Motherhood is great. I love being a mommy. Love almost everything about it, but where's the sparkle?
I don't mean the sparkle in my kids' eyes, or the giddy joy of playing a new game, but the pretty sparkley shiny things that made me feel feminine and decorative. Glitzy earrings and expensive necklaces. Bracelets that the offspring can't teethe on.
I admit it. I miss it. I miss wearing jewelery that isn't childproof.
There's one piece in particular that I miss wearing.
It's nothing particularly fancy, but it has a lot of meaning for me.
I don't know what this stone is. It was some sort of geode my grandmother cut and polished herself many years ago.
She was a stained glass artist, and she also enjoyed cutting and polishing stones and slabs into beautiful jewelry. When she passed after a bitter struggle with cancer, my mother inherited some of the unfinished stone pieces she'd begun, and this one passed to me.
When I first held it up to the light and saw it's swirl of inclusions and imperfections, I knew I had to make a special home for it, and was actually rather pleased to find that the beads of two of my irritatingly broken necklaces serendipitously would work together to make a perfect necklace to showcase this stone.
So I miss wearing jewelery too precious to have broken by pulling little fingers. I miss the sparkle. The sparkle of light bouncing off multifaceted and brilliantly colored gems, and the sparkle of memories far too dear. I miss wearing this, because when I wear it, she's still alive.