My Kids are Rock Stars

My son has made collecting an Olympic sport. He will collect anything. He has all the Skylander’s, every army guy/tank/helicopter he can get his hands on. There is a collection of shark teeth which includes a shark jaw and one prehistoric Megladon tooth that was a birthday gift last year. Through the years we have accumulated Playmobile sets galore, enough Papo figurines to start our own store, and everything he could get his hands on that was related to the Edmund Fitzgerald. I am blaming my husband and Gordon Lightfoot for that last one.

My daughter is just as bad. We have enough American Girl clothing to outfit all of Haiti. There is an enormous number of everything Monster High- blankets, jammies, dolls, a halloween costume, books, folders, notebooks. Well played marketers, well played. When we had to go to the Children’s Hospital for her kidney issues we started the tradition of going to the Build-A-Bear store to get a special friend. She no longer has to go to the hospital, but we have at least 25 Build-A-Bears, and lots of accessories. She also has a shit load of crafts. This kid is the next Martha Stewart. Well maybe not, cause she lacks any ability to organize or clean up her things. But seriously, Michaels threw up in my basement.

What do I collect? Well I hold onto every little bracelet, necklace, or picture that was ever made for me. My favorite collection though is my rock collection. My kids use to like to give me rocks. It started innocently enough with one rock. I had no idea what to do with my new gift, so I put it on my window sill in the kitchen. Through the years one rock has blossomed into a quarry worth of rocks. I see them everyday and it makes me smile. I remember how excited they were when they found just the right one.

“Mom! This is pink!!”

“Did you feel how smooth it is?”

Cute little hands outstretched with their treasures for me. Proud they found just the right one. We could be at a park, the backyard, on a walk and they would spot it. Beaming faces reaching down and picking it up. Now they are older, and the rocks don’t find their way to me anymore. But I have kept the one’s they gave me, not all of them, but a lot. I look at them when I am cleaning the bazillionth dish they put in the sink, or the cup they drop in that splatters milk all over. These little rocks have helped me over the years find peace in motherhood minutia.

I know it sounds weird, but I look at them and think of those smiling toddler faces, those dirty little preschool hands outstretched with a treasure. It reminds me that my kids were only small once and although they drive me nuts they also come with unconditional love.

Do you have anything that your kids have given you?



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