The Musician's Wife

&^%$#@ sprinklers!!

I went to bed early last night. (930pm, which is REALLY early for me.)

I got up early this morning. (345am, which is REALLY early for me.)

After getting dressed (happily realizing that a shirt which hasn't fit me since I bought it now does!) I crept downstairs, readied a snack to take to work, ate breakfast and started editing a couple photos. 

Well, I got a little carried away and realized suddenly it was time to go, NOW.

So I head out to the car and realize that the sprinklers are going.  Right near the driver side door.

I also realize that I don't have the FOB and have to unlock the door with the key. 

It's dark.

I can't see the key hole. 

My ankles get soaked.

Yay.

So I get in and realize that the van is out of gas. 

Then I realize I don't have my purse (which was left at a BBQ in Seattle over the weekend and I'm getting back later today) so I have to go back in the house and get Brad's debit card.

Yay.

So I brave the sprinklers again.  My ankles get soaked. Again. 

I get to the front door.

My set of keys is lacking one for the front door.

*&^%$#!!

So I go back to the van and my ankles get wet.

MORE wet.

And open the garage door to get into the house.

You know that light that comes on when you open your garage door?

Our garge doesn't have one.

I trip over the following:

1. Something squeeky.
2. Something round who's sole purpose in it's existance is to break my wet, wet ankles.
3. Something alive, with a tail, who I believe to be of the species feline, genus rightplacewrongtime.

 

Potential culprit.

 

Then I realize that I already borrowed his card last night and it is residing in the leg pocket of my scrub pants (which I wear for my other job).

I have no idea where I took these pants off last night.

These pants are dark blue and I'm trying to find them in the dark, so as to not wake up my hubly.

I wind up having to turn on our bedroom light in order to find them. 

They are halfway under my bed UNDER a blanket I haven't used since we moved here.

HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?!

I get out to the van, drive to the gas station and realize I can't remember my husband's pin number.

But only after trying my own pin number fourteen thousand times getting more and more frustrated with each attempt.

Thank goodness for the credit option.

And that I remember our old zip code.

So I gas up, drive to work and, amazingly, arrive on time.

For the rest of the story here is something you need to know the following: Opening shifts at my job always have one supervisor/manager and one barista and whoever gets there first waits in the parking lot for the second person before going in.

So if you, say, pull into the parking lot at 450am and see not only your manager but another barista, you know one of you has shown up for a shift they aren't working.

We all go in and look at the schedule.

Who shouldn't have woken up at the booty crack of dawn and driven ten minutes to a shift they weren't working?

I'll give you a hint.

She has really, really wet ankles.

 

 

Coprophagia Barbie

It's no secret to people who know me that I don't like Barbie.  My girls don't have any and I ask every birthday and Christmas that people do not give them to my children as gifts.  (We do have two dolls that bear a striking resemblence to Barbie.  They were Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty dolls and don't really get played with anymore.  Phew)

Tonight, however, some how my friend Julie stumbled upon something so bizzarre that I simply had to share it with you.

Here, it looks rather sweet.  A half decently dressed (really, WHO wears a shirt that tight and isn't on Real Housewives of Orange County?!) Barbie and her dog.  Cute.

 

 

 

 

Oh, and you can pretend to feed him dog food.  Wonderful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And...um...wait.  What is she doing here?  Is that what I think it is?

 

 

 

 

Yes. It's a pooper scooper.  See, the 'food' is magnetic and sticks together after feeding so it looks like, well, poo.  But they wouldn't make it so it comes out of...

 

 

 

 

 

Oh yes they would.  And you want to know what you do when that's done?

 

Yep.  You feed it to him.  Again.  The magical poop eating Barbie dog in a never ending cycle of...well, you know.  

I'd love to insert some quippy statement now, but this FIVE STAR review on amazon.com says it all:

 

A Fun Toy and Potential Cult Classic, December 9, 2006

By J.B Mccord (San Diego, CA) -

This review is from: Barbie Forever Barbie Doll with Tanner the Dog (Toy)

I have never purchased a Barbie product...until now. I simply couldn't resist "Barbie & Tanner". I love this! God bless America! 
Does this toy teach young girls moral lessons about the responsibilities of pet ownership and the importance of cleaning up their mess? Or, is the feces-eating devil dog teaching impressionable young kids that its ok to consume their own excrement? Who knows, and who cares. I'm sure the kids will enjoy it. I bought two. I gave one to the Toys for Tots drive, and plan on keeping the other for myself.. I can't wait to show the gang at work!

 

The best thing about this 'toy' is going to amazon.com and reading the reviews.  Seriously.  It's hilarous.  

I'm thinking they should have called this 'Penny Pinching Barbie' or something similar, as I'm sure there's a huge savings to be had in feeding your pet this way.  

Someone please tell me, what were they thinking?!

