Miracle Ring

My wedding ring is my nicest, most expensive piece of jewelry. My husband is very frugal so it was especially meaningful that he would make that kind of investment on something as “frivolous” as jewelry. We never, ever looked at rings and he selected it on his own. When he whipped out that little box I wasn’t sure what to expect…

It was the first diamond ring I ever owned and I was determined to take good care of it…so I read the little manual and followed the instructions. Part of those instructions were to remove the ring before washing your hands – soap dulls the diamond. So I did, fanatically. Every time I washed my hands I would stick the ring in my mouth and slip it back on. Let’s not talk about how unsanitary that was…I would rather not think about it. I was taking care of my ring and that’s all I cared about.

We had been married probably about a month when I looked down one afternoon and noticed my ring was gone. Gone. Immediately, I was filled with panic. What had happened? Then a rush of anxiety – I had gone to the bathroom that morning. Five hours ago. Could I have put it down? I ran to the bathroom. It wasn’t anywhere in site. I searched my whole office and checked everywhere on campus. It wasn’t anywhere. It was gone. Just gone.

I made a report with campus police. The officer was nice but gently told me that if it hadn’t been turned it by now, I would most likely never see my ring again.

I was devastated.

I left work to tell my husband. I had to look him in the eyes when I broke the news and I was too distraught to wait until that evening. On my way to my car I called my Mom and both sisters, asked them to form a prayer chain asking that whoever had my ring it would be laid on their heart to do the right thing and turn it in. At that point, prayer was all I had.

I made it to my husband’s office and I burst through the door sobbing. He was on the phone with a client but that didn’t stop me from nearly collapsing into his arms. All I could think about is how he had told me to take care of it and had actually said that if anything ever happened, I would be out of luck and wouldn’t get another one. I had been incredulous at the suggestion – I wasn’t a child, I wasn’t going to lose it. And then, to have to tell him otherwise, to have to admit my irresponsibility and see his disappointment…it was almost too much to bear. And definitely worse than actually losing the ring.

But I had made such a dramatic entrance that when I finally spit it out he was actually relieved. He told me that it was just a ring, it didn’t mean anything and didn’t matter that I had lost it. There was no disappointment or admonishment – just love and comfort. Which only made me feel worse.

I went through the phone book calling pawnshops – no one had the ring. And then, right when I should have been giving up I had the most comforting sense of reassurance that I would get my ring back. It was the strangest thing – I just knew. Logically, it made no sense. My husband was pretty unconvinced but I had peace in my heart and was confident.

When my supervisor asked the next day I told her that I hadn’t found the ring but that I was sure I was going to get it back. She looked at me very sympathetically. I’m sure she thought I was in denial. And I probably would have too – it sounds crazy unless it’s happening to you, how can you explain it? Telling someone you just have a “feeling” doesn’t do it justice – it really wasn’t a feeling. I just had absolute comfort and knowledge. Almost like someone had said to me, with supreme authority, “You will get your ring back.” Only I didn’t hear a voice. Really, I didn’t! I’m not crazy. I promise.

Around noon I was on the phone when my supervisor burst through my door, she could hardly contain her excitement as she said “We found your ring!”

We had a work study student that had been a previous student of my supervisors. In recovery, she hadn’t been working in our office long and her unreliable and sporadic behavior had actually made me wonder if she was using again. I had seen her in the office very briefly the morning before but she was gone by the time I had discovered my ring was missing.

She had called my supervisor, told her she found a ring on the bathroom counter the morning before, had put it in her pocket and “forgot” about it until right then. Where should she turn it in?

When my supervisor asked, the ring she described was mine. The student had no idea the ring belonged to me.

There is no doubt in my mind that the discovery was not forgotten. It seems logical that the very first thing you would do is come back from the restroom and start asking about lost and found. If you plan to turn it in. If not, you quietly slip it in your pocket, don’t say anything, and go about your day. And that is exactly what I think the original intentions were.

But God heard my prayers and the prayers of those that were said on my behalf. He laid it on her heart to do the right thing. And His command was too strong to ignore.

