Learner Dad: I might listen to my mother (for once) and get a photo album

Most of the albums at my mother's place are the sticky ones, with a sheet of plastic over each page, except the stickiness is long gone and the photos just slide out and onto my lap. I like putting them back in rows, remembering cousins and aunts, some gone already

Every now and again, my mother reminds me that we’ll never have photo albums to remember the kids when they were young. I usually scoff it off, the way adult kids scoff off any advice they get from their parents.

But now I think she might have a point.

I was clearing the garage the other day — we’re moving out for a few months while there is work done on the house. (This means two house moves in four months, out and back. If moving house really is one of the most traumatic experiences going, then this is shaping up to be the worst year of my life.)

Anyway, while clearing up, I found two photos of our kids. I presume my wife printed them out from her phone, I’m not the keeper of records in our house. They’re two random photos — one is from 2016, sitting on the stairs with their cousin. The other is 2019, in a little village square in France.

I didn’t throw them out. They’re still in the kitchen and I can’t stop looking at them. There is something about photos of your kids at that age. Compare two photos taken a few years apart and you can see them growing into themselves.

I’d like my own kids to have a hard-copy book like this when they move through the years. So I might listen to my mother (for once) and get a photo album printed off

In the earlier one, with their cousin, our son has yet to come out of his shell. He was a cute little quiet boy who followed his sister around and did whatever she was doing. He’s got a puzzled look on his face — 'why am I being made to sit on this step with an older guy I hardly know? I hope it ends soon and I can go home to my dinosaurs'.

The second photo, three years later, has him standing in front of his sister, arms stretched, striking a pose. That’s the lovely son we have now — but I still have a hankering for the little quiet guy who just wanted to be at home with his dinos.

His sister is posing in both photos, but the pose is more knowing in the later one — she’s obviously learned the curse of being self-conscious in the meantime.

Their mother is in the second photo as well, looking dead hot, in a good way. I’d be dead if I didn’t mention that.

Anyway, these photos are making the case to print off an album. I like the way the Google Photos app pops up a regular an ‘On this day’ reminder on my phone. Or at least I liked it at first, the way you could swipe back through the years and see what you were doing. (I never realised we did so much walking in woods.) But there is something a bit off about a tech giant tapping you on the shoulder and saying 'here’s a picture of your kids'. On top of that, I always forget how to click on an image and look at all the photos from around that day, and that can give me a spot of rage.

There is something about photos of your kids from when they were younger. Compare two photos taken a few years apart and you can see them growing into themselves

Every now and again, when I’m in my mother’s place, I take out the photo albums there and look back at my own childhood in the 70s and 80s. Most of the albums are the sticky ones, with a sheet of plastic over each page, except the stickiness is long gone and the photos just slide out and onto my lap. I like putting them back in rows, remembering cousins and aunts, some gone already. It’s a reminder that my parents were young and stylish once, in their prime, grinning into the camera. In some of the earlier photos, I’m the younger version of my son, where he is throwing his puzzled look at the camera. This is most noticeable in Santa photos circa 1972, where I’m clearly not convinced by the man in red.

I’m sorry to say that I look happy in my confirmation photo wearing a beige blazer with corduroy lapels — I thought I had better taste than that.

Anyway. I’d like my own kids to have a hard-copy book like this when they move through the years. So I might listen to my mother (for once) and get a photo album printed off.