 

Mother Theresa I am not

My life is a constant marathon of serving other people.  My day job is taking care of an elderly lady in her home. My mornings and evenings and often nights are spent helping care for my three children and doing my darnedest to support my husband's music career. Both Brad and I try to be available to support others as well, be it through attending shows, lending an ear, making a meal or providing a couch to crash on.  This is not some special feat, or some big mission we're on to change the world.  It's just who we are.  We love people and try to do so as practically as possible.

Sometimes my job is hard.  Sometimes loving on my kids is hard.  Sometimes being married to a musician is really hard.  Loving others outside of my inner circle...that's hard sometimes, too.  More often than not, though, it's the mundane, repetitive things that are the hardest for me.  Giving someone money when they need it?  Easy.  Living life with others, getting let down, those things are the hardest.  It's why marriage is so difficult.  Being in for the long-haul is where the rubber meets the road and I am often surprised at how little tread I've got on my tires.  I do think so highly of myself sometimes.

Love is hard and love attracts all kinds. Once you open up yourself to this idea that you're going to live in love--and I mean real love--what you've done is open a jar of honey that many will be drawn to.  What I've learned is this:  If you're going to love for real be ready to deal with flies and angry bears.

The crux of living a life in love is that you offer up yourself to be exposed to the vicious and the gentle, the bitter and the kind--sometimes in the same person.  If you hide yourself from the wolves you hide yourself from the doves. If we learn to live under the assumption that the only real collateral damage of truly loving others will be our own pride we can be much more bold in our pursuit of others beyond our own short sighted agenda.  For being truly loving is, in itself, it's own armor. 

I am no Mother Theresa.  I all too often want something in return, I want results, I want to see the fruit of my labor.  Working with Millie has helped me to see that.  Millie has dementia and I cannot make it better.  All I can do is go moment by moment and make each of those minuscule amounts of time the best they can be for her. 

This is, really, all we can hope to do for anyone. 

 

 

Time for a change

Hello all!  While it may seem to the untrained eye that I have simply become a slacker in the blogging department, I have actually been working hard on redesigning and reorganizing my website.  I'm talking to designers and doing research to try to make the most of my online presence.  One of the things involved in this is taking a good hard look at what the whole point of my blog really is.

When I think about why I'm doing this a few things come to mind. 

The first is noble: I want to help people.  I really, really want the stuff I have gone through or am going through to be a boon to others who may be going through similar things.  I'd like to share ideas or things that others might benefit from.  I also, on my new site, want to marry my blog with my photography and writing instead of having two separate (three if you count Ah! The Blog!) areas to tend to. 

The second reason is not noble as much as it is truthful:  I desire community.  That's a hard one to admit because what it really boils down to is wanting to matter.  My internal desire to have other people buy into me and my writing, care about what I have to say and even respond to it.  This has been the hardest thing for me because I don't get many comments on my posts.  I have blogger friends who get tons of comments with every post, ten, twenty or more.  I rarely get one.  When my friend Patrick asked me the other night after a show how the blog was going, I didn't know what to say.  I had been in a funk about it all week because I was asking myself what the point was.  I'm getting over a thousand page views every month but little to no interaction.  I'm such a social, extroverted person and this lack of dialogue is disheartening.  Poor Patrick had to listen to me whine about being unsure of myself but that is what it's all about--needing the approval of others.  I have the same struggle with my budding photography "career".  What's the point of taking photos if no one is looking at them?

I'm working on this, though.  It's been made very clear to me via a few random comments from friends and strangers alike that my posts and photography and other writing do matter and are noticed even if no one says so in the virutal world.  I need to remember that even if all this work just serves as a record of my life to look back on when I'm sixty-two then it is well worth the effort.  Especially with a memory as bad as mine.

A third thing is almost just as embarassing to admit: I'd like to make money via my blog.  Even if it's just the place where someone sees my photography and wants to hire me to take photos of them or write a bio for their band or an article for their website.  I'd like to try ads again, but this time for people I know and businesses I patronize myself.  I have NO idea how this works but I'm willing to figure it out.  It may seem like selling out and if it is, that's okay.  I have three kids to help take care of and if advertising on my site is selling my soul, well, if it means a little more security or being able to give generously to the people I love or causes I support the so be it.  My dream is to live a life that is simpler and more abundant in things that matter the most in this short little life I've been given.

So this is where I am at.  The Musician's Wife is a work in progress.  Both the site and the person behind it.  I really appreciate the support of all my readers, friends old and new and my family as well.  I hope you will stick with me as I navigate creating a new site that is a better representation of the people my husband, kids and I have become since starting this blog in 2009. 

 

UBP

Unidentifed Blog Post

That's UBP for short. 

Unlike my interwebs friends and fellow bloggers, Mindee and Taylor, I cannot seem to find anything interesting about my day to day life to share with my readers.  (All three of you.)

