will be a breeze for this little bad ass.

I was probably feeling a little cooler than he was, or cooler than he thought I was.

Sometimes I plan this look, if we are going somewhere new where I can spread the word, I don’t ever mind a shameless plug. Vacations are a great time to plan some band t-shirt wear, not only for the husband’s band but other locals I love. You’d be surprised at how many people have stopped me (or another fan) to comment on a band shirt. Then, once a person sees something they like, they usually will Google it. Spread their names far and wide, I say.

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Onward, children, we have a band to promote and mountains to do so!

Sometimes the band t shirt is because I am too lazy to put on anything nice, and like I said, these shirts are so comfy and I really like the fit. I make anything look good, so I can get away with wearing band shirts every day.

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They are great for just cleaning the house, having mental break downs, and self medicated-ice cream-life breaks.

I do have a rule to wearing my shirts to shows, though. I don’t wear the band shirt to local shows, unless it’s a competition type show. You see, a show is a night out for this girl, and this girl likes to look good occasionally. Cute top, cute jeans, cute boots. If the show is local enough where everyone already knows their name I don’t need to go full support. They got that covered.

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There is enough merch to promote themselves, they don’t need me to sport a shirt all the time, and seriously, a girl needs variety!

I will, however, wear the band shirt if the show is farther down the road. They are a little unheard of, or a competition type of show where your support is vital, where their name and logo are a force that needs to be reckoned with. That is when the shirt, the wrist bands, the whole uniform comes out. Because, we gotta represent.

Band shirts are not just a way to express yourself with the music you love, but also a way to support your favorites. Purchasing one also is helpful to the bands account (trust me, merch can be a bands life line sometimes). General rules of band shirts are: buy it because you love the band, wear it because you look good in it, and always express yourself with the music you love.

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It was a hot day on the deck with the fam (isn’t she a doll?), always express yourself, and keep cool!

 

And maybe pack a few the next time you go on a trip.

Living Fearlessly

When tragedy strikes

I got a glimpse of it on the news, when turning my laptop on and getting my hustle ready for work that morning. I only heard about it through talk throughout work that day, and I hadn’t realized the severity of it all until I got home that afternoon.  Then it hit me, watching the videos, the news reports, and the posts. The same feeling I got with the attacks of September 11th years back and columbine years before that, and so on and so forth.

Again, the world stopped and our hearts shattered, no one doesn’t feel it. The wave of odd emotion, humanistic urge to mourn for those we don’t even know. To feel fear, anger, sorrow, and confusion for a situation that isn’t anywhere near you.

I felt it all, relief, followed by guilt that we were the lucky ones who hadn’t felt worse. My family is still here, we are all safe.

And the questions flooded. How could this happen? How will these people ever go on with their lives? How do I explain this to my children? How do we step foot out our doors in the morning feeling security of the world around us?

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Time keeps moving but it seems to stop on days like these.

It is a terrifying world we live in and getting scarier by the day. Knowing that my husband gets on that stage, just like the ones at the harvest festival in Las Vegas or Arianna Grande in Manchester and many other concerts that have been targeted, is terrifying still. The only thing that can give me peace is the thought that he works on a much smaller scale, for now.

We shouldn’t have to fear a concert. A large group of people coming together for their shared love of music shouldn’t be an invitation for the insane, but a place of harmony. I shouldn’t fear for my husband, or worry if I should take my children to see him play in case someone picks that venue to take their anger and hate out on.

Music should always be a place of peace, a place in time where we can connect, let go of our frustrations, our fears, take a moment to step out of our heads and enjoy. It is devastating to think that we can no longer fully enjoy the heart and soul of what makes us all flow.

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Music should always bring us comfort, it should be home to where we can gather and enjoy. 

My heart goes out to all the families of the victims, and to the musicians, I am sure they carry their share of grief after such a horrific event. No one should fear sharing something they love, but we do, every day. Marathons, festivals, rallies, and so on. We, as humans gather to share, to comfort, to love, and to enjoy.

How do we keep going after so many hits we take as humans? Life is so fragile. Isn’t there a way we can wrap it up and put it up somewhere safe, so it doesn’t break anymore?

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There really isn’t. We can stay safely in our homes, keep hidden from all the scary pieces of the world out there, tucked away safely where no one will hurt us. But that is not life, there is no living in that.

