My mom use to say that the first thing she would grab in a fire (assuming we were all safe of course) was her photo albums. As a surly girl that didn't always get along with my mom I found that lame. I'm sure that I would have said something actually lame like my random collection of 90's R&B and Christian Ska CD's.
It must be strange to be a parent. For years your kids roll their eyes at you and you think that they aren't listening. And then years later they are blogging about how they cherished the friday night grocery store marathons and they boast the same hobbies you do.
It's so easy to forget about printing photos and organizing them into books. Our lives our documented in concise clickable facebook albums with witty titles. Yet every few months I find myself tucked in the corner of CVS with a jam packed flash drive. I never feel guilty paying for the precious glossy 4x6s. Sometimes I even splurge on an 8x10 of a particularly lovely memory. If our house caught fire and everyone was out safe absolutely the first thing I would grab is my photo albums.
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