Where Is My Ex-Husband's Wedding Ring?

As you know, I’m on the prowl. I’ve been dating, which inevitably includes pondering the mystery of the “two great dates and he disappears” phenomenon. I’ve been doing a little making out with guys who are too young for me (I gotta stop that!). Hell, I even went on a total setup/pseudo blind date (still waiting for him to follow up properly). But, so far, nothing much to report on my dating life.

No boyfriend material means I have been admiring the goods just about everywhere I go!

The other day, I was checking out guys when I was… um, someplace and breathing. The mall? The grocery store? The library? Who knows. A single woman on the prowl must keep her eyes peeled, folks. And what do I notice first? His hands.

Since I was about 20-years-old, whenever I’m checking out guys, I always, always, always do the WBC.

WBC is Kat speak for "Wedding Band Check."

My eye automatically drifts down to any guy’s left ring finger. Then my next thought would either be “Game on (possibly!)” if his finger were vacant or “Damn. Next!” if his finger were occupied. It’s funny, even when I was married, I would find myself checking, just out of curiosity.

(For the record, I just look at his finger. I rarely actually approach the guy with the naked finger, though I’m working on my courage. And I stay far away from a guy with a ring!)

So anyway when I was scoping out some cute stranger’s hand while shopping or picking out cereal or selecting a book, a thought struck me: I bet women check out Max and his naked left hand all the time. I mean, why wouldn’t they? He’s just about six feet tall, a lean but strong build, a good head of dark hair, and an amazing smile. A handsome guy who’s not wearing a ring? He’s prime for the picking!

Whoa. Other women are looking at Max. Does he notice? Does he care? Has he dated at all? Has he kissed anyone?

What did he do with the elegant platinum wedding band that he selected five years ago?

(He was still wearing it when we met with the mediators. It was so sad. My rings had been off for weeks.)

I looked down at my naked left ring finger. Max never once asked me what I did with my engagement ring. (I sold it last year and bought myself a right hand ring.) He certainly has never asked me about dating. So I guess I’ll never know what became of his wedding band.

Do you regularly do the WBC? Do you know what your ex did with his or her wedding rings?

Driving My Ex-Husband's Car and Dumping the Memories

If you had the option to own something that you strongly associate with your ex, would you buy it? Could you disassociate the memories of the ex from the object you want?

I did in the name of getting a car I like for a price I love.

My new ride!

Max no longer needs his car, a 2002 Honda in very good condition. I drive a 2005 Sentra with an irritatingly small trunk and no sunroof. I’ve always coveted the Honda, so we discussed having me buy his car off of him.

Max was willing to give me an excellent price under two conditions: I get a small dent repaired (mishap with a pole in Lillian’s garage two years ago that he never repaired) and buy new tires. In his words, “I know the dent isn’t a safety issue, but I just don’t want you driving around in a dented car.” I thought that was sweet -- he's always wanted me to drive a nicer car.

I was chatting with my brother about this impending deal, and he asked me a good question: “Are you sure it will be OK to have Max’s car? Like will there be any issues with memories with that car?”

Fair point.

I do in fact have many memories of Max and me in the Honda since 2005.

We took our first roadtrip together to Bangor, Maine, to spend a weekend with his college friends. It would be at least 12 hours in the Honda, just the two of us. I remember saying to Nora, “I’m either going to come home more in love with him or I will have dumped him!” Max and I returned even more smitten with each other.

Countless times, we went to visit his college friends and their two children, who live about an hour away from us. We loved playing with their kids. Max and I would drive home talking about the adorable things the kids said and how much we admired his friends as parents. “When we have kids,” I used to say, “we will do team parenting, just like them.” 

In the Honda, ae drove to his parents’ in New England house for my first visit. I was nervous but so excited to see Max’s hometown and the house where he grew up. When we would visit, he loved to take me out in the car, sunroof open, and just cruise around. He’d tell me that was where he had cross country practice and over there was his old buddy Tom’s house.

Sometimes on our drives to New England I would read to him. We laughed together as I read Me Talk Pretty One Day. I shuddered and he playfully called me a wus as I read The Hunger Games.

But then there are the sad Honda memories.

We took his car the first time we saw a urologist about his lack of libido. (I knew he’d never go straight to counseling, so I suggested getting him physically checked first.) The climate in the car was cool, to say the least.