After the many, many thoughts, prayers, tears, and hugs that day, I swore, as I have done many times before, that I will not let fear keep me from sharing what I love. As we have all done in the past, dust ourselves off and go back in.

We risk our lives every morning when we wake up and our feet touch the floor. We also prove to the world that we could survive another day when our feet hit that floor. We shout it from the rooftops every day our eyes open, we will not be afraid!

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This will not stop us from concerts, from running, from music. From love. From gathering, and sharing, spreading our love. Hold tight, my friends, the storm is not over, but we can weather it well, together.

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Battle of the Sexes

The complicated puzzle that is a relationship

What a shit storm this past week has been, the week before school starts for our fifth grader, last year for us in the elementary, sad. The sixth grader has his first year in the high school, so bittersweet.

I have been to open houses, and registration nights, and oh, dance class started also. There has been welcome back picnics, and hair appointments, and back to school shopping, which I like to wait until the day before to scrounge around in a panic to try and get everything ready. It keeps us all on our toes.

Of course, as with most big, strung out weeks, cram packed with all the crap I cannot avoid as a parent, The Husband’s was just as packed with band adventures (it’s like he plans it that way). The latest being a gargantuan of a mobile they planned on cruising around in that weekend, that had a list twice as long as mine to fix before they could get it on the road.

So, on my free nights (because I get a lot of those, right?) my only choice was to help out or be left behind and I didn’t want to spend another evening alone. Which meant, the only night or so I had available was with a paint brush and tape. Trying not to lose my damn mind with my two precious pre-teen and pre-angst angels that were trying their hardest to “help”.

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One part of my bickering angsty clan that was trying their best to drive me absolutely insane while the guys were practicing. I was putting myself in some compromising positions, there is a lot of nooks and cranny’s to a campers interior.

I was exhausted, frustrated, over worked, stressed out and wanted to blow up. I was tired of having to do it all alone, I was sick of being put second, and I wanted to send the worst shit text to The Husband, but I stopped and remembered that this was my choice.  I chose to be with a musician, and that comes with its share of carrying the load so he can travel, play, and record.

Is this fair? No, hell no, and you feel it. The pressure of knowing you’re doing it alone. It was a choice I made when we started dating, a choice consciously made when we got married, and a choice that I knew full well what I was getting into when we had children.

It was a choice we made together, and as much as I wanted to scream and yell, I knew it wouldn’t do any good, they already planned the weekend gig, they were already packing to go. It was pointless, so I took a deep breath and I texted him. I told him I loved him and missed him a lot.

And you know what? He missed me too, he was feeling it too. We live together and barley see each other during these times. It doesn’t just affect me, he is in this too, but this is his life. He could walk away, but neither of us want that for him. For us.

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Sometimes we do get to spend time together. I love watching him do his thing and that makes it all worth it.

The main thing that softened the blow and warmed my heart this past week also, was throughout the chaos of it all was that he was adamant about making sure he was there to take our son to pick out his first instrument for sixth grade band. He wanted to share that moment with him, and I understood that he can’t do all of it, but he tries his hardest to be there for the moments that most count.

In our many years of all our trials I have observed that most men want support, and most women want reassurance. And that there isn’t too much of a difference in these two marital securities. Men want to know that at the end of the day, they have someone cheering them on. When I first approached this theory, I thought it literally meant be his cheerleader.

Ok, I cheered in high school, I can do this. And I texted him throughout the day with “I am so proud of you” and “I appreciate everything you do” until he asked me to stop. That wasn’t what he wanted and let’s be honest it can make the best attention whore feel uncomfortable.

After stepping back and reevaluating I realized one thing in all the books I have read and seminars I have taking about the male/female brain (my work in early childhood education has given me a lot of time to study brain development, and I totally nerd out on it), is that men are doers, they don’t need to be showered with words and affection. They need a foot rub, or joining in on their most favorite activity. In our case, going to see them play, helping set up the merch table, understanding that what they do is hard on them also.

Women need words, we like to talk, talk about our day, talk about our feelings, talk about every aspect of our lives and how they work and who is where and why we are mad and so on and so on and so on…  we like to listen too, we want to understand and be understood. That is what makes a relationship tick for us.

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Let’s face it, males and females don’t necessarily fit, that is why it takes work, support, and dedication.

What we all want is companion, and what we get is confusion. You see, the battle of the sexes is real. Misunderstanding of what each other needs is the struggle, but if we remember to work together, our love becomes easier when we remember we are on the same team.