Grandchild Number 32 and the Case of the Missing Ring as well as a YouTube Treat

It's kinda mysterious how things just keep working out for me. Like, I couldn't find my wedding band anywhere. I looked in all the usual places, by the bedside, next to the computer, on the bathroom sink but it wasn't there, there or there. You see, I am not of the sentimental variety who do not, under any superstitious circumstances, take off their wedding ring. To me, it is entirely claustrophobic to have all that metal attached to my person. (And by-the-way this has been my story even before Paris made claustrophobia social acceptable and/or trendy.) I really only wear my rings in public so that all the hot guys know that this chick is un-avai-la-ble. If you think taking off a wedding band when it is annoying or distracting or even convenient is indicative of how I regard marriage then you'd probably be right. I am on marriage numero dos, as you'll recall. Fair warning to Chup.

So where was I?

Yes so I couldn't find my band and I even had the nerve to call our suite in Vegas and accuse housekeeping. Ricardo Cpt. of HK assured me that he'd open a full "investigation" of all "staff" and maybe even "former guests" who might've stayed in our room after our visit. To be honest here, Chup and I found a very, very large bottle of Jim Bean Whisky in our room when we got there. Perhaps the guests in suite 318 before us might also launch an investigation of their missing Jim Bean wherewith we will have to stand trial and admit that our Mormon ways forced us to pour the evil contents in the very, very expensive bottle down the drain. Removing temptation? That is so Mormon.

And then . . . I lost my place.

Oh right. Ok so after Ricardo promised his best work on my behalf, the thought came to me that perhaps I should, you know, pray about finding that ring. So I sorta bowed my head and asked for my ring back. It is in your ring box, the thought occurred. I collect cocktail rings which I buy in spurts (I HAVE NEVER TYPED THE WORD "SPURTS" BEFORE! Except in talking about the San Antonio Spurts and how they keep winning the NBA and NOBODY CARES!) at the Z Gallery in Salt Lake. I have all sorts of Zsa Zsa rings that your Grandmother would love. There is this blue one which was given to me by a large German woman named Hilda in exchange for a picture of me "with freckles." Not a hard trade. I don't mix my cocktail rings with my wedding rings on account of that being blasphemy.

But...um.

So right! I dug through all my rings and there at the bottom was my single band of diamonds which I refer to as my sunshine rainbow (which I don't really refer to as my sunshine rainbow.) I was so happy I thought, I should pray more often. I was able to wear it as Chup treated me to a most delicious anniversary weekend in the Big City. You can pray all you want, but the details of our holiday will not be disclosed publicly, but otherwise, things seem to work out better when you pray for it.

But also my brother Andrew prayed and prayed to have a son, and behold, this week he had one:

When I see this photo I pray a little bit that my heart won't escape my chest and ooze out my ribcage as it has turned into a big puddle of tenderness goo.

Congratulations Meg and Andrew and Welcome to the World Duke!

And in the spirit of praying, I pray this video brings you the same amount of happiness as a piping plate of fresh-made cinnamon rolls that I left on your doorstep on some bitter cold morning. Now walk it out.