Then there were many trips to therapists, often in the Honda. The rides there and back would just suck. I always desperately hoped that the therapy session would get Max to open up to me on the way home, but it never went that way. Any sign of progress in the session would disappear as soon as we were back in the car, back in regular life where he would hide from his demons.

I will never forget the drive Thanksgiving 2010. We were driving to Max's parents’ for the holiday and his depression was in full swing. He was cold and distant. I can’t remember what he said (or didn’t say), but I ended up crying. In fact, I cried in that front passenger seat for almost three hours straight. Not once did he reach over and touch my hand or tell me it would be OK. I said to him, “What the hell is wrong with you that you can sit next to your wife when she crying like this and you don’t say a word?” Silence. Through my tears, I gazed out the window as the bare trees on the Mass Pike flew by.

He drove us to the last therapy session that we had together, the one when I knew in my heart that there was no hope left for us. I cried so hard after that appointment that I couldn’t speak.

He drove me in that Honda to the train station when I left him for a month in hopes he’d figure himself out and come get me. I rode in that same car a month later when he came to pick me up. We were both quiet on the ride home, unsure of how to interact with each other. I tried to look busy with staring out the window.

And finally we rode in the Honda to the courthouse on the day we got divorced. We sat in the car after a judge declared our marriage was over, and we both cried. I wiped my nose on Dunkin Donuts napkins I dug out of the glove compartment. We promised to always love each other.

So, yes, Little Brother, the Honda certainly is full of memories. 

But, my divorce has made me really good at detaching emotion from things of monetary value. Our condo quickly became an asset to unload, not my married home. My beautiful engagement ring, which I took off almost a year ago now, would help pad my savings account and fund my right hand ring, not a sign of the promises and future that were not meant to be. Our king size bed is a good quality piece of furniture, not The Bed of Constant Rejection, as I once called it, and I now love sleeping in it alone. Inanimate objects have no soul, no luck, no intentions. They are just things. When I need to, I now know I can strip objects of my feelings so I can make practical financial decisions.

As of today, I officially own the Honda. With the sunroof open, I will drive and enjoy my new purchase.

Do you have things that belonged to your ex? Do those objects make you think of your ex, or are you able to detach the memories?

The Story of How He Proposed

Today is five years since Max proposed to me. Crazy, seems like it just happened. Just for posterity's sake, I consulted the blog I kept during my wedding planning (ironic, right?) and pulled the following piece of history, just for you.

You can't have a wedding without a proposal (though supposedly my dad never actually proposed to my mom, but that's a different story), so here's the e-mail I wrote to Stacey, Melanie, and Margo the morning after Max popped the question:

June 21, 2008

Hello my dear friends in Europe --
Well, since I can't call you guys, i have to tell you over e-mail.

Max and I broke up.

JUST KIDDING! We're getting married!!!!! Ahh!

He proposed to me last night in NYC and I said yes (obviously). Oh my gosh I can't believe I'm even writing this! :-D

I know you want the story, so I'll write it out for ya.

I suggested last week to make Friday night a date night because as usual, I have a ton of plans the next few weeks, so I wanted some quality time with max. So on wednesday, he starts making suggestions, like cooking me dinner, maybe taking a picnic to my favorite park, etc. Then Thursday night, I'd nodded off on the couch and he wakes me up and tells me we're taking a 6:30 train on Friday, and everything else is a surprise.

As we're getting ready to go, max insisted on bringing a backpack to put jackets in. Hmm... a backpack... what else could be in there?! I admit to having moments of suspicion during the course of all this. :)

So we go into NYC and have a drink at Cipriani in Grand Central. Then we walked to a restaurant on the upper east side called Candle 79. Turns out it's supposed to be one of the best vegetarian restaurants in the city. Even better though -- it was all organic AND vegan! I was in heaven. Max said it was because whenever we go out to dinner, i have to scrounge the menu to find something to eat, so he wanted to take me somewhere that i had a whole menu of choices for me. At the end of the meal, he said the night wasn't over yet -- he had bought 2 tickets for the last elevator up to Top of the Rock in Rockefellar Center. we went there for my b'day a year and a half ago, and max said he wanted to take me at night -- he said "i know you love sparkly things, and the nyc skyline is the biggest sparkly thing i could think of." Now... i admit... i start to wonder again.

