Ring up my plea - Guilty As Charged

Something my husband said the other morning, I forget what, annoyed me just a wee bit - which broke a dream I'd been having just before waking.

He'd bought me an engagement ring.

WOW!  We got engaged in 2005 and married a few months later. I didn't have a ring. We were married with cheap 'greenstone' rings partly due to budget, partly timing. The idea was to get wedding rings when we worked out exactly what we wanted - at some relevant time like our wedding anniversary. Time went on....

Anyway, in this dream, he gave me a ring.

I hated it!

In fact, thinking about it, it was pretty cool. But it was diamond and sapphires and I have no especial love for sapphires.

This was like a ring of smooth polished diamond with circles of different coloured sapphires kind of piled onto it.  Very modern. Very architectural. But it was glued with Uhu or something and it all fell to bits. Which left me with just this asymmetrical smooth carved diamond ring, that didn't glitter.

WHAT?

I felt awful.  Here he was giving me this ring, finally, that he'd had carefully made (only not carefully - he was muttering something about it being just a test one...), but I just couldn't like it. I knew I should love it, whatever it was, but in my dream I was saying "I just don't like it. Why would you get me sapphires?  I kind of get that it's cool, but, I dunno, I just.... I kind of think why bother having diamonds if they're not sparkly."  And I felt really mean and ungrateful, but also invisible. How could this man think I would like sapphires and unsparkly diamonds?  Now I'm not a 'crazy about diamonds' kind of woman. When we got married I wasn't into them at all and was quite happy to have a single ring. We talked about having one beautiful ring each, with some kind of design to them. Rings we each liked, that were individual but somehow similar.  We talked about it for a while, then the subject got dropped.  Right around the time the word Love disappeared from our house.

Better or worse?!

Maybe that was why,  as time went on, I thought perhaps a single ring but something with some little diamonds in it, for a bit of sparkly bling.  And then more time passed, and stuff happened, and I started to think "Sod it, I'll have a big fat sparkly not-blood diamond thank you. Well, a smallish one anyway."  And why not make it an engagement ring all by its self, after all!  So I showed him the odd pic, dropped the odd hint...  Things turned in a different direction and well, I haven't bought him a wedding ring (though in my defence I did get him a rather gorgeous greenstone pendant as a wedding present.  He got me... erm... let me think... erm... I'll get back to you on that one...)

Anyway, here was my 'dream' husband presenting me with this engagement ring that was nothing like anything I'd shown him, or talked about. It was like a ring he thought his wife should like, the wife he imagined he had, or maybe wished he had, but not one made with the actual me in mind at all. So it almost felt like an insult rather than a gift. So in my dream I felt rejected and sad.

Now, if I had a ring like that made out of glass, I sure as hell would wear it, for fun, to dinner, to a party. But as an engagement ring? I don't see an engagement ring as a gimmick, as something to show off how 'different' you can be. Of all the jewellery I ever wear I guess I kind of think of wedding and engagement rings as being something more understated, private, personal, discreet.

Funny, I never thought about it before.

Hint

But the main thing I'll take from that dream is to make damned sure that next time I buy something for my husband I make sure it's the thing HE wants, not the thing I think he ought to have...

Thinking of past gifts, I'm guilty as charged.

(c) Naomi Madelin 2012


Thanks to http://boards.weddingbee.com/topic/ugly-engagement-rings-post-em

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Lines in the Sand

I've decided to have my ring finger removed by elective surgery.

No, it's not infected with gangrene. Nor do I have skin cancer. There has been no injury. But logic tells me that once I book the surgery, things will happen.

Like, a ring will magically appear upon it.

The one I didn't get seven years ago when I agreed to marry my husband.

The one I didn't get the Christmas after, or for my following birthday, or the one after that and so on.

The one I wasn't wearing the day I found out he'd tried to start an affair.

The one I still wasn't wearing a whole year later, when he still couldn't tell me he loved me.  When, after twelve months of counselling, coaching, heart ache, depression and a whole lot of soul searching I was just starting to think I might be able to trust him again, I found, among others, that email he'd sent to that same female while on our family holiday just the month before, and the e-receipt for the Christmas present he'd got her.

The ring I still am not wearing.

The fourth finger of my left hand isn't needed, it seems.  So away with it.

A month ago I told my husband (the one who still couldn't tell me he loved me, after a year of hard bloody work) that time was up, he had four weeks from that moment to prove he cared or we would separate. Much as I loved him. Much as I wanted our family together, I deserved better.

Within days I was worthy.  He told me he loved me.  He started looking me in the eye. He became spontaneously tender.

I went into shock.

I really, honestly, didn't know what to think.

Through all this we've been talking about moving overseas. Back when it all blew up the first time, a year or so ago, he told me wanted to move in six months' time. To go back to the UK. Fine, I said, I can do that.  I might even like to do that - to be near my family again.  Especially with all the marriage trouble. But six months was too soon. Too soon, too cold (Southern winter to northern winter? No thanks.), too rushed. No, I said.  If we go, we go into summer.  He had to agree. April sounded good.  Early southern autumn into early northern spring.  Good. I looked into schools.  Our eldest would need to start school in September.  You can't get a place in a school in the UK until you have an address.  I didn't have an address.  Yet.  April would give me time - to find a house and and school.  To settle in.  To get used to things.  The long school holidays are July to the end of August in the UK.  April to July and then the summer.  I could do that.

Sometimes I've pictured the move as just me and the children. Starting my life as a single mum.  I've got my head around that. I've come to terms with it. I've found the positives. Other times I've pictured it as all four of us. I'm ready - either way.

The 'early April' move date moved to late April, and then to early May.  Early May turned to June and I started to feel that I was dangling at the end of another long string. When July was mentioned I said 'enough'.  I drew a line in the sand and said that I would move to the UK with the girls before the end of June, and he could follow when the things we needed to sort for our business were done.  I couldn't wait any more.  That day I found flights for late June - not easy a month out from the Olympics. I was ready to book.

Suddenly I was taken seriously, it seemed. Phone calls were made. Things started to be organised. He had a motorbike to sell. It wasn't exactly news that he'd have to sell it, he'd been muttering about it for ages. Now he was driving it to the place to get it thoroughly cleaned so he could photograph and sell it. Suddenly the cogs were oiled.

Lines in the sand are clearly needed to get my husband to act.

A few months ago, before he decided I was worth loving, before I knew that he'd still been in touch with The Female, he'd said one day that he wanted to buy me an engagement ring. I was moved. He'd never said that before. It was amazing.

Three days later I told him I couldn't accept a ring from a man who couldn't tell me he loved me... now that's a subject for another post! And then when I found out....well... But now he does. He loves me.  Of course he loves me.  Why would be still be here if he didn't?  But the point is he recognises it.  He feels it.  He says it - or has done anyway. I've been without those words for so long I could happily hear them from my man morning, noon and night just now.

Perhaps I have unrealistic romantic notions.  Fact is I long for romantic gestures.  You know the type of thing... You arrive at the hotel and he's swapped you to a posh suite. You get on the plane and he's arranged for you to be served champagne.  He takes you out for dinner and whips out a ring...

He's trying pretty hard, my husband, he really is. And he has been doing things to get this move going, to be honest and fair about it.  He has.  But I'm demanding. And I like lines in the sand - like plane tickets that tell me what day and time my life is changing. And I dream of romance and my man wooing me, winning me back, showing me how much I'm worth to him.

So perhaps it's line in the sand time.  If I book the operation to have the finger removed, perhaps... perhaps...



For other posts on marriage, relationships and love see my posts "Writing My Heart" and "I Am No-one's Wife"

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(c) Naomi Madelin