The Ring Thing

There are few questions I dread from my children. I am very open with them. After having a mother who nearly sent me go off to gym class in 6th grade with a can of FDS as deoderant because she refused to admit to me what it was actually for, I'd like to think I'm pretty approachable. My kids can ask me about sex and be embarassed by the answers. They can ask me about my ex-marriage I'll answer their questions, even though I've been stuck talking about a marriage that lasted two and a half years for 12 years now, ever since I told them. Still,I'll do it.
But when my daughter looks at the ring on my left hand and she's all aglow with the romance of it, admiring it, watching my diamond glitter, and then she asks, "Is that the diamond dad gave you when you got married?" That's the question I don't want to answer.

It's embarassing to have to admit that no, there is no part of the ring I wear today that is the ring dad gave me under the chuppah. That just sounds bad. When I try to explain that the shape of the diamond - a Princess cut - is the same cut as the one he gave me though it's not the same diamond, she's not buying that. I'm a different kind of Princess for even suggesting it.

When I got engaged I worked in an office at a Big Insurance Company where, for some reason, all of us were getting engaged. Each day, one of my friends was showing up with her engagement ring: one carat here, one carat there. Future Husband bought mine and he wasn't having any of that buying a ring worth three months of your gross income crap. He bought a .80 carat diamond. Then I got to show everyone in the office my ring and, I swear, people were pulling out jeweler's loupes to look at it and weighing the carat content. I skulked back to my desk, my joy in my 80 point diamond ruined. I wish I could say that this didn't bother me but, trust me, it bothered me.

I've been married a long time, long enough to upgrade my ring. First I designed a new setting for the ring and had the jeweler put the old diamond in it. Then a few years and some prosperity later, the diamond got bigger and the old one went in a pendant. I wasn't going to sell it or anything; I do have some sentimentality. A few years later it got a little bigger. I can certainly lift my hand - it's not that heavy - but let's just say that if I had friends at work, or if I worked, for that matter, I could hold my hand high.

Is there ever enough? Yes. I love my ring now. It has a Hebrew band under it with a quote from the Book of Ruth, "Whither Thou Goest, I Shall Go." I have a ring on my right hand with the Ani, "I Am My Beloved's, My Beloved Is Mine."

I didn't always know exactly who I was, but I found out later. I'm a nut for being Jewish. I add Hebrew to my rings and it gives me a feeling of the eternal - they end up being not just Jewelry but JEW-elry. I also like rings thick enough that I can barely bend my fingers and, okay, I need a little glitter. And if my daughter would just stop rolling her eyes, I'd explain that to her.