How we use capsules with our kids

People ask me how we actually use this app with our kids. So here's the honest answer — not the marketing version, the real one.

We have three kids. They're all different ages, all different personalities, and they all use Letusallcelebrate differently. Here's what works for us.

The bedtime memory

Most nights, one of the kids will say something that makes Annmarie and I look at each other across the room — the kind of thing you know you'll forget by morning if you don't write it down.

So we started a ritual. After the kids are in bed, one of us opens Forge New and writes it down. Just a few sentences. The funny thing the youngest said at dinner. The question the oldest asked about the stars. The way the middle one helped without being asked.

We use "Keep my words" mode — no AI, just our own words. Because these moments are already perfect. They don't need enhancing. They just need holding onto.

The birthday envelope

Every birthday in our house starts the same way now: with a Celebration Envelope.

I record a short voice message the night before — just talking to them, telling them what I love about them this year, what I've noticed, what I'm proud of. I schedule it to unlock on their birthday morning. When they wake up, it's there.

The first time I did this, the oldest cried. Not sad tears. The kind where someone says something to you that you didn't know you needed to hear.

That's when I knew this was more than an app.

The family capsule

We have a Family Capsule for each kid. We started one the year they were born.

The idea is simple: it's a shared memory book that grows with them. Annmarie and I add to it. Grandparents add to it. As the kids get older, they'll add to it themselves.

When the oldest turned seven, we sat down together and read through their capsule — every entry, from the hospital day to the first word to the first day of school. They didn't remember most of the early ones. But we did. And now they do too.

That's the thing about memories: if you don't write them down, they go. If you do, they stay.

What the kids do themselves

The oldest (who's seven) has started forging their own capsules. Small ones — "today I saw a really big dog" kind of things. But they're hers. She picks the mood, she picks the perspective, she writes the words.

We use "Gentle polish" for hers — it cleans up the spelling and the flow without changing her voice. She reads the enhanced version and says "yeah, that's what I meant." That's exactly the point.

The younger two aren't writing yet. But they're in the family capsule. They'll grow into it.

The sealed letter

For each kid's birthday, I seal a letter to them — to be opened on their 18th birthday.

I write about who they are right now. The things they love. The things that make them laugh. What I hope for them. What I'm worried about. What I want them to know about how much they're loved.

I seal it. It glows with a warm countdown. And I don't look at it again.

They'll open it when they're 18. I don't know what the world will look like then. I don't know what they'll look like then. But the letter will be there, waiting, from the parent I am today.

That's the thing this app does that nothing else can: it lets you send a message across time. Not to the past. To the future.

The point

You don't need to do all of this. You don't need to do any of it perfectly. The point isn't to build a museum of your family's life. The point is to hold onto a few moments — the ones that matter to you — so they don't disappear.

Start small. One memory. Tonight. See how it feels.

— O'Shane, Annmarie, and our three kids · Toronto, Canada