My daughter collects “sparkles” like it is a rare currency.  These sparkles, as she calls them, are an array of red, blue, green or yellow shapes of flowers, circles and hearts. In her pre-school playground, they are littered outside in various places, under the swings, on the slides, and in the sand. I suspect they catch the eye of most young children, the reflection of the glisten too irresistible for them. My guess is that the teachers buy these “sparkles” at the local craft store and color the playground with them, an inexpensive way to keep four year olds busy.

When she comes home from school, her fingers are closed in a fist, while my eye catches a glimpse of one blue sparkle trying to wriggle its way out of her sweaty palms.

As she sits down in her car seat, she says to me “Momma, I brought something for you.”

I play along and say, “What?”

Her eyes are open wide, like she wants to give the whole world to me, and she says,

“They are SPARKLES! So many of them. And you know what Momma, I love you so muches.”

She then opens her fists and pours these tiny bits of little love currencies in my hand.

I feel the love as the rainbow of sparkles are transferred from her fingers to mine.

And I can’t help but sparkle a little too.

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