A Close Call

Last night, I finally got Tyler to watch the first episode of Sherlock with me. And as I was getting ready for the day, I thought about one scene in particular--Sherlock was commenting that the state of the murdered woman's wedding indicated the health of her marriage. Because her wedding ring was dirty, he deduced that her marriage was an unhappy one.

So, because I have a happy marriage, I decided to give my ring a good cleaning. After all, it always looks so sparkly afterward. (I do clean it frequently, by the way. It's not like my ring was dirty. I just thought of how pretty it always looks after a little polishing up, and went for it.)

But, horror of horrors, as I was cleaning my ring, it slipped out of my fingers, and seemingly in slow motion hit the counter and bounced into the heating duct on the floor of our bathroom. (Why, Utah? Why are there grates on your floors? This doesn't happen in Texas. Right, Texans? At least, I never noticed this until I moved to Utah.)

Now, because of the strange placement of air ducts in our apartment, I have a few of the vents strategically closed to prevent the upstairs from becoming too stuffy and the downstairs from being too cold.

Luckily, our bathroom air duct is one of my strategically closed vents. So although my ring fell into the air duct, the vents were closed, and there it lay--on the closed vents, beneath the grate covering the air duct.

So I motioned Tyler over, almost panicking, and not sure what to do. At this point, I was sure that I was about to lose my wedding ring forever. I couldn't remember if our bathroom vents open and close easily (some of our vents are super stiff, others open and close with a brush of our fingers), and I knew that if I wasn't careful, I could accidentally open up those vents, and my ring could tumble into oblivion.

I started searching for a paperclip, thinking that if I hooked my ring just right, I could pull it  up through the grate safely. As I was ransacking our dresser for a paperclip, Tyler (the wise) suggested I grab some tweezers.

After a moment's pause, I realized that this was indeed a genius idea, absolutely superior to my paperclip thoughts. Especially because there were some tweezers basically sitting in front of my face.

Together, we went back into the bathroom, and Tyler stabilized the vents while I rescued my wedding ring, Operation-style.

I put my ring back on and just sat there, practically shaking and near tears. Tyler, in his attempt to be comforting, said, "It's ok. We're still married." I responded with something to the effect of, "Yeah, but I almost lost my ring!"

And Tyler, again trying for comfort, said, "You would have found something else that you liked."

He was absolutely, 100% serious! I could not believe what I was hearing, so I tried to clarify. And indeed, his thought was that if my ring had been gone forever, we would have just replaced it with something else.

I just--I mean, how do you explain an (irrational??) attachment to an object? I was speechless. And then I rebelled. No way. This ring is an antique. It's one-of-a-kind. Irreplaceable. I actually might have died if we had lost my ring. I would, at the very least, never fully recover.

I'm not totally crazy, right? Is this a woman thing? Or is this just a me thing? (This is where you guys respond and tell me what your wedding rings mean to you. And make me feel better about how attached I am to this object that I can't take with me into the next life--but might try to smuggle in with me anyway. I'm only mostly kidding about that last part.)

It's probably two or three hours since almost losing my ring, and I still feel a little in shock at the horror that almost befell us (me).

But all's well that ends well.

And I'm never opening that air duct again.

Days Off, Family Style

I love it when Tyler has a day off. This is so rare these days, what with school, work, and study for Exam P.

But today is USU's Fall Break. And Tyler doesn't have work. Or homework. (Although he does have to do some studying. And grade some quizzes.)

What this means for us is that we can squeeze in some family stuffs.

So we are!

Beginning with a beautiful walk this morning down to Center Street to check out some of the older (and cooler) houses out here. These homes really have some personality!

I mean, check 'em out!

I just love the colors on this home. I don't know that I would want my future home to be this colorful, but there are lots of pretty details here. And I love that front door. And some of those windows.

And this house! Check out that witch tower in the front. I'm not entirely sure what it is I like so much about this house. I just think it's cool. 

Tyler really liked the double doors on this house. I think that round-about (or whatever it's called) in the front yard is interesting. 

And HOLY COLUMNS! I think that there are actually eight huge columns in the front. Along with all the other columns on the porch. (I love that big open porch.) I don't think this picture does justice to how big those columns are.

