This month my husband, B. Sterling turned 40. He had an odd request for his birthday dinner: “Gather together a whole bunch of people who know and love me and let them roast me all evening long!” So that is what I did. I arranged a Roast and Toast dinner for B. with about 20 new and old friends that are dear to his heart. Of course, I partook in the roasting too. What wife of 13 years doesn’t have mounds of material for roasting her husband?! When it came my time to speak at the dinner, I first presented him with a plaque that said this quote by Jim Carrey:
Then I stood up, held my wine glass aloft and said this:
“B. Sterling we met 16 years ago.
And I’ve been rolling my eyes ever since.
I rolled my eyes the first time we met and when I mentioned casually that my father had worked for Billy Graham, you interrupted to inform me that you knew everything there is to know about BG because you went to Wheaton and they have the BG center there, you see.
I rolled my eyes when we were obviously dating but you wanted to keep calling us “special friends” to anyone that asked.
I rolled my eyes when the night before we were to be married you called me in a panic at midnight because you couldn’t find a pair of socks to wear at our wedding ceremony the next day.
I rolled my eyes during the years you were obsessed with conspiracy theories. And you bought over 200 dollars worth of canned goods to store in our garage in case the world economic system collapsed.
I rolled my eyes when you invested in gold. And when we lost money on that investment.
I’ve rolled my eyes each time you’ve bought the worst used cars on the lot.
I roll my eyes every time you refer to the responsibility of watching your own children as “babysitting.”
I roll my eyes when I mention something in the house that’s broken and you say, “Oh, don’t worry babe, I can fix that.”
I roll my eyes when you say one day you’ll learn to cook.
Or when you dance at weddings.
But in everything, and in all the years I’ve known you, I have never rolled my eyes at your dreams… at your musical ambitions… at your tenacity in the arts. I stare wide eyed and in love at your softness, kindness and gentleness with our children, and at your stubborn refusal to believe that I am mean and unworthy of love, even though I cry that I am and can’t believe you could love me sometimes. I never roll my eyes at your persistence at loving me.
B. Sterling, here’s to 40 more years of eye rolls and tears!
Happy 40th birthday!”
B. Sterling
The Wife of a Singer-Songwriter: Part 1
Friends! The next 3 blog posts will be about being a musician’s wife. If you know a musician’s wife, share my posts freely. Hope you enjoy.
I am the wife of a singer-songwriter. The wife of a working musician. He is sensitive to critique. He’s drafting a new song and feels great. He’s depressed and money is tight. The dishwasher is broken. But he only writes songs and fine-tunes instruments. He’s ticked that he can’t fix the dishwasher. He’s hurrying out the door for a gig tonight. Don’t get a sitter he mutters, not worth it. No one will be there. Big black cases in the hallway that my kids trip on or want to use as playground equipment. No no no, that’s Dad’s amp. I haul it back to the closet or back under our bed next to two guitar cases. I hate putting away his music crap. I love his music. When he sings I remember again why and where we are headed and for whose glory. Not ours. We count the cash when he gets home from the gig, better than he expected. Cool, he sighs, let’s call a dishwasher repairman.