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MARY-JANE DUNCAN: I put on my wedding band, and I have to laugh

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The wearing of wedding bands traditionally symbolises friendship, commitment, love, trust and devotion.

It also simply means the wearer is essentially no longer ‘available’.  Their search for eternal love complete and reservations at First Dates Hotel cancelled.

Each morning as I pop on my wedding ring, I’m happily reminded I’m lucky enough to be as devoted to himself as I was long before the day I married him.

The absolute nick of myself…

Today it also made me laugh.  Mostly due to the absolute nick of myself.  Imagining if I forgot to wear my wedding ring, he’d open the door and have to fight back a swarm of enthusiastic suitors all vying for my affections.

No fear of that.  Let me quickly explain why.

We have skipped off to the Highlands.  Our wonderful friends gifted us a wee stay in their gorgeous holiday spot.  Allowing us all to be together for himself’s birthday.

And to be away from all the usual stresses as the fourth anniversary of my cancer diagnosis is also, coincidently, upon us.

Will I ever learn?

Friday morning sees the kids at school and me at work.  Himself and biggest bam are asked to ‘get on with things’ so we can leave just after lunch.  When. Will. I. Ever. Learn?

Mary-Jane’s family on their weekend away.

Except this time, I’m the one (mostly) at fault.  He’s managed to sort the dogs.  The kids have each packed a bag.  At the last gasp, the toothbrushes are remembered.

My hasty ‘packing’ consists of grabbing the top of the ironing pile and hoping for the best.  Please, let’s just go!

We managed four whole miles.  Literally only as far as the nearest Tesco.  Everyone apparently STARVING and biggest needed fuel for her car.  Car snacks and fuel purchased, we’re off again.

Our kids are not tiny toddlers who don’t have a concept of space/ time/ distance, yet within 45 minutes there were cries to stop again.

Are we there yet?

After frantically googling for public toilets, without success, they stopped and snuck into a hotel, justifying our cheek by reminding ourselves we stayed there a few years ago (I know, I know).  We naturally then passed a public toilet less than 50 yards down the road.  It apparently wasn’t on google (it was).

You would think having to travel in two cars would cut out the ‘are we nearly there yet’ whines.  It does not.

It just means these technologically competent teens are savvy enough to TEXT their complaints instead.  You there!  At the back of the convoy.  Pipe down please.

Just relax, listen to some tunes and admire the beautiful country we live in.  And if that’s not enough, you’re smart enough to text so you’re clearly clever enough to use google maps.

Ah, the serenity. Mary-Jane and the bairns get there in the end.

I managed to organise food and drink for the weekend, a birthday cake, candles, presents, cards and games.  I’ve answered work emails and dealt with even more enquiries while en route.

I’d asked them to put in coats and boots suitable for the Scottish highlands – they didn’t.  However, for all my chat about their inability to pack correctly, they’ve come with us and they’re in great spirits.

So, I’ll pick my battles and gloss over their belief trainers and a hoody are suitable ‘walking’ attire.

Himself stands in his standard jeans and hoodie uniform ready for our walk.  I’ve managed to remember my ‘walking’ trousers.  They’re not high end nor high tech outdoor gear, just rare breeks where the elasticated waist still works and I don’t have to keep hoiking them up.

Picture postcard perfect

I’ve even remembered my walking boots but I’ve forgotten the thin layers I favour for walks.  I prefer to rock the thin long-sleeved top under a t-shirt under my jacket.  That’s a nope, nope, nope from me.  No layers.  No jacket.

The cottage is shortbread-box picture perfect.  Right beside every Instagram worthy view seen on every programme Sean Batty has filmed to promote Scotland.

Plenty space to relax.  To be together.  To be apart.  To walk.  To sleep.  And to have wee private moments of hilarity to oneself.

So, to anyone we passed me huffing and puffing down National Cycle Route 78, thank you for not laughing at the mad wifey in her pyjama top confidently wearing her wedding ring to prove how unavailable she is.

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