I picked up the ring and gave her some reward money and as I was leaving she said almost wistfully, “I was thinking, man, someone could really make some money off that at a pawn shop.”

Most of us live our lives without ever seeing a miracle. Or what we think a miracle should look like. Because to be a miracle, it has to be grand and ostentatious, right? Isn’t that what miracles are about?

And when we do encounter something that might qualify as a miracle, we find a reason or an explanation for what has happened so it’s dismissed and we fail to recognize it as anything divine.

But miracles occur every day – in the simplest of forms. I believe that’s the way God speaks to us – we have to listen, really listen, in order to hear Him. It isn’t neon lights and flashy signs…it’s much too delicate to advertise in that way.

So that was my first miracle. It may seem trite to liken the recovery of a wedding ring to a miracle but getting the ring back wasn’t the miracle. It was the opportunity to actually feel God at work. I’m sure the situation can be rationalized and explained away. And that there are those that feel like I’m just some fanatic trying to make more of this than there was…but I know what it was, and I’m not discounting it.

That Stinks

So I run into the house to grab M's dance bag and immediately when I open the door I notice an odor. Something is definitely not right. Is that? No, it can't be...surely not...but then again, it smells just like it...

Poop.

It smelled like poop. 

I walk to the bathroom, really, really slowly. Because I'm not sue what I'll find and I'm imagining some pretty gross stuff spewed everywhere. That happened to some neighbors of mine from a long time ago, a lovely family that I used to babysit for. One day their downstairs bathroom exploded. Exploded. Like a volcano, except with poop. It was everywhere and leaked into their entire downstairs. It was horrible. Made worse by the fact it was something to do with the city system and it was actually city sewage, stuff from everyone's toilet.  I don't know why, that just makes it worse. I mean, poop is gross but not as gross when it's yours.  Like when you're going and you know it stinks but it doesn't really stink.  But then if you walk into a bathroom right after someone's done it you start gagging and your eyes water up and you try really hard not to breathe because you don't want any of that entering your body...it's not that it's worse, it's just we're kinda immune to our own grossness.

So I'm really just bracing myself for a fountain of poo.  I look down the hall and nothing, the bathroom looks normal. But that smell was definitely coming from something so I creep into the bathroom and lift the lid. I was really thinking maybe someone just left a little gift in the toilet from this morning. Nope, all clear.

And the odor was the worse in the kitchen/dining room area. So I kinda quickly look around. I don't see anything but I know our house shouldn't smell like this...I thought maybe a small animal got inside a left a surprise.  Something, something must have happened for our house to smell like a toilet bowl.  And whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it's not good.

So I grab the bag, head outside for the kid exchange and tell the hubby that house smells like crap. Literally. When I call to check he tells me the toilet is backed up but of course, he can't find anyone to come out tonight.  And of course, he's got an employee disciplinary hearing tomorrow and I'm conducting some training so neither one of us are available tomorrow.  Really, the Friday I absolutely can't miss is when this happens? Good grief!

And M2's birthday party is Saturday. So this should be interesting...

Almost Three

I am insane. 

Seriously.

I decided to paint the window trim in our living room. It needed to be painted.  Then I decided that I would go ahead and just paint all the trim downstairs. So it's day two and it's safe to say that was a huge mistake. Should have just focused on the windows.

But it will be nice to have everything freshened up....white trim and little kid hands do not mix. And we've got family and some close friends visiting this weekend. We're gathering to celebrate the cutest three year old in the world!

Yes, when she wakes up tomorrow my baby girls will be three! As cliche as it sounds, I cannot believe how quickly it has gone or how fast she has grown.  It's all gone fast but it was much faster with her. As unfortunate as it is, I think it's the plight of the second child. I had two little beings to take care of so I didn't have as much time or energy to note every little thing.

But I remember our first day at home together. It was dead silent and I just stared at her tiny little face. I sat and tried to blaze that imagine into my mind, trying to memorize every little detail. I didn't want that moment to end.  I had been so overwhelmed and worried with M that I never just sat to soak it all up. At least not in the very beginning. That's the advantage of the second child - you have a chance to redo. 

