Eight years and three rings later
Everyone’s ring story is different. Now, I’m not talking about an engagement story, that’s a whole different ball of wax. Today, I want to get into the history of the ring on a finger. Promise rings, heirloom engagement rings, anniversary jackets, upgraded stones. The options don’t end, much to our pleasure and spouses chagrin. No matter the carat or metal, we like pretty things that have pretty stories behind them. Here’s mine.
For me and my husband, our story started with a promise. His family is super duper Irish and their family wears claddagh rings. Have you heard of those? They represent love, loyalty, and friendship. These rings are basically your Irish version of a relationship status update.
After a month of dating, we knew we wanted be exclusive and get serious. In his family, you exchange claddagh rings when you begin to court (no, not the Duggar version of courting. C’mon, now.) and they take the form of a promise ring. So, Kyle got be a beautiful ring that I wore with pride for five whole months until I wore him down enough to propose.
Three dates in, I knew I wanted to marry the guy. Sold, sign me up, let’s do this thing. At the time, I worked in a bridal shop and planned weddings as a side hustle (fun fact: I love this term–the #boysatwork taught it to me and I can’t stop using it). I had white tulle and lace floating around in my head all the time and poor Kyle didn’t stand a chance. Sure did show him the exact ring I wanted. Sure did send him websites of online retailers with good reps. Sure did pressure the ever loving crap out of him. Bless his heart. Thank God he loved me and put up with me enough to go along with my grand scheme of happily ever after.
Fast forward to a Monday evening, eating takeout on my couch while watching American Idol, when Kyle proposed. He’d ordered me a ring online and received the notice it’d been delivered while we were sitting there. Since that man can’t keep a secret about Christmas gifts or juicy gossip, he definitely couldn’t keep a ring a secret. So with my salad fork in my hand, he asked me to marry him. As I’m no fool, I said yes. Here’s the trick: my ring was 45 miles away at his house.
One quick trip up the interstate later, Kyle is opening the box from the jeweler and he looks at me with disappointment. God love him, the man isn’t a jeweler and he was expecting the exact style he saw online, not the carat size that fit our budget. He hesitated to give it to me and started to apologize, but it wasn’t the fancy ring I wanted (ok, maybe a little bit, if I’m being totally honest here). In all truthfulness and gushiness, I just wanted to be his wife. So he got down on one knee and proposed again, this time with my ring. The minute he put it on my finger, I loved it. I became territorial of it. So what if it’s not ginormous? So what if other gal’s had larger stones? My fiancé picked it out for me because he wanted to marry me. End of story.
On our wedding day, I walked down the aisle wearing my claddagh ring, as did Kyle. Before exchanging wedding rings, we took off our promise rings and put them in a box that I keep in our library at home. We made a promise, we kept it, and we’re still keeping it.
Annnnnnd I Still Do
Oh, yeah, the third ring. Ok, so a year into our marriage, Kyle couldn’t take it anymore and got me a new ring. Said he appreciated me loving the original, but he wanted to look at my hand with pride. Since I’m still no fool, I didn’t put up a fight. I added my original wedding ring to our promise ring box and someday it’ll be passed down to our daughter.
So, what’s your ring story? I remember once saying to a friend that after working in the bridal industry for over 10 years, I’ve seen countless styles and I still don’t have a favorite. I’m a sucker for all things that go shine, so post a picture of your love bling on Instagram. Tag me so I can ogle your S.O.’s good taste.