Reasons #472 and #473 (give or take) in favor of having kids

Some of you may know that there was a bit of an engagement ring "fiasco" at my house this week.  It began Monday evening when I realized that the dish where I keep my rings was harboring only my wedding band and right hand ring...no diamond. 

I should probably back up and explain that I have some sort of claustrophobia that makes me take my rings off when I get home.  It's like my fingers need to breathe or something.  My mom purchased a little bowl-like thing for me to put my rings in because I used to just put them anywhere without rhyme or reason (like the mantel, the little half wall in the foyer, on my dresser, next to my bathroom sink, etc).  And even though she's not here much, it became obvious to her that I spent too much time in the mornings searching for my rings to wear to work.  Hence, the bowl.  Thanks Mom.

Anyway, I noticed my diamond ring was missing and started to freak out a little.  I vividly remembered  taking it off with my wedding band and putting it in the dish.  So this was not like the other times my rings went missing, because those times they were missing together and not really "missing"...just misplaced...because I'm a dingbat.

Immediately my mind went to Abby.  She had been playing at the bar (the dish's home) that evening.  I didn't see her near the dish, but she's stealthy.  Surely she could have snatched it.  Unfortunately for me, she was asleep, so I couldn't quiz her about it.  (Actually, that's a lie.  And here's where I'm a bad mom.  But I totally tried to wake her up to ask her where my ring was.  She was unresponsive.  She's not exactly lucid when awakened from a deep sleep.)  It would have to wait until the morning. 

So I laid down in an attempt to get some sleep knowing that the trash wasn't being picked up, I had yet to ask Abby point blank if she knew where it was, and I hadn't checked at work (because I also take off my rings whilst I'm doing all the typing/clicking all day long).  Amazingly enough, I slept pretty well.

The next morning came and I couldn't wait to get to Abby.  I felt like an interrogator about to crack a case wide open.  I asked her, "Abby, did you take my ring last night?"  Nod.  "Did you put it somewhere?"  Nod.  "Where did you put it?"  Momentary contemplation and the response, "In your bedroom, under the bed."  So...I checked.  Not there.  "Abby, did you make that up?"  Nod.  "Abby, where's my ring?"  No response.  I repeated this question approximately 75 times between her waking up and me strapping her into her seat for daycare.  Apparently, she had enough of that and incredulously replied, "I *didn't* take your ring!"  Hmmm.

I dropped her off, made it to work, checked the desk...not there.  This is the point where I really started to freak out and I just knew I would be digging through the trash that evening when I got home.

A couple of hours of work later, Sam and I decided to meet up for lunch.  After a chimichanga for Sam and an El Jaliscience salad for me, we went to the register to pay.  Sam pulls out the wallet and notices that all of his cards are rearranged.

This is where I should rewind again to the night before, when I saw Abby carrying Sam's wallet around the living room.  I can't remember what I was doing at the time that prevented me from grabbing it from her, but I said to her, "Abby, put Daddy's wallet back where you found it."  Then I didn't think any more of it.  Apparently "back where you found it" was interpreted by our middle born as "shove it in between the TV and DVD player in my bedroom", which we not-so-quickly discovered just a short while before the ring was noted to be missing.

That probably should have been a clue.

Anyway, there Sam stood reconfiguring the contents of his wallet when I said to him in jest, "My ring's not in there is it?"  A slight smile graced his face as he handed me his Movie Gallery card and tilted his wallet over so that I could see the sparkling rock shining back at me from the depths of a credit card slot.

This brings me to the reasons you should have kids...

#472  Built-in scapegoat.  (Sure, they're probably guilty of the accusation, but in case they're not, at least you have someone besides yourself at whom to point the finger.)

"Innocence"

#473  There's never a dull moment.  (Be it stolen engagement rings shoved into the abyss of a wallet crevice...or a stamp pad doubling as eyeshadow, using a matchbox car hood for the applicator.)

'Nuff said