Kids are collectors. They just are. They find treasure everywhere and bring it home.
It’s a kind of awesome to look and find beauty where it is over looked.
I found treasures when I was a kid. The only good thing about uniform skirts were their deep pockets to hold pretty rocks, found pennies, lost erasers. Once I found a diamond glittering in the dirt.
But as a mom. As a parent. As the adult that has to clean the floors and dust the dressers and supervise the pick up. Found things are a pain in the @ss. One of my friends grits her teeth as she watches her daughter search the ground for treasure.
I was on the verge of that same annoyance, until I remembered that awesome in beauty. How I still randomly pick up pretty rocks, search for shells on the beach, and have random pictures of flowers growing between cracks in the road and signs that I find funny.
Then I had an idea. A rock garden. A special found-things hideaway.
And they stopped collecting treasures.
They started collecting sticks. Lots of sticks. Always sticks. Evan’s school has giant eucalyptus trees that drop the best sticks. Sticks for swords. Sticks for walking. Sticks for wands. Sticks for I-don’t-kn0w-it’s-cool. And I was a wood-gatherer. My car was filled with sticks. Every Saturday I would take out 10 to 20 sticks out of the car. I threw them in the back yard, where they laid in the dirt to be used as weapons or be forgotten.
Then I had a brilliant. A fire pit. A use for all those unneeded sticks. And look they created s’mores.
They’re going to stop collecting sticks, aren’t they?