And now that fussy little baby has grown up into a sweet, funny, mischevious little girl. I love to hear her tell me every single day that the best part of daycare was "playing with the shobel" which means playing in the sandbox with the shovel.  Or if I accidently call her baby she corrects me with  "I'm not a baby, I'm baby girl!" And how when I tell her to stop doing something she will simply walk to the curtain, right in front of me, and continue to do it while she "hides" and is totally surprised when I rip back the curtain and catch her. And I love that she asks for yogurt first thing in the morning, immediately when I pick her up from daycare and the second I open the front door. The girls loves her some yogurt.

But my absolue favorite thing I love is when she is in my arms and I look down at the chubby little face because I'm trying to blaze that imagine into my mind, trying to memorize every little detail of who she is and what she's like at this phase and she gives me that big crinkley nose smile and says "I love you!"

Happy birthday sweet baby girl!

Fish Tales

"Stoops has gone on vacation."

That was the text I sent to my husband to let him know our family pet, a beta fish named Stoops, had passed away.  This was actually Stoops 2.0. He's gone on "vacation" once before.

We hadn't had the first fish very long when he made his departure.  He was gone for quite a while and when he returned, M who wasn't even 3, asked why he was a different color.  It was close, but apparently not close enough.  But everybody tans on vacation, right? So problem solved.

So Stoops 2.0 has been with us for over three years. I'm not sure about the life-span of a beta but it seems like a pretty long life for a fish.  And he's about to make a real quick return from vacation because in the absence of any kind of pet they may being to ask for a cat or a dog.

And I'm sure that will happen one day, but this point in our lives, a fish is about all we can handle.  Seriously, sometimes I think it's more responsibility to own a dog than it is to have a kid.  It's pretty easy to travel with a kid or to find a sitter...with a pet, not so much. So for now, a fish it is.

So I had one of those nights last night where being a parent was just really hard. Nothing that the girls were doing - it was completely me. But not 5 seconds passed that they didn't need something or ask me to do something. And I love my girls with all my heart, but I just wanted 10 minutes not hearing the word "Mommy". I just wanted to sit in peace. 10 minutes, that's all I wanted.  They were just absolutely exhausting. So I rushed them off to bed. And of course, they kept calling down or getting up.

It made me think of a really funny bedtime story I heard. It's TOTALLY inappropriate and SO wrong. It's pretty tacky but it's also very, very funny. Just because I think we've all those moments where we can relate...

So if you don't take it too seriously and aren't totally offended by the f-bomb, check it out the  funniest bedtime story ever. Just make sure your kids are nowhere around when you do...

Slugfest

I have no idea what is wrong with me but I just can't seem to get going. I lack any kind of motivation. I mean, I've always been lazy but this is at a whole new level.  The huge pile of clothes sitting on my couch agrees. My husband would agree too, because he informed me that he was almost out of underwear. And no matter how far behind I get, I usually try to make sure we all have clean drawers.

So this was kinda of an emergency deal. No underwear? What do we do? What do we do? Hubby throwing some in the washer wasn't on the list of options.  He had a very serious and debilitating reaction from his wedding band that wiped away any knowledge of how to operate the washing machine.  It's a pretty common side effect of marriage and while it's tragic, we try not to dwell on it too much.

I have been exercising again. But not consistently, like I need to be. I've had a couple of strength training days, then some cardio but with a day or two in between. I need to be doing something every single day. But something is better than nothing and I'll just have to work to get back on track.  But man, my slouthiness has really been getting in the way...

And so have my outrageous eating habits. I have no idea what is going on but I have been dumping all kinds of junk into my body. Like, I seriously need to stop now.  I'm going back to my calorie counter - not really to track calories but it does help to force me to think about it. Usually after it's already been consumed. But it's the difference between one donut and two. Or three.

Geez, if I would have know when I was picking my vices the challenges of being a stress eater,  I totally would have chosen to be a stress exerciser.  Unfortunately, I didn't read the fine print when I signed up for that deal...probably because it was covered in chip crumbs...

Nickel & Dime

We got a note from M’s school informing us we were “delinquent” on her cafeteria charges. This is the second note we’ve gotten.

