Memory Boxes, Revisited

 This post was originally featured on Weddingbee.  To see all of the comments, you’ll have to check them out over there!

Generally speaking, when I make a decision I am pretty good at sticking to it.  The memory boxes, however, were rubbing me the wrong way for some reason.  I just didn’t like the way they looked.

The boxes will sit on the cocktail tables during the cocktail hour so that people can look through them and mingle.  Momma Puff and I decided quite awhile ago to add a pink gauzy table runner to the cocktail tables to avoid having to buy upscale linens for them.  This was a great idea, but when I looked at my memory boxes next to the table runners, I thought, “that looks horrible.”

SO.  I added another DIY project.  I went to Ross and looked for boxes.  When I found some that were sufficiently cheap ($6.99) and heinous, I bought three:

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The beautiful flowers and fruits painted onto the boxes were slightly raised because the artists used goopy paint, so I had to do a teensy bit of sanding.  Then I removed all of the hardware using a tiny screwdriver and spray-painted them all black.  I decorated them with ribbon (using zots to keep the ribbon in place) and VOILA! three masterpieces, which I am very satisfied with:

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As for what’s inside?  You guys asked me about that during my last post, but I just finished this last night.  In addition to photos, I added for me:  girl scout patches, micro machines (toy cars), legos, and some wooden block toys I had when I was little.  For Mr. Cream Puff, we have a baseball figurine (he used to collect baseball stuff when he was a kid), a matchbox car, legos, and transformers.  I attached a tag to each trinket using tiny ribbon.

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Trinket Retrieval was way easier for Mr. CP than it was for me.  His toys were all in a very clean and well-lit basement.  I, on the other hand, had to risk my life to find my childhood treasures.

Here’s the story of how I defied death:

My parents built the house I grew up in in California. Part of their design included a crawl space that you didn’t actually have to crawl into–it was fully lit and totally not scary. We stored all of our extra stuff in there. When my parents moved to Oregon, though, they moved into a house that had–gasp!–an attic. Somehow they managed to get all of our extra stuff, including my childhood treasures, up some rickety pull-down stairs and into the dark, scary place known as the attic. In order to get trinkets for our memory boxes, I had to go into the scary attic, which has always terrified me.

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As you can see, I survived (luckily!).

I would also like to note that although Mr. Cream Puff and Momma Puff thought this memory box id

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