In a rose-coloured flower vase above my bedside table, for want of a better place to shove them, lay the sum total of years and years worth of adventures, attested to by remnants brought home from days out: tickets, stickers, receipts. I had grand plans of making a scrap book of such things, not only for our own memories, but also as evidence of ‘educational days out’ should any official demand to know what we do all day (thus diverting him from the real answer which would be ‘laundry, fight, and minecraft’). I finally realised that record keeping is not me, and instead of trying to organise the mountain of receipts that lay rammed in the jar, finally conceded that ramming things in jars is about my level. Going with the flow I found this box and stuck some maps on it to give the impression of artistic flair and organisation – then I emptied the rose-coloured vase and rammed everything in the box instead.
It sits in our living room, alongside our memory jar, and every so often the boys will take a rummage through it, and more often than not, remember a funny thing that happened. We mostly forget the bickering that obviously went with the experience and remember the fun we had instead. It’s a good way to remember the places we’ve been, but more than that, it’s good to remember the people we’ve been.