The Collector

Remembering the childlike wonder of savoring the little things

When I was a little girl growing up in Ashland, Ore., I was a collector of treasures. Most of my finds were discovered walking to and from school everyday: rocks, sticks, coins, gum wrappers, and more. I would pick up these items and carry them home. Later, like a pirate hoarding his booty, I would tuck my countless finds into the dark and hidden corners of my attic bedroom.

I do not recall now why exactly these little bits of this and that so entranced me, but I fancy myself a junior archaeologist who interpreted deep meaning in these discoveries. As a child I was a voracious reader and had an active imagination. I am certain these prizes were key to my creative play.

But my stockpile mounted to my mom's chagrin. She could not understand why I considered everyday garbage such precious finds. Finally, she decided it was easier -- for her and me -- to wait, clean my room, and purge it of these senseless trophies while I was visiting my dad in another state. I would return home to a sparkling bedroom, but with the daunting task of having to start my collection all over again.

Fast forward 30 years and it comes as no surprise that Barcelona, my 4-year-old daughter, is also a collector. She will find a penny (her name for coins of any value) and hold onto it until it gets lost or I convince her to deposit it in her piggy bank. She also picks up small pebbles, pine cones, feathers, leaves...

Unlike my mom, I understand some of the appeal as my daughter makes clear her delight in the size, textures and colors of her finds. Like I did, she tucks these tiny treasures of hers in places and often forgets where. If we unexpectedly find one of her souvenirs, she regards it with the same wonder as when first she discovered it. It was never really lost, per se, just temporarily misplaced.

There are times when I pick up the toys in Barcelona's bedroom and I think things have gone missing, disappeared into thin air. I remember reading "The Borrowers" as a youngster and shake my head knowing Barcelona's stuff is somewhere in the little girl's bedroom, but like a pirate, she's just hidden it from the view of adult eyes.

It was months after a play date with Barcelona's best friend Miranda when I discovered where the two girls squirreled away some baby doll accessories, Mardi Gras beads and more. That day I happened to pick up a frog hand puppet and I realized something was inside. I gave it a gentle shake and out tumbled the stuffing -- baby doll binkies and all! I cannot fathom what the two were playing at, but can imagine an interesting tale.

More recently, my daughter's collecting took an interesting, if not somewhat disturbing, turn. One evening, when I walked into her room to kiss her goodnight, I caught her pressing a freshly picked booger onto her headboard.

"Gross!" I said and grabbed a tissue in which I gathered the offending object and its neighboring friends.

"I want that," my daughter whined, hand outstretched.

"What, the Kleenex?" I asked.

"No... The BOOGER!"

Several motherly responses cycled through my brain, but none of them seemed appropriate for this little collector of mine. So I handed over the tissue with strict instructions that any other boogers be placed directly into the tissue and not on her headboard. The next morning, I was able to discreetly throw it away without protest from Barcelona.

When I recently shared this story with another mom, she laughed and assured me my daughter was just going through a phase.

"After all, I remember being pretty fascinated by boogers at this age -- and I am not anymore!" she said and we both chuckled over our children's heads.

Of course I realize my daughter will probably stop picking her nose for fun, but deep down I hope she keeps on collecting. I find something magical about how Barcelona views her world and what she thinks is important. After all, I am still known to pick up pretty rocks and leaves, now and then, and imagine their stories. We don't have to lose that childlike wonder in the little things just because we have grown up.

Mommy Time Column ~ September 2005