So this happened today:
Earlier today I was in the process of removing nail polish from my nails when I happened to glance down and noticed that MY ENGAGEMENT RING WAS MISSING ITS MAIN DIAMOND. AHHH! I freaked out, spent five minutes combing through our bedroom and found nothing, then happened to walk through the living room and spotted the diamond, upside down, on our tiled entryway. Whew! What are the chances, right? So now both my engagement ring and the loose diamond are safely tucked in a Ziploc bag that’s stashed inside a zippered compartment of my wallet, and my left hand feels naked, despite my wedding band on my ring finger and a sterling silver ring on my middle finger.
So now I need to get to a jeweler and get the diamond re-set into the ring (or, as my husband’s uncle suggested, break out the Gorilla Glue). I suppose a jewel falling out of its setting on a 12 year old ring that has been worn almost 24/7 (the only times I’ve taken it off have been for surgeries (seven) and resizing after I lost the first 100 pounds – so in twelve years and two months it’s only been not-exposed-to-everyday-wear-and-tear for a sum total of maybe 100 hours?) isn’t a shocker to anyone…still, it was a shock to ME to see that my ring was missing its diamond!
Other than bracing myself for what could have been a needle-in-a-haystack hunt, it’s been a quiet Sunday. Alyssa is sick with a cold and has spent most of the day in our bed, Dan and I slept in (if you consider 9am sleeping in), and I’ve been battling a headache for several hours now, and am about to give up and just go to bed…at 6:18pm.
(Name that song/please accept my apologies for the ear worm!)
On this day last year I was two weeks post-op from my hysterectomy and appendectomy, but that didn’t stop me from hauling my bloated, sore self out of bed and driving Alyssa and Ryan to one of the local schools for a race – a race they told me about 35 minutes before we had to be there for registration. Meanwhile I had been asleep, none of us were dressed, and did I mention that the drive to the school is about 20 minutes if there are no Amish buggies on the road? But we made it, and the kids raced and had a blast.
This year I was prepared – Alyssa and Ryan told me about the race two weeks in advance, we had the registration forms, and I reminded them last night. Ryan wound up skipping the race in favor of attending a Boy Scouts field trip, but Alyssa was excited to go – and she placed eighth for girls in her grade!
While we were waiting for her grade to race she hung out with friends and I sat around a little awkwardly in awesomely glittery tights and a dress (I was seriously the only woman there in a dress, and there were at least two hundred other people!), while she raced I shamelessly cheered her on and took loads of pictures, and once she was done she bought two sprinkled donuts and asked me to take her home, because she was exhausted. A half-mile run on an unevenly, slightly hilly grassy field is no joke!
Ryan has a 9:00am appointment at an autism services center. This place is amazing; in fact, it’s where we took him for his initial evaluations and home support services. We haven’t been there since 2009, since he then started school (preschool) and had in-school support, but we’re heading back because Ryan’s anxiety has only been increasing over the past year. While we’re not keen on the idea of medication, we are keen on getting ideas and suggestions from experienced psychologists and psychiatrists – and if needed, we will follow recommendations for medication. I literally cried when we made the decision to put him on Melatonin for sleep (he has now been taking it for nearly six years, but he is still having sleep issues so we’re going to discuss that, too), so that should give you a good indication of my reluctance to medicate my child with something stronger/synthetic.
Anyway, because it’s a “new” place, with new doctors, and he’s going to miss a few hours of school, he’s a bit of a mess. At least we’re going to a relevant appointment!
I am eleven years and one month older than my 19 year old brother, Puff. I remember my mom bringing him home from the hospital. I remember feeding him, changing his diapers, and rocking him to sleep at 3:00am because he was a horribly inconsolable baby and my mother was losing her exhausted mind trying to juggle work and a newborn. I remember her freaking out after I informed her I had given him a bath – he was only two weeks old, and wet infants are pretty damn slippery. I remember co-sleeping with Puff from the time he was six months old until I left home when I was eighteen, because even as a seven year old child he had so many emotional and behavioral issues that he was too scared to sleep alone, and even if he started out the night in his own bed I’d almost always wake up in the morning to find him in mine.
And now, at 19, he outweighs me by fifty pounds, and towers over me by nearly a foot.