We go up to Top of the Rock and the views were of course gorgeous. Lightning came, which was very cool to watch, and people started to clear out. max seemed a little antsy about picking a spot to sit. Then his eyes were getting shifty, checking to see if people were around. He kept wanting to go outside, but the rain was starting. Finally he said to come outside... he had one more surprise. Yup, you guessed it -- he got down on one knee outside -- a little rain, a perfect view of the empire state building -- and pulled out the little box. I have attached a picture of us about 3 minutes after i said yes. :-D

I had said that i just wanted a proposal story that would be fun to tell people now, but cool to tell our kids. This is the perfect story!

lots of love,
Kat


P.S. My engagement ring sold on eBay almost exactly five years to the day after Max bought it for me.

P.P.S. If this isn't your first time reading my blog, you can guess that we did not have sex when we got home that night, or at all that weekend. Yes, I still remember that.

If you're divorced, how do you feel now when you think about the day you got engaged? Sad? Angry? Wistful? Indifferent? A messy mix?

I'm Not A Mom. Do I Cry or Cheer? 12 Reasons to Cheer for Being Childfree (Right Now)

This week, I was in CVS buying a pile of cards. Two of my friends had babies. My brother and sister-in-law’s and parents’ anniversaries are coming up. And of course, Mother’s Day. (Any other card-worthy occasions we can add to make this divorcee feel sorry for herself?)

You should know that I pride myself on finding the perfect card, which means I’m one of those annoying people in the card aisle who has to read every card before deciding on one. As I waded through the sappy Mother's Day cards, tears sprung to my eyes, quite unexpectedly. Would anyone ever buy me a Mother’s Day card?

Well-meaning friends and family often tell me how “lucky” I am that Max and I never had kids because when we go our separate ways, it's over. They also say that being 33 isn’t that old for me to have kids with someone else in the future. But let’s be honest: I’m not getting any younger and I’m not in a relationship, so do the math. (For goodness sake, I still LIVE with Max.) The harsh reality is that I might never be a mother because of the years I spent trying to salvage a sexless relationship.

Before Max and I got married, we agreed that having kids was a deal breaker – we both definitely wanted to be parents. As our sex life disappeared, we took to telling people that we weren't sure if we wanted kids. This actually was true for me; I knew my relationship wasn't stable enough to bring a baby into the mix, which genuinely made me NOT want kids, even though Max and I would've been a fantastic team as parents.

Now that I'm single again, there are moments when I'm so unsure about where I stand on motherhood. Being 33 and childless is not a choice I made, but rather a corner I backed in to. Max stopped having sex with me and there was nothing I or any therapist could do to reverse it. I admit it: I’m angry at Max for possibly taking away my chance at motherhood. Some part of me will always resent him for it, whether that is fair or not.

But I prefer to have a positive outlook, so here are 12 reasons why I’m glad to NOT have kids at this exact moment in my life:

12.There are no Baby Einstein videos or Old McDonald mp4s clogging up my iPhone. My phone contains stuff that amuses me and only me.
11. I can answer a booty call and not come home until 3 a.m.
10. My breasts are mine. They are playthings that nicely fill out sweaters, and not a food source. Hot!
 9. I could splurge on my right-hand ring and monogram necklace. I never would’ve done that if I had kids.
 8. I can waste time if I feel like it. Yesterday, I ran a 10K then sat on my friend’s couch smoking some weed and watching How to Train Your Dragon. Find me a mom who wasted a Saturday that stupidly and awesomely.
 7. Since it’s just Max and me living here, it’s not hard to keep the condo clean while it’s on the market. When my parents put our house on the market in the late 1980s, they had three kids under the age of 11. Sounds like a nightmare!
 6. I have time to dedicate to keeping my body and soul healthy.  Exercise and volunteering are critical for keeping my problems in perspective. I ran a 15K last month and plan to run a half marathon by October. I’ve also been going to yoga and Spinning regularly for months now. I am keeping up my volunteer work; this summer I’ll spend a week as a volunteer sleep away camp counselor for kids with cancer. If I had a baby, I just wouldn’t have this kind of time.
 5. I make meals that I like. No chicken fingers, no pureed apples and pears, no Puffs.
 4. If I had a baby, I would focus on my baby and not other people's babies. Since I don’t have my own, I get to focus on my niece, nephews, and my friends’ children. I play with and snuggle them and then give them back when they start whining or smelling suspicious.
 3. I don’t bore people with the hideously dull and/or disgusting details of diaper rash and sleep training and teething. I find other ways to bore people.
 2. It’s Sunday morning and my big motivation to get out of bed was to go to my 10 a.m. yoga class. You parents whose kids wake you at 6 a.m. on a Sunday have my condolences.
 1. When I felt I had to get a divorce, I didn’t have to consider anyone’s feelings except Max’s and mine. I truly cannot imagine going through a divorce with children.