I think you'll have to click on this picture to make it bigger so you can see all the different details on this house. The colors, the woodwork, even some of the windows are unique (I think--I might be remembering wrong). Still, it definitely has charm.

I thought all the lattice-work was really interesting on this house. And again, a nice big porch, interesting windows and doors. (And a lovely, big lawn.)

This next house was, by far, my favorite.

Gorgeous. This house is all about the details. Nothing is flat or boring. And it looks like it's probably got four levels to it. (Houses in Utah are tricky. Most of them have a basement floor.) Of all of these houses, I think I would most like to tour this one. I'm sure that the inside is as lovely as the outside.

And this house was the first hospital in Logan. Cool, right? Check out the plaque on the gate outside this house:

And finally, the last interesting house on our walk home--it's not actually on Center Street. I don't remember exactly where it was. Maybe a block away? Anyway, again with those witch towers.

So interesting right? You just don't see houses like these everywhere. I really wish I could know the history of each house. Who built it and when, why they designed it the way they did, do they still live there, etc.

But really, the best part of this walk was this moment here:

Sometimes, when we walk, Rich reaches out for his dad's hand. And I love it. Rich holds his daddy's hand while we walk along; he's just content to be outside with us.

Anyway. Good family stuffs accomplished.

The First And Only Time I Cheated On A Test

was when I was in fifth grade. I'm still ashamed of myself for it, even though it was so many years ago.

It was our states and capitals test. We had to be able to look at a map and identify al 50 states and their corresponding capitals. I studied and studied for that thing. But when it came time to take the test, there were just a few that I couldn't remember. One of my friends saw me struggling and offered her help. And I took it. We used sign language to communicate, and some how totally got away with it.

It wasn't until after I turned in my test that I realized what I had just done. I was a cheater. I felt awful. Like some part of me had been ripped away.

My mom will have to fill in the blanks here about how and when I told her about it. I want to say that it was right when I got home from school, but I honestly don't remember. I do remember that mom asked me what I thought I should do about it. And I knew. I had to turn myself in.

But it was a Friday, which meant I had the whole weekend to torture myself about it. Whether I grounded myself or my parents grounded me, I don't remember. I think they must have felt bad for me though, because I remember them (Dad?) letting me watch a Shania Twain concert on TV that night. And as silly as it sounds, that little mercy really did help me feel a little better. Because I did feel awful.

Straight away on Monday morning, my mom and I went to talk to Mrs. Neander, my teacher. I told her what had happened. She was very kind, and asked me what I thought we should do about it. I think I told her that I thought I should have to re-take the test and get a zero on it. I know I thought I deserved a zero.

But all she had me do was re-take the test. Which I ended up getting an 'A' on--although it wasn't a perfect score. I remember being surprised at how lenient everyone was to me. I totally felt like I deserved the worst punishments ever. (Whatever those may have been to my fifth grade self.)

Anyway. The point of this post is all background to what happened Saturday morning.

Tyler and I were sitting at the kitchen table feeding Rich and somehow, began to quiz each other on our states and capitals.

It was bad. Embarrassingly so. Like, I knew Helena was the capital of something, but I couldn't remember what. (It's Montana. Shout out to my home girl, McKenna.) And I thought Salem was the capital of Massachusetts. (It's the capital of Oregon. Boston is the capital of Massachusetts.) And Tyler and I were convinced that Philadelphia was the capital of Pennsylvania (it's actually Harrisburg). And I was sure there was a New Jersey City. (There might be. I know there's a Jersey City--right? But the capital of New Jersey is actually Trenton.)

And who can keep track of the capital of Maine?!?! I couldn't. I couldn't even think of one city in Maine. Let alone the capital. (It's Augusta.)

So really, the point of this post is really to say that cheaters really do not ever prosper. Maybe if I had better committed this info to memory in fifth grade, I would not be so woefully inept now.

And maybe because of my fifth grade indiscretion, I feel like I am honor bound to learn the states and capitals and know them forever. As in, this is the only way I can truly redeem my pride. So yes. I made flash cards. And yes. I am determined to know my states and corresponding capitals by the end of this week. And hopefully be able to identify them all on a map. (Though that might have to come later. Geography really has never been my thing.)

So when you see me, quiz me. See if I am redeeming my pride--or if I am letting my brain rot away into nothingness.