October 2015
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To Mount Doom!

The other day, my husband looked down on his hand and realized his wedding band was missing.  He didn’t know when or how it had slipped off, but for the first time in 14 years, his ring was not on his fingers.  We looked everywhere.  He went back to stores he was at that day, retracing his steps.  He checked the car, and around the computer, and even in our bed, hoping that we could find it.

It was not to be found, it seemed.  Saddened, there was little to be done.  Perhaps when we had extra money, we could get a replacement. I joked that we would just have to have a hand-fasting ceremony so it was sacred again.  Our rings symbolize something important after all.  When things are hard, when we’re feeling down, the ring was a reminder that we had each other.  We make each other whole.

Fast forward to today.  I was questing in the evil mountain that is laundry, and I picked up some of the baby’s clothes that got thrown onto the stairs.  I went to unfold it, and behold: his ring.

I can’t tell you how excited I was.  Despite being alone (The baby was napping, the kids at school and my husband at work) I may or may not have shouted “YES THANK YOU!!” which may or may not have been proceeded by a dance of joy.  Quickly slaying a part of the mountain of laundry, I ran upstairs to tell my closest friends who I had told my tale of woe to, and of course, post a picture on the internet capturing my moment of victory.

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One Ring to Rule them all…wait, no, that’s not right!

I asked him to marry me again.  And I may have consider putting in an order of super glue so that it doesn’t slip off his slender fingers again.

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