Artifacts from a young life

A couple of days ago I got Eugenides' newest novel out of the library and I had seven days to read it.  I did it in three.  I have stayed up well beyond a reasonable bedtime every night and am weary now.  It is so hard for me to put down a book even when I know I will suffer for it in the days to come.  If I could figure out how to read for a living, I'd be all right.  After I picked S up from school on Tuesday, we came home, had a snack, checked in, all I wanted to do was pick up the book.  I thought maybe - maybe - if I got her going on her homework followed by an educational video game on my computer, I'd buy myself a half an hour to read and still be with her.  Parallel play.  It worked.  She did her homework, I read, occasionally helping or checking in.  It was paradise.  Then she disappeared into her room.  This is pretty unusual.  S is not one of those only children you hear about who can entertain themselves for hours out of sight of all others.  She tends to want to interact after her homework - take a walk with me, play a board game, help with dinner.  But she was just gone.  I could hear her shuffling around in there, hear drawers opening and closing, the occasional light crash, nothing to worry about.  Once or twice she emerged and grabbed some tape or scissors.  What was she building in there?

I read for a good hour.  I mean a good hour.  God, I love reading.  I glanced up at the clock, I was going to have to start dinner.  Throughout this low-energy bluesy time, I've maintained certain activities.  Non-negotiables.  I get S to school on time every day, well-fed and with a home-made lunch.  I make healthy dinner from scratch.  I keep the house fairly clean.  Still pursuing writing, but with less fervor than it deserves, still trying to figure out how to use my MFT license without diving into another fucked-up public mental health job, still spending too many hours a day researching homes in a small town far away yet to be publicly announced as my husband is still sucking off the television industry teat, I am primarily a glorified housewife/stay-at-home mom.  At least everyone is eating healthy food and the house is in order, even as my brain is a bit wonky.

Finally, S comes out of the bedroom with a reusable shopping bag over one shoulder.
"Can I do my presentation for you?"
I sit up.  I wrench the book away from my body, remind myself it will still be there at bedtime.
"I would love to hear your presentation."
"Pretend you're at table one, ok?"
"Ok."
"So after I show you something, I'll pass it to you, then you pretend to pass it to table two, but you can really just put it down on the side table."
"Got it.  This is your artifact presentation?"
S nods.  Then she stands in the middle of the living room rug and rocks back and forth, smiles like she's trying not to giggle, seems to have a hard time knowing where to rest her eyes.  She has switched into performance mode.
"This is a book called Harold and The Purple Crayon.  It is one of my favorite books because the boy draws everything with his crayon and I've had it for a long time and my mom's friend Adam gave it to me and he moved to New York and I miss him and so it's very special to me."
She hands me the book and slips me a quick smile that says she's excited about what she's put together here.  I try not to get teary.  When I get proud, gushy teary, she always says, "Seriously, mom?"
I place the book on table two.
Next she pulls out her baseball glove, "This is a really good kind that you can't get anymore.  It is a Reggie Jackson glove and my uncle gave it to me.  [How old is it, mom?]"
I think, then whisper so as not to insert myself into her presentation, "Over thirty years old."
She continues, "It's over thirty years old and it's very special to me because as you probably know, I love baseball.  And I'm a lefty."
She hands it over, I consider it and place it on the table.
A super close-up picture of our dog is accompanied the narrative, "he's very lazy because he's had two knee surgeries..." then self-correction, "I mean, he's very lazy and he's had two knee surgeries so he can't walk very much.  But he was lazy anyway."  A giggle, then, "this picture of him lying on the floor is pretty much what he does all the time."
Next, a metal owl bookmark "that Poppi gave me so it's really special.  He likes to give me bookmarks and lets me pick them out.  I also love to read, so..."
Then, a carved stone owl that "Nana got it for me in Budapest because she knows I love owls.  And they carve a lot of things out of stone there."  Not sure how specifically true that is, but sounds good.
I'm most surprised when she pulls out a bracelet I gave her that I think I bought in the East Village on one of my earliest independent outings, just a series of metal squares linked together and a small rock glued on each - lace agate, amethyst.  "This is special because my mom gave it to me and she knows I love rocks.  I have like 400 rocks in my collection from everywhere we go I get rocks."
The presentation slows down as she shows how the clasp works, which requires her to lay the bracelet down on a table and slide the metal hook through a miniscule loop.  I resist helping her, as I won't be there at the actual presentation.  I imagine the kids will try to help her and the teacher will ask them to sit back down.  She'll figure it out.  I am mesmerized by that bracelet - when and where did I get it exactly?  It's got a real pull for me, a strong feeling of mid-teenage hippie days when I was into rocks and crystals.  It's pretty cool.  She's finally got it on.  "It's too big for me but I hang it on my wall as decoration and someday it will fit."
 Her final item is a geode bookend.  "As I already said, I love rocks and this one is big and sparkly.  My dad gave it to me, I don't know where he got it but he knew I would like it.  There's a bigger one, but this is the best one.  I'm going to pass it around, but be careful because it's heavy..."

It's a random sampling and I wonder if she shouldn't have included items that were more specifically historical - the first tooth she lost?  photos of ancestors?  I stop myself immediately.  This is how she defines herself.  Owls and rock collections.  Her lazy dog.  A book that makes her feel happy.  Her baseball glove.  She asks if she can do it again.
"You can do it all night," I say.
"I like doing this!"
As I watch a second time, I realize the sample isn't random at all.  It has a very deep unifying factor.  "Adam gave me this book before he moved to New York.  He's really important to me." 
"This glove was my uncle's." 
"From Poppi," 
"From Nana," 
"My mom's bracelet that she gave to me,"
"a geode from my dad."  

She defines every item with a description of the person who cares enough about her to give her something from their own private collections from youth or buy her something on their travels because they miss her.  My daughter is only seven and she already knows that material things are only valuable in how they represent love.  That the most important artifacts tell the stories of the relationships you build.  That the story of one’s life is the giving and receiving.  The items, no matter how sparkly, are just symbols of the real stuff.