A time capsule captures and holds memories for us to find far in the future. When I explain this concept to my son, he urgently peppers me with questions.
"Where does it take our memories? Will our memories go away? How will we find them again?"
"We'll put pictures, drawings, and toys in our time capsule, seal it up and hide it away in a secret place. Then, in 10 years, we'll find it and open it so we can remember a bit about your life now," I reply, wondering if that made any sense.
"Will I be an adult by the time we find our time capsule?" he asks, hopeful.
"Almost, but not quite," I say, knowing the time will come sooner than I can possibly imagine.
Since I'm a photo-booking hobbyist, I most enjoy choosing photos which represent my son's interests and the family. We take a new one of the family, just for the occasion.
When it comes to picking out toys for our time capsule, we hit friction. The need for small toys isn't the problem, but finding ones meaningful enough to merit disappearing into our capsule proves difficult. My son doesn't want to part with most of them. I suppose one way around this is to let him have access to the capsule, but I'm in it for the long-term commitment, so I gently coax him into the idea. We walk around the house, digging through his toy bins, looking for the sweet spot of small, worthy (related to Legos, animals, vehicles), yet dispensable. Once our choices are assembled, he waves good-bye.