Sick

It’s been a whole week since I lost my wedding rings, and I’m starting to lose hope that I’ll ever find them. Last Thursday, I took them off so that I could make two batches of pizza dough, one for our BBQ chicken pizza, and the other for doughnuts. It was sort of a whirlwind afternoon, juggling kids and keeping everyone happy while mixing and kneading. I placed the rings on the kitchen table, which was unusual for me to do. Normally, I hang them on the beak of this little ceramic bird on the window sill.

I didn’t realize they were missing until after the kids were in bed, and everything was cleared away. We’ve been praying ever since that we’ll find them somehow. Paul took apart the pipes, reached down the disposal, and took apart every tiny piece of garbage (I don’t think he’ll be wanting cantaloupe until at least next season!). And nothing. We sifted through all of the ingredients, moved furniture, looked inside vents, cleaned out closets, and still nothing. I even rented a metal detector yesterday to comb the grass outside (in the rain), and I still came up empty handed. And I’m really sick about it.

So my latest working theory is that Peter took it outside and left it in the grass somewhere. Then “Shifty,” the sketchy neighborhood raccoon probably snatched it up to add to his shiny stash. I’ve tried asking Peter if he knows where it is, but he usually just repeats the question back to me. Interrogating a 23-month-old is about as productive as catching and questioning a raccoon.

So now I’m wearing a cheap silver band that I wore when I first got engaged and was waiting for the real thing. I’m not all that attached to most material possessions, but my wedding rings hold a lot of sentimental value and meaning to me. I really miss them.