We called it my Mom’s “button box,” but it was really an old decorative tin. She’d had it in her sewing room for as long as I can remember. One of us had apparently decided that it needed some labeling and took a pin to scratch in the words “Mom’s Buttons,” with an arrow helpfully pointed from the word “Mom’s” to the word “buttons.” I’m not confessing or anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the culprit had been me. I should disclose that I had a criminal record of past behavior of this kind, having etched my name into brand new wallpaper with a pin.
When Mom got to a certain age, she began the process of getting rid of things that they were no longer using. She invited us to glean from Dad’s workshop and her sewing room, and one of the few items I really wanted was this button box. What a treasure! Crammed full of all kinds of buttons, it had both practical and sentimental value. Before long, I realized that it was rather painstaking to find the kinds of buttons I wanted for sewing projects; what these buttons needed was some organization! And so I did this:
The buttons had been managed, but they now resided in a soulless plastic bin. It was eminently practical, but my Mom wasn’t any part of this arrangement. I kept the old tin of course, propped up decoratively on a shelf in my craft room and there it sat for years, empty and, dare I say it, sad.
A couple weeks ago I started making felt dolls and other projects and found that a lot of the projects called for old shank-type buttons. I decided to sort those type of buttons out of the box. If only I had a nice place to put those… It was a like a scene from Toy Story, I tell you. The old button box cried out from the shelf, “Me! Pick me!” I heard it and joyfully complied.
I think of my Mom every time I look at it. A true treasure.
I’ll probably delete this in the morning.
Lynniebeemuseoday 
After my mother-in-law died, my father-in-law invited his sons and their wives to chose whatever they wanted from the family room. I choose a small wooden wagon filled with building blocks that Verlyn played with as a child and our children would play with when we visited grandpa and grandma. Alas, my father-in-law vetoed our choice and informed us that the blocks would be going to someone else. The years went by and the blocks never made it to that someone else so when my father-in-law’s house was sold the blocks became available again. The blocks are lovingly played with by our grandchildren now.
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It’s amazing how sweet things are that are attached to memories.
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I laughed because I have a portion of my button collection in a plastic box just like yours. I well remember my mom’s button tin–a large peanut tin that someone (my sisters?) had glued pasta shapes all over it and spray painted it gold. I think it also had some wood feet added. How well I remember running my fingers through those buttons. Those buttons are now mine. Alyssa (my daughter) sorted them years ago into smaller boxes and labeled one of them “butins.”
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Great minds, right? 😄
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