More than just a band of gold

Panic set in late last night as I ripped through my entire house looking for my wedding ring. I take it off every night before giving Miles his bath. I set it down on my dresser, along with whatever jangly earrings I might be wearing. A routine, plain and simple. However, last night I did not put the ring in the same location. In fact, I couldn't find it for over two painful hours.

That ring must be back on my finger for me to fall asleep. If some natural disaster were to strike in the middle of the night, I will flee with Miles, the pups, the hubs, and my ring finger dressed- and I will be fine. And that is what I think about before I crawl into bed, but you already know that I am a bit high strung.

Anyways, I stayed up late last night to have a little "me" time. I made it upstairs around one am, ready for some reading and snuggling, but those plans were quickly dashed when the ring wasn't where I thought I left it. Calm searching lasted only a few minutes; Jesse was roused from his peaceful slumber by hurled clothing and muffled profanities. As best as I could muster, I kindly asked (demanded) Jesse to join my search party.

Before I had time to make fliers and notify the FBI, I had a bit of a cry fest. Thirty minutes of fruitless flinging and flailing reduced me to sobs. That ring is not just any ring; it symbolizes my past, present, and future. That ring is a life vest that keeps my heart afloat in rough waters. That ring shines even when days are dark and nights are cold. Could it be replaced? Doubtful. Sure, a physical replica can be created- though a vessel that holds the sun from the day of the proposal, the tears dropped during my shocked acceptance, the glistening spark from generations back would be relegated to memories.

I tried explaining this to Jesse between sobs. I also realized, as I stumbled through my shoddy logic, how lucky I am to have him listening to me, and even more thankful I am to have received his promise of love and commitment. Once I calmed down, counted my blessings, my memory returned. The ring was sitting in the kitchen sink, in dirty water, under baby food leftovers. I took it off as I was clearing the dinner dishes, and it must have tumbled in along with mashed potatoes and string beans. As soon as the ring was rinsed and the husband thoroughly kissed, I passed out with a thoroughly dressed ring finger.

Maybe Pamela and Tommy Lee were onto something when they got their wedding rings tattooed on. I wonder what other nuggets of wisdom we could glean from those two brainiacs.