But M doesn’t eat in the cafeteria. She’s a lunchbox. The first time it happened we asked her and she admitted having breakfast one day, because it “looked so good”. And how can I blame her, I do the same thing…mummm bacon. Must. Eat. Bacon.

The charges were actually more than just one breakfast, but it was a small amount and we just paid it and went on.

This time I ask M if she’s eaten again. She said she hadn’t, not since we told her not to. Any kid can fib, but she’s a good kid who generally listens to our instructions. Plus, she’s only 6 and she hasn’t mastered the art of lying yet, so it’s pretty obvious when she tries to. So I believe her.

So I call the school cafeteria. The lady totally brushed me off – it’s was an issue with the teacher, they rely on the teachers giving them the information so I’ll have to address it with her.

This was a little confusing because her teacher knows she doesn’t eat in the cafeteria. I mean, she sees her lunch box every day. Plus the first time we were charged I sent a little note with the check, telling the teacher that M brings her lunch. So I didn’t really think it was a teacher issue. But whatever. So I email the teacher and she tells me that she’s always put her down as a lunchbox and she’s never seen her eat in the cafeteria. And she even sent my note down to the cafeteria last time so they would know.

So I call the cafeteria again. And I must have annoyed her because she got very condescending and rude with me, telling me that they have no idea who my kid is and “how would we know how to charge your kid if they didn’t have something from the teacher?” Then she sighed very heavily and told me she would waive the fee this one time but if it happened again we would be responsible.

Hold on.

First, who asked you to waive the fee? That request never came from me and it was never my intention. Please….we’re talking about a few bucks.

All I’m trying to do is figure out what’s going on. There are three possibilities: M is throwing away her lunch and then buying a cafeteria one, M is eating two lunches, or I’m being charged for another kid’s lunch.

None of those are acceptable to me.

So, in a not very nice tone, I told her that I understood what she was telling me, that I understood it when she told me the first time that morning. What she didn’t understand was that the teacher says she’s not sending her name down and yet we’re getting charged and that I didn’t care whose mistake it is – I just wanted it resolved.

I guess she thought if she made me feel stupid I would just go away. But really, why does it take me getting snippy with you in order for you to offer to speak with the teacher and work it out? Obviously, there’s a problem in your system…shouldn’t you want to get that fixed?

And do you really think I care about $2.10 enough to take the time to make these calls? No, it’s the principle – something is wrong and it needs to be corrected. Keep the money, I just don’t want it happening again. Is that so hard?

I just don't get it, how come I've got to be an almost-bitch in order for you to treat me decently?  Shouldn't it have been the opposite? The nicer I am the more helpful you are...I kinda thought that was how it worked.
Guess that's just me...

Creepy Crawlies

Hello blog world!

You'll be happy to know that I did, indeed, survive my in-law weekend. It was a quick but expensive trip. We stay in a hotel and it kinda adds up. But I'm NOT complaining. Really. Bring on the hotel rates! Because an empty pocket is a lot better than the alternative...which is the possibility of bringing home some nasty little insects.

Yep, they've kinda got a little bug problem. I know they've tried to get rid of them but it hasn't worked. In fact, they've even seemed to get a bit braver.

I remember the trip where it became obvious what a problem it was...we had gone for a visit and I was sitting in bed breastfeeding. Then a roach fell from the ceiling. Onto my boob.

Do you hear me? ONTO MY BOOB! Which was ATTACHED TO MY BABY'S MOUTH!

The minute that thing hit I flicked it so fast and so hard that I think it probably splattered the instant it hit something.

Just thinking of that thing being so close to my sweet, precious, bug-free baby...

Then going to sleep that night, knowing that something was going to fall and crawl all over me...Really, I wanted to soak in a disinfectant bath. 

And I'm not trying to be a snob...I put up with a lot of grossness. A lot. I overlooked it, ignored it, pretended not to see it. 

But bugs falling on me...that's just something I can't do.

Sooo, yeah, we don't stay anymore.

We visit less and spend more money when we do. But I can sleep peacefully at night and that's totally worth it.