So, I haven't posted.  I didn't want to write some unidentifiable blerb about nothing, or a UBP. 

I do have some big things coming down the pike, but I'm not quite ready to share yet.

And so, what to say, what to say?

This weekend my husband and I get to listen to some local live music (like most weekends!) and Brad is going to play at the Conner Byrne open mic Sunday.   Monday we get to spend time with two sets of friends, once for bruch and the other for dinner.  Oh! And it's supposed to be sunny!  It's going to be lovely.

What are you doing for the long weekend?

Oh, my the way:

Hi there!

Well, it's been a while, folks.     

How have you been?

Good, fair, poor?

Amazing, awesome, adventurous?

I have posts in the batter's box or the bullpen or horse stable or on deck or whatever metaphore you prefer.

Excited to share some things with you.

Right now, I'm closing up shop after a day of working at work.  (Working on freelance projects while at my regular job.  It's allowed, I promise)

I will return with posts to dazzle and entertain soon!

Until tomorrow, friends!

Or the next day.

Or the day after.

~Kim

 

 

In flight

I've felt myself  morphing over the last few months, sort of waking up from the fog of survival into a place with more clarity of thought. 

It has been like being in an airplane on the tarmac waiting for take-off on a cold and foggy Seattle morning.  There have been several stages, from waiting at the gate, tired and bleary eyed (because I never sleep well before travel) to boarding the plane, stowing my baggage, getting buckled in.  Then there is the waiting.  I know I'm on the right plane but I'm not sure where it's going and I can't see much out the window because it's so dreary out. 

Then there is the take off, the stage of expectation and that twinge of fear for all the what ifs.  The landscape blurs as we barrel down the blacktop and then that feeling of the reality of gavity pressing my body into the seat which reminds me every time that flying is not natural for humans.  Exhilarating, yes.  Second nature? No. Not for me, at least.

Now I feel like my flight has reached it's cruising altitude above the clouds and rain and fog.  Up here there is sunlight and I can see for miles.  Occasionally we jet through banks of view obsucring clouds, but not for as long as before.

I still don't know where I'm going but I do know I'm where I'm supposed to be right now, in this moment.

I have all these ideas about what I want to do, what I could do, where we should go, what we could be.  Now is the time to figure all that out.  It's exciting. I'm ready. With my man and my kids by my side I have the feeling we could do anything!

Now, for focus.  Narrowing the field of view.  Choosing my adventure.  Choosing our adventure. 

Of course, there are boundaries.  That's life.  We don't get to just fly wherever, willy-nilly.  We need a flight plan and the foundation for the plan is our faith and our comitment to one another.  

Now to figure out what stops we need to make along the way!

 

PhotoCredit

 

 

30 seconds in my head

1) Man, I have so many photos I need to get out of my camera and edited.

2) Maybe I should just keep my spiritual/theological ideas and questions to myself...or at least off of facebook.  But some people got it.  But lots of people didn't even comment.  Am I offending anyone?  Do I really care? Yes, I do...but WHY?

3) I can't wait to spend Sunday and Monday with the kids!!

4) Why could't they have scheduled the Seahawks game for 1pm?!

5) I love Brad.

6) Why are some recipes BETTER the next day?

7) Why do I sometimes get excited to clean and organize and other times just washing dishes feels like a death sentence?

8) I want cake.

9) Once in a while I miss having a big gaggle of girlfriends that I see on a regular basis.  But most of the time, I'm pretty content with what I have right now.  Gaggle.  Gaggle gaggle gaggle.

10) These dryer sheets smell good!

11) I HATE intermittent noises!! Be quiet!!

12) When will my new lens get here? And my gel memory foam mattress pad?

13) I'm sleepy and hungry.  Huuuuungggryyyy.  Hungy.  Hongry.

14) I would like an am-bear-gare!

15) Scritchy itch weasle.

 

Dear Westboro Baptist Church,

*I am going to keep this at the top of my page for a while. 

More recent posts are in order below this one. *

 

You are a toddler, banging pots and pans and

screaming garbled and broken words in protest of having to eat peas for supper

You are a dull metal pistol with a menacing countenance

when the trigger is pulled there isn't even a flinch

Just a flag with the word "bang" on it

You are ineffective and counter reflective

Your hate dissipates in the air like breath on a frigid day

You may revel in the idea that the world despises you

But those of us who know better, don't

We don't hate you any more than a summer mosquito

You aren't even a viral carrier

You are just a tiny, falsetto buzz in a sea of singing voices

We don't hate you

We pity you

For all the evil you preach will serve a higher purpose

and when you find out what that purpose was

you will hear echoed into eternity

"I never knew you."

 

Distilled

Four deleted blog posts and many, many paragraphs later, this is what I have to say today:

Love must be believable to be receivable.

That's it.

Have a great rest of your week!