Wrap It Up

I'm cautiously optimistic about my latest endeavor; selling my felted 'java jackets' at a local coffee shop. After the umpteenth time burning my hand on the too-hot paper cup with nary a sleeve in sight, I mentioned to the owner that I make my own, but kept forgetting it.

She asked me to bring some in and the next thing you know I'm printing out "Go Green with Java Jackets by Sally HP" labels to tie on my newly felted creations. Will I have a huge profit margin? No. But it's fun, and it's something to keep me busy...because two kids and a household to run just wasn't enough. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment, but I'm just excited to get my name out there and have something to do that's my very own.

Plus, it gets a little old spending your husband's money all the time. Who knew?! I was trying to teach H and C to say "Hey, Sugar Daddy!" when J walks in from work, but it's just not catching on.

On that note, J and I will be celebrating our six year anniversary in just a few weeks. It's too bad it's not our seventh, or I'd be able to wittily quip about the seven-year-itch (well, I guess I still try) as I've recently developed a raging allergic reaction to my ring, leaving me self-consciously mentioning my husband each time someone sees the crazed mommy of two in the grocery store and glances conspicuously at my naked finger.

J kept telling me to "Stop wearing that ring, and put some cortisone cream and a band-aid on it!"; my response? "What? Are you a doctor or something? Oh. Well, you're not my doctor." Seriously, will the boy never learn? I finally followed the dear doctor's advice and, miraculously, it cleared up. I slipped my ring back on and within a few hours it was red and angry again.

I had initially chalked it up to the cold, dry winter paired with the 8 billion daily hand-washings that come with changing diapers and wiping bottoms. Now, I know that it's just my body's way of throwing me a bone. When I see that perfect "past, present, future" ring that's over 2 carats I can say with confidence My Body Needs It! J didn't find this theory humorous. He doesn't understand my lust for an item that often means death and destruction in several countries in Africa.

Really, I think it's just that the yellow gold is peeking through and it needs to be re-rhodium-plated...guess I'm a cheap date after all.