Parenting and family, served with a shot of vodka
If you know me personally, then you’ve probably heard me say that I generally like animals more than people.
Animals don’t leave shopping carts leaning up against my car in the grocery store parking lot, or cut me off in traffic, or judge me because I may or may not have been wearing the same pair of yoga pants since Sunday.
But recently, human beings got a big boost on the totem pole after my husband lost his wedding ring.
In July, he was shooting baskets with our son at the elementary school after Superhero got out of basketball camp. As my hubs finished his shot, the ring flew off behind him, bounced two times and rolled off into The Land of Things Never to be Seen Again. (In case you haven’t heard of it, it’s the place that houses missing socks from the dryer, the hours of sleep we all used to get before having kids, and my pre-breastfeeding boobs, which did not look like two oranges in the bottom of pair of knee socks.)
Hubby didn’t see which direction it flew, he just heard the tink, tink as it hit the ground twice. The surrounding area includes a playground, benches and a few picnic tables, which are situated atop approximately fifty billion pounds of mulch.
It was hot as balls with stifling humidity that week. We all searched for the ring every day during at drop off and pick up at basketball camp.
Other basketball camp parents heard the story and joined the search. It was so lovely to see friends and strangers lending a hand to what was pretty much a lost cause.
When I told my friend Jenny what happened, she offered to drive to a different town and pick up a friend’s metal detector for us to borrow. She has a seven-year-old, a toddler, and a newborn. It was more kindness than I would ever expect, and more effort than I could possibly expend if I were in the same position. She is a super-freakin’-rock star and a wonderful friend.
But even with the metal detector, no luck. It was so much ground to cover, especially not knowing what direction the ring had bounced.
We resigned ourselves to the fact that it was gone forever, buried in a sea of mulch that got trampled by elementary kids day in and day out. During the school’s visiting day in early September, we gave it another go, just in case. Still nothing.
So last week, I was sitting in the hair salon looking at Twitter — a rare activity for me — and the first thing that came up was a tweet from our suburb’s police department: “Someone found a ring on the (elementary) school grounds on 9/10. Please contact Officer (such and such) if you think it’s yours or know whose it is.”
Holy shit! My husband called the officer, then was directed to the person who found, and still had, the ring. It was his.
THEN, it turns out the guy who found it was our mail man. He recognized my hubby’s name from his route, so he offered to drop it off later that day when he was in our neighborhood. So not only was the ring located, but social media led us to find out about it, and then it was delivered to our doorstep that very same day.
I still love you, animals. I really do.
But I also love our community, and the people who live in this town — friends and strangers alike. It’s heartwarming that so many people are helpful, honest and good. With all the crappy stuff happening out there in the world, it’s important to recognize the beautiful things, too.
Thank you, mail man. Thank you police department. Thank you, social media. And thank you to all the people who told me their personal stories of losing wedding rings. It’s a lot more common than you’d think.
(And yes, I think the hubs will be resizing his ring.)