I was going through my jewelry box recently, while organizing my walk-in closet, and I was surprised by how many little treasures I found.
There were lots of baby teeth, mostly in unlabelled baggies (so I had no idea which kid they came from), a few carefully wrapped baby curls I’d snipped off my toddlers and a couple of vintage $2 bills saved by my husband’s parents back when he was a kid.
I smiled when I pulled out my gold daughter’s pride ring, which was given to me by my almost-stepsister back when I was a teenager. They were a big deal at the time — your birthstone set into a heart, plus the birthstones of your mom and dad.
I haven’t worn it since I was 16 or 17 because that’s when my husband (my boyfriend, back then) started giving me rings that took over the prime positions on my fourth fingers.