The Happiness Project: Or, Why I Spent a Year Trying to Sing in the Morning, Clean My Closets, Fight Right, Read Aristotle, and Generally Have More Fun

solution.
    A friend told me that she kept scrapbooks of such items for each of her kids, but my heart sank at the thought. I was barely keeping up with our family photo albums. Then my Eighth Commandment started flashing inside my head: “Identify the problem.” What was the problem? I wanted to save all these mementos for Eliza and Eleanor, but I didn’t know where to put them. I wanted a convenient, inexpensive, attractive way to store them that would keep them organized without taking up too much room.
    Instead of moving various piles around the apartment, as I usually did when confronted with this kind of problem, I forced myself to sit and think. Convenient. Inexpensive. Attractive. Organized. Paper storage.
    And just like that, I thought of a solution. File boxes. I bought two the very next day. Instead of buying ugly cardboard file boxes, I splurged and bought a slightly fancier version from an upscale office supply store. The boxes were a pleasing tan color, covered with a woven fabric, with proper wooden handles. I fitted out each one with a pack of hanging files.
    I started with Eliza. After gathering up a lot of loose memorabilia from around the apartment, I made a folder for each year of school, past and future, in which I put her birthday party invitation, a copy of the photo I took each year on the first day of school, the program from the school holiday party, some characteristic work, our family Valentine’s card, a camp photo, and so on. Then I did the same with the few items I had for Eleanor.
    These boxes make it easy to store these mementos neatly, and they’ll make great keepsakes for the girls when they’re older. How fun to imagine that when they’re fifty years old, they’ll be able to look back at their birthday party invitations from nursery school! I was so pleased with the system that I started a box for Jamie and me too, divided by year.
    As I thought about the various traditions we observed, it occurred to me that I didn’t need to wait for traditions to emerge spontaneously. A “new tradition” may be a bit of an oxymoron, but that shouldn’t stop me from inventing a tradition that I wished we had.
    Jamie came up with a great one: Polite Night. He suggested that every Sunday night, we set the table properly, enforce good manners, and have a nice meal together. Calling it “Polite Night” was my brilliant stroke. It turned out to be a very useful exercise and a lot of fun.
    Also, when she was little, I’d started the tradition of Eliza and her grandmother taking a weekly music class together, and when Eleanor was old enough she started a weekly class, too. Judy is deeply involved in music and theater, and having this weekly date means that grandmother and granddaughter see each other at least once a week, in a context that allows Judy to impart her enthusiasm for music to the girls. Then I thought—what about their grandfather? He needed a grandchild tradition of his own, so I invented one. I proposed that a few times each year, during her vacations, Eliza would visit her grandfather at his office for lunch. He thought it was a terrific idea, and these lunches have been a great success.
    I have no idea how Jamie and I started this, but we have a family tradition of yelling “Family love sandwich!” and scooping up the girls in a big tight hug. Our version of a secret handshake.
    I wondered what traditions other people might observe, so on my blog, I asked readers for ideas from their families. Some of my favorites:
    ----
    W hen I was a kid and wanted my three younger sisters to help me clean the house—I invented a game called “Cleaning Company.” (I had no idea there actually were such companies.) I’d pretend the phone was ringing (“Prrring! Prrring!”) with hand to ear holding an invisible receiver. (“Hello, Cleaning Company. What’s that you say? You need us to come over right now and clean your house for a party? We’ll be right over, ma’am.”) Then, I’d clap my hands together excitedly and announce to mysisters, “Sounds like another job for Cleaning Company!” We’d pretend to pile into an imaginary car and drive over to our living room (“vroomvrooming” all around the house first—we were all still in elementary school so this was pretty fun for us). Then, we’d start cleaning whichever room we’d been assigned to briskly while repeatedly singing, “Cleaning Company! Cleaning Company! Woo woo!” with a raise of our hands (or feet if