A theme I keep coming back to is how remarkable it is that I can experience polar opposite emotions in the same moment. This Mother's Day, I'm simultaneously relieved and heartbroken to not be a mom.

What does Mother’s Day mean to you after your divorce?

Related reading: What not to say to people who don't want kids.

I, Kat, Promise to Love, Honor, and Cherish MYSELF.

You sure looked good on me. I'll miss you.

For any woman who’s gotten engaged, you remember the feeling of being borderline or actually obsessed with your new engagement ring. It’s new and sparkly and (yikes!) expensive, but best of all, an exciting statement to the world: someone loves me so much that he wants to spend his entire freaking life with ME! [See the story about how he proposed.]

I was no different. I love my engagement ring. I had no idea at the time, but Max shopped and compared and agonized over finding the perfect ring for me. It is a round cut diamond in a classic solitaire setting – a lovely reflection of Max’s and my tastes. I wore it with much pride and love for four and half years.

But as things disintegrated between Max and me, the ring felt more like a burden than a symbol of love. By autumn 2012, I was very ready to take it off. Once we’d picked a mediator, I was done. I put the ring in a box and hid it in my underwear drawer. I didn’t even want to see the box anymore.

I started detaching myself emotionally from the ring and shifted towards viewing it as an asset with monetary value. I decided that as soon as the divorce was final, I would sell it and use some of the money to buy myself a ring for my right hand and put the rest of money in my savings account.

I spent the past two months going to jewelers to see what they would pay me for it (not enough!), and eventually found someone to sell it for me on eBay. I then placed the order for my new bling – a set of three stackable rings, each ring with 12 diamonds in a different shade of gold. It looked absolutely nothing like any engagement or wedding band I’ve seen. It would be a little funky but classy. The perfect “I’m married to me!” ring.

Look, depression in a box!

Well, on Thursday, the time came to send my ring off to the eBay seller. That morning, I put it on one last time. As I packaged up the ring, I was surprised to feel a knot in my chest and a lump in my throat. This ugly brown box and plastic wrap was so unworthy of transporting the most beautiful piece of jewelry I’d ever had. Some stranger was going to sell this ring, and some other stranger will (hopefully) buy it. SOME OTHER WOMAN WILL WEAR MY RING. Was I really ready to say goodbye to the ring and the promises it symbolized? I considered waiting to send it, but whether I sent it that day or in a month, it would still hurt, so no time like the present. And there was no way this ring was coming to my new apartment whenever I move. I took a deep breath and sealed the box with excessive packing tape. [UPDATE: See the ring on eBay.]

I went to my company’s mailroom to send it off. Here’s how the conversation with Tom the mailroom guy went:

[me entering the value of the package on the UPS website]
Tom: Uh, did you mean to put in that many zeros?
Me: Yes.
Tom: Wow, what’s in there?
Me: My engagement ring.
Tom: Oh, you getting it sized or something?
Me: Nope. I just got divorced. I’m selling it.
Tom: Uh, I’m really sorry… uhh…
[awkward pause]
Me: I know, you feel awkward now. Stop feeling awkward. Let’s get this shipped!

Next thing I knew, Tom was putting my beloved ring in with the pile of other packages for the UPS driver. (By the way, my package was the most expensive thing Tom’s ever shipped. At least he got a good story to tell his buddies this weekend.) With a $126 charge for the shipping fee slapped on my credit card, I headed back to my desk with a heavy heart.

It's not a coincidence that I got a manicure.
I'm going to show this baby off!

But! How is this for timing? The next morning, the jeweler called to say my ring was ready a week early (and not a moment too soon).

I put it on today and tears sprang to my eyes. The small diamonds sparkled against the three shades of gold. I might have another great love, or I might not. But no matter what happens in my life, this new ring will be on my right ring finger. It’s my promise to love, honor, and cherish ME.

What did you do with your engagement or wedding ring?