Monday, May 18, 2009

Welcome to my weird little world...

I usually take my rings (wedding ring and 2 others) off and put them in a particular place in the bathroom cupboard. Otherwise, they slip off when my hands are in water (happens a lot). When I went to look for them over the weekend, they weren't there. I figured I put them somewhere else and kept looking around for them...but wasn't too worried.

Today I said to Andrew: "Have you seen Mommy's rings?"

"Yep. In the bathroom. I put them on my fingers and then I *threw* them" [insert hand gesture] "and then Daddy took them and put them away."

"Uh...what?" So I called and left a voice mail for Steve: "Andrew tells me you put my rings up when he threw them?"

Later, I said to Andrew: "Do you know where Daddy put the rings after you threw them?"

"Yep. I took them outside and I threw them under the car."

"Our car? Or our neighbor's car?"

"The guy's car. No...our car." And then takes me out and points. "Right...HERE."

Not sure what to believe at this point, I backed the car out and started looking. As background to the situation, our driveway is made with medium-sized rocks, not asphalt...so hunting is a bit trickier. I started wondering whether a neighbor might have a metal detector, all along thinking I was crazy to trust his story-telling, and yet crazy not to at least try. I spent a good 15 minutes looking a bit nutty, crawling around my driveway sifting through rocks.

It's perplexing to have to filter a "real" discussion with a creative little 29-month-old.

So I say to him, post-hunt: "Seriously, Andrew...did you do something with Mommy's rings?"

"Yep. Come see. I show you something." He brings me in the backyard and shows me the cracks in the deck. "I put them right...HERE." And pantomimes sticking them through the slats. So, again not sure what to believe, I spend about 10-15 minutes peering through the slats to the dirt below.

I decide to give up and figure I'll start wearing my mom's wedding ring. Steve lost his a couple of years ago in a lake during a triathlon, so maybe we could renew our vows and get rings for both of us. ;)

Later, I went upstairs and was doing something in the bathroom. I push aside my "ring box" and see all three rings still sitting there. I'd apparently taken them off and just missed the shot when I stuck them in the box.

What was this little dude thinking as he spun all these stories for me?

I tend to encourage a lot of story telling and fantasy play with the boys, where we all help tell a grandiose story. This has apparently come back to haunt me.

